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 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 appeal. “Don't smooth 'em out! It's those that I'm talking about—those darling little black curls. Oh, Aunt Polly, they're so pretty!”
 
“Nonsense! What do you mean, Pollyanna, by going to the Ladies' Aid the other day in that absurd fashion about that beggar boy?”
 
“But it isn't nonsense,” urged Pollyanna, answering only the first of her aunt's remarks. “You don't know how pretty you look with your hair like that! Oh, Aunt Polly, please, mayn't I do your hair like I did Mrs. Snow's, and put in a flower? I'd so love to see you that way! Why, you'd be ever so much prettier than she was!”
 
“Pollyanna!” (Miss Polly very sharply—all the more sharply because Pollyanna's words had given her an odd of joy: when before had anybody cared how she, or her hair looked? When before had anybody “loved” to see her “pretty”?) “Pollyanna, you did not answer my question. Why did you go to the Ladies' Aid in that absurd fashion?”
 
“Yes'm, I know; but, please, I didn't know it was absurd until I went and found out they'd rather see their report grow than Jimmy. So then I wrote to MY Ladies' Aiders—'cause Jimmy is far away from them, you know; and I thought maybe he could be their little India boy same as—Aunt Polly, WAS I your little India girl? And, Aunt Polly, you WILL let me do your hair, won't you?”
 
Aunt Polly put her hand to her throat—the old, helpless feeling was upon her, she knew.
 
“But, Pollyanna, when the ladies told me this afternoon how you came to them, I was so ashamed! I—”
 
Pollyanna began to dance up and down lightly on her toes.
 
“You didn't!—You didn't say I COULDN'T do your hair,” she crowed ; “and so I'm sure it means just the other way 'round, sort of—like it did the other day about Mr. Pendleton's jelly that you didn't send, but didn't want me to say you didn't send, you know. Now wait just where you are. I'll get a comb.”
 
“But Pollyanna, Pollyanna,” Aunt Polly, following the little girl from the room and panting up-stairs after her.
 
“Oh, did you come up here?” Pollyanna greeted her at the door of Miss Polly's own room. “That'll be nicer yet! I've got the comb. Now sit down, please, right here. Oh, I'm so glad you let me do it!”
 
“But, Pollyanna, I—I—”
 
Miss Polly did not finish her sentence. To her helpless she found herself in the low chair before the table, with her hair already tumbling about her ears under ten eager, but very gentle fingers.
 
“Oh, my! what pretty hair you've got,” Pollyanna; “and there's so much more of it than Mrs. Snow has, too! But, of course, you need more, anyhow, because you're well and can go to places where folks can see it. My! I reckon folks'll be glad when they do see it—and surprised, too, 'cause you've hid it so long. Why, Aunt Polly, I'll make you so pretty everybody'll just love to look at you!”
 
“Pollyanna!” a but shocked voice from a veil of hair. “I—I'm sure I don't know why I'm letting you do this silly thing.”
 
“Why, Aunt Polly, I should think you'd be glad to have folks like to look at you! Don't you like to look at pretty things? I'm ever so much happier when I look at pretty folks, 'cause when I look at the other kind I'm so sorry for them.”
 
“But—but—”
 
“And I just love to do folks' hair,” purred Pollyanna, . “I did quite a lot of the Ladies' Aiders'—but there wasn't any of them so nice as yours. Mrs. White's was pretty nice, though, and she looked just lovely one day when I dressed her up in—Oh, Aunt Polly, I've just happened to think of something! But it's a secret, and I sha'n't tell. Now your hair is almost done, and pretty quick I'm going to leave you just a minute; and you must promise—promise—PROMISE not to stir nor , even, till I come back. Now remember!” she finished, as she ran from the room.
 
Aloud Miss Polly said nothing. To herself she said that of course she should at once the absurd work of her niece's fingers, and put her hair up properly again. As for “peeking” just as if she cared how—
 
At that moment—unaccountably—Miss Polly caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror of the dressing table. And what she saw sent such a flush of color to her cheeks that—she only flushed the more at the sight.
 
She saw a face—not young, it is true—but just now alight with excitement and surprise. The cheeks were a pretty pink. The eyes sparkled. The hair, dark, and still damp from the outdoor air, lay in loose waves about the forehead and curved back over the ears in wonderfully becoming lines, with little curls here and there.
 
So amazed and so absorbed was Miss Polly with what she saw in the glass that she quite forgot her determination to do over her hair, until she heard Pollyanna enter the room again. Before she could move, then, she felt a folded something slipped acros............