"Why, I thought it was CHICKEN you wanted when folks brought you
jelly," she said.

"What?" The sick woman turned sharply.

"Why, nothing, much," apologized Pollyanna, hurriedly; "and of
course it doesn't really make any difference. It's only that
Nancy said it was chicken you wanted when we brought jelly, and
lamb broth when we brought chicken--but maybe 'twas the other
way, and Nancy forgot."

The sick woman pulled herself up till she sat erect in the bed--a
most unusual thing for her to do, though Pollyanna did not know
this.

"Well, Miss Impertinence, who are you?" she demanded.

Pollyanna laughed gleefully.

"Oh, THAT isn't my name, Mrs. Snow--and I'm so glad 'tisn't, too!
That would be worse than 'Hephzibah,' wouldn't it? I'm Pollyanna
Whittier, Miss Polly Harrington's niece, and I've come to live
with her. That's why I'm here with the jelly this morning."

All through the first part of this sentence, the sick woman had
sat interestedly erect; but at the reference to the jelly she
fell back on her pillow listlessly.

"Very well; thank you. Your aunt is very kind, of course, but my