“Father told me all about it.  He remembered.  And—­and I ought to have explained before.  Mrs. Gray told me to, at once—­about this red gingham dress, you know, and why I’m not in black.  She said you’d think ’twas queer.  But there weren’t any black things in the last missionary barrel, only a lady’s velvet basque which Deacon Carr’s wife said wasn’t suitable for me at all; besides, it had white spots—­worn, you know—­on both elbows, and some other places.  Part of the Ladies’ Aid wanted to buy me a black dress and hat, but the other part thought the money ought to go toward the red carpet they’re trying to get—­for the church, you know.  Mrs. White said maybe it was just as well, anyway, for she didn’t like children in black—­that is, I mean, she liked the children, of course, but not the black part.”

Pollyanna paused for breath, and Nancy managed to stammer: 

“Well, I’m sure it—­it’ll be all right.”

“I’m glad you feel that way.  I do, too,” nodded Pollyanna, again with that choking little breath.  “Of course, ’twould have been a good deal harder to be glad in black—­”

“Glad!” gasped Nancy, surprised into an interruption.

“Yes—­that father’s gone to Heaven to be with mother and the rest of us, you know.  He said I must be glad.  But it’s been pretty hard to—­to do it, even in red gingham, because I—­I wanted him, so; and I couldn’t help feeling I ought to have him, specially as mother and the rest have God and all the angels, while I didn’t have anybody but the Ladies’ Aid.  But now I’m sure it’ll be easier because I’ve got you, Aunt Polly.  I’m so glad I’ve got you!”

Nancy’s aching sympathy for the poor little forlornness beside her turned suddenly into shocked terror.

“Oh, but—­but you’ve made an awful mistake, d-dear,” she faltered.  “I’m only Nancy.  I ain’t your Aunt Polly, at all!”

“You—­you aren’t?” stammered the little girl, in plain dismay.

“No.  I’m only Nancy.  I never thought of your takin’ me for her.  We—­we ain’t a bit alike we ain’t, we ain’t!”

Timothy chuckled softly; but Nancy was too disturbed to answer the merry flash from his eyes.

“But who are you?” questioned Pollyanna.  “You don’t look a bit like a Ladies’ Aider!”

Timothy laughed outright this time.

“I’m Nancy, the hired girl.  I do all the work except the washin’ an’ hard ironin’.  Mis’ Durgin does that.”

“But there is an Aunt Polly?” demanded the child, anxiously.

“You bet your life there is,” cut in Timothy.

Pollyanna relaxed visibly.

“Oh, that’s all right, then.”  There was a moment’s silence, then she went on brightly:  “And do you know?  I’m glad, after all, that she didn’t come to meet me; because now I’ve got her still coming, and I’ve got you besides.”

Nancy flushed.  Timothy turned to her with a quizzical smile.