I am!"

"Why, no, of course not," agreed Pollyanna, sympathetically. "But
wait--just let me show you," she exclaimed, skipping over to the bureau
and picking up a small hand-glass.

On the way back to the bed she stopped, eyeing the sick woman with a
critical gaze.

"I reckon maybe, if you don't mind, I'd like to fix your hair just a
little before I let you see it," she proposed. "May I fix your hair,
please?"

"Why, I--suppose so, if you want to," permitted Mrs. Snow, grudgingly;
"but 'twon't stay, you know."

"Oh, thank you. I love to fix people's hair," exulted Pollyanna,
carefully laying down the hand-glass and reaching for a comb. "I sha'n't
do much to-day, of course--I'm in such a hurry for you to see how pretty
you are; but some day I'm going to take it all down and have a perfectly
lovely time with it," she cried, touching with soft fingers the waving
hair above the sick woman's forehead.

For five minutes Pollyanna worked swiftly, deftly, combing a refractory
curl into fluffiness, perking up a drooping ruffle at the neck, or
shaking a pillow into plumpness so that the head might have a better
pose. Meanwhile the sick woman, frowning prodigiously, and openly
scoffing at the whole procedure, was, in spite of herself, beginning to
tingle with a feeling perilously near to excitement.

"There!" panted Pollyanna, hastily plucking a pink from a vase near by
and tucking it into the dark hair where it would give the best effect.
"Now I reckon we're ready to be looked at!" And she held out the mirror
in triumph.

"Humph!" grunted the sick woman, eyeing her reflection severely. "I like
red pinks better than pink ones; but then, it'll fade, anyhow, before
night, so what's the difference!"

"But I should think you'd be glad they did fade," laughed Pollyanna,
"'cause then you can have the fun of getting some more. I just love your
hair fluffed out like that," she finished with a satisfied gaze. "Don't
you?"

"Hm-m; maybe. Still--'twon't last, with me tossing back and forth on the
pillow as I do."

"Of course not--and I'm glad, too," nodded Pollyanna, cheerfully,
"because then I can fix it again. Anyhow, I should think you'd be glad
it's black--black shows up so much nicer on a pillow than yellow hair
like mine does."

"Maybe; but I never did set much store by black hair--shows gray too
soon," retorted Mrs. Snow. She spoke fretfully, but she still held the
mirror before her face.

"Oh, I love black hair! I