"
"They must be pro-fi-ta-ble as well?"
"Certainly."
"What is being pro-fi-ta-ble?"
"Why, it--it's just being profitable--having profit, something to
show for it, Pollyanna. What an extraordinary child you are!"
"Then just being glad isn't pro-fi-ta-ble?" questioned Pollyanna,
a little anxiously.
"Certainly not."
"O dear! Then you wouldn't like it, of course. I'm afraid, now,
you won't ever play the game, Aunt Polly."
"Game? What game?"
"Why, that father--" Pollyanna clapped her hand to her lips.
"N-nothing," she stammered. Miss Polly frowned.
"That will do for this morning, Pollyanna," she said tersely. And
the sewing lesson was over.
It was that afternoon that Pollyanna, coming down from her attic
room, met her aunt on the stairway.
"Why, Aunt Polly, how perfectly lovely!" she cried. "You were
coming up to see me! Come right in. I love company," she
finished, scampering up the stairs and throwing her door wide
open.
Now Miss Polly had not been intending to call on her niece.
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