"Got what, you impossible child?"
Pollyanna was still revolving round and round her aunt.
"And I never knew you had 'em! Can folks have 'em when you don't
know they've got 'em? DO you suppose I could?--'fore I get to
Heaven, I mean," she cried, pulling out with eager fingers the
straight locks above her ears. "But then, they wouldn't be black,
if they did come. You can't hide the black part."
"Pollyanna, what does all this mean?" demanded Aunt Polly,
hurriedly removing her hat, and trying to smooth back her
disordered hair.
"No, no--please, Aunt Polly!" Pollyanna's jubilant voice turned
to one of distressed appeal. "Don't smooth 'em out! It's those
that I'm talking about--those darling little black curls. Oh,
Aunt Polly, they're so pretty!"
"Nonsense! What do you mean, Pollyanna, by going to the Ladies'
Aid the other day in that absurd fashion about that beggar boy?"
"But it isn't nonsense," urged Pollyanna, answering only the
first of her aunt's remarks. "You don't know how pretty you look
with your hair like that! Oh, Aunt Polly, please, mayn't I do
your hair like I did Mrs.
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