"You'll tell her?"
"Why, of course," murmured Miss Polly, wondering just how much of
this remarkable discourse she could remember to tell.
These visits of John Pendleton and Milly Snow were only the first
of many; and always there were the messages--the messages which
were in some ways so curious that they caused Miss Polly more and
more to puzzle over them.
One day there was the little Widow Benton. Miss Polly knew her
well, though they had never called upon each other. By reputation
she knew her as the saddest little woman in town--one who was
always in black. To-day, however, Mrs. Benton wore a knot of pale
blue at the throat, though there were tears in her eyes. She
spoke of her grief and horror at the accident; then she asked
diffidently if she might see Pollyanna.
Miss Polly shook her head.
"I am sorry, but she sees no one yet. A little later--perhaps."
Mrs. Benton wiped her eyes, rose, and turned to go. But after she
had almost reached the hall door she came back hurriedly.
"Miss Harrington, perhaps, you'd give her--a message," she
stammered.
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