"Yes; well, never mind now what your father said," interrupted
Miss Polly, crisply. "You had a trunk, I presume?"

"Oh, yes, indeed, Aunt Polly. I've got a beautiful trunk that the
Ladies' Aid gave me. I haven't got so very much in it--of my own,
I mean. The barrels haven't had many clothes for little girls in
them lately; but there were all father's books, and Mrs. White
said she thought I ought to have those. You see, father--"

"Pollyanna," interrupted her aunt again, sharply, "there is one
thing that might just as well be understood right away at once;
and that is, I do not care to have you keep talking of your
father to me."

The little girl drew in her breath tremulously.

"Why, Aunt Polly, you--you mean--" She hesitated, and her aunt
filled the pause.

"We will go up-stairs to your room. Your trunk is already there,
I presume. I told Timothy to take it up--if you had one. You may
follow me, Pollyanna."

Without speaking, Pollyanna turned and followed her aunt from the
room. Her eyes were brimming with tears, but her chin was bravely
high.

"After all, I--I reckon I'm glad she doesn't want me to talk
about father," Pollyanna was thinking. "It'll be easier,
maybe--if I don't talk about him. Probably, anyhow, that is why