an he's rich enough ter do it," shrugged Nancy. "He ain't
spendin' his money, that's all. He's a-savin' of it."

"Oh, for the heathen," surmised Pollyanna. "How perfectly splendid!
That's denying yourself and taking up your cross. I know; father told
me."

Nancy's lips parted abruptly, as if there were angry words all ready to
come; but her eyes, resting on Pollyanna's jubilantly trustful face, saw
something that prevented the words being spoken.

"Humph!" she vouchsafed. Then, showing her old-time interest, she
went on: "But, say, it is queer, his speakin' to you, honestly, Miss
Pollyanna. He don't speak ter no one; and he lives all alone in a great
big lovely house all full of jest grand things, they say. Some says he's
crazy, and some jest cross; and some says he's got a skeleton in his
closet."

"Oh, Nancy!" shuddered Pollyanna. "How can he keep such a dreadful
thing? I should think he'd throw it away!"

Nancy chuckled. That Pollyanna had taken the skeleton literally instead
of figuratively, she knew very well; but, perversely, she refrained from
correcting the mistake.

"And EVERYBODY says he's mysterious," she went on. "Some years he
jest travels, week in and week out, and it's always in heathen
countries--Egypt and Asia and the Desert of Sarah, you know."

"Oh, a missionary," nodded Pollyanna.

Nancy laughed oddly.

"Well, I didn't say that, Miss Pollyanna. When he comes back he writes
books--queer, odd books, they say, about some gimcrack he's found in
them heathen countries. But he don't never seem ter want ter spend no
money here--leastways, not for jest livin'."

"Of course not--if he's saving it for the heathen," declared Pollyanna.
"But he is a funny man, and he's different, too, just like Mrs. Snow,
only he's a different different."

"Well, I guess he is--rather," chuckled Nancy.

"I'm gladder'n ever now, anyhow, that he speaks to me," sighed Pollyanna
contentedly.

CHAPTER X. A SURPRISE FOR MRS. SNOW

The next time Pollyanna went to see Mrs. Snow, she found that lady, as
at first, in a darkened room.

"It's the little girl from Miss Polly's, mother," announced Milly, in a
tired manner; then Pollyanna found herself alone with the invalid.

"Oh, it's you, is it?" asked a fretful voice from the bed. "I remember
you. ANYbody'd remember you, I guess, if they saw you once. I wish you
had come yesterday. I WANTED you yesterday."

"Did you? Well, I'm glad 'tisn't any farther away from ye