How is your mother ?" rejoined Miss Polly, wearily.
"That is what I came to tell you--that is, to ask you to tell Miss Pollyanna," hurried on the girl, breathlessly and incoherently.

"We think it's--so awful--so perfectly awful that the little thing can't ever walk again; and after all she's done for us, too--for mother, you know, teaching her to play the game, and all that.

And when we heard how now she couldn't play it herself--poor little dear! I'm sure I don't see how she CAN, either, in her condition!--but when we remembered all the things she'd said to us, we thought if she could only know what she HAD done for us, that it would HELP, you know, in her own case, about the game, because she could be glad--that is, a little glad--" Milly stopped helplessly, and seemed to be waiting for Miss Polly to speak.
Miss Polly had sat politely listening, but with a puzzled questioning in her eyes.

Only about half of what had been said, had she understood.

She was thinking now that she always had known that Milly Snow was "queer," but she had not supposed she was crazy.