“Why, yes. You see, if you’d felt like banging doors you’d have banged ’em, of course; and if you didn’t, that must have meant that you weren’t ever glad over anything—or you would have banged ’em. You couldn’t have helped it. And I’m so sorry you weren’t ever glad over anything!”

“Pollyanna!” gasped the lady; but Pollyanna was gone, and only the distant bang of the attic-stairway door answered for her. Pollyanna had gone to help Nancy bring down “her things.”

Miss Polly, in the sitting room, felt vaguely disturbed;—but then, of course she had been glad—over some things!