It was on a rainy day about a week after Pollyanna's visit to Mr.
John Pendleton, that Miss Polly was driven by Timothy to an early
afternoon committee meeting of the Ladies' Aid Society. When she
returned at three o'clock, her cheeks were a bright, pretty pink,
and her hair, blown by the damp wind, had fluffed into kinks and
curls wherever the loosened pins had given leave.

Pollyanna had never before seen her aunt look like this.

"Oh--oh--oh! Why, Aunt Polly, you've got 'em, too," she cried
rapturously, dancing round and round her aunt, as that lady
entered the sitting room.

"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,