"So 'tis, but never mind, Aunt Polly. We can be glad 'tisn't after four."
Aunt Polly sniffed her disdain.
"I suppose you can," she observed tartly.
Pollyanna laughed.
"Well, you see, auntie, clocks are accommodating things, when you stop to think about it. I found that out long ago at the Sanatorium. When I was doing something that I liked, and I didn't want the time to go fast, I'd just look at the hour hand, and I'd feel as if I had lots of time—it went so slow. Then, other days, when I had to keep something that hurt on for an hour, maybe, I'd watch the little second hand; and you see then I felt as if Old Time was just humping himself to help me out by going as fast as ever he could. Now I'm watching the hour hand to-day, 'cause I don't want Time to go fast. See?" she twinkled mischievously, as she hurried from the room, before Aunt Polly had time to answer.
It was certainly a hard day, and by night Pollyanna looked pale and worn out. This, too, was a source of worriment to Aunt Polly.
"Dear me, child, you look tired to death!" she fumed. "What we're going to do I don't know. I suppose you'll be sick next!"
"Nonsense, auntie! I'm not sick a bit," declared Pollyanna, dropping herself with a sigh on to the couch. "But I am tired. My! how good this couch feels! I'm glad I'm tired, after all—it's so nice to rest."
Aunt Polly turned with an impatient gesture.
