I told Timothy to take it up--if you had one.

You may follow me, Pollyanna." Without speaking, Pollyanna turned and followed her aunt from the room.
Her eyes were brimming with tears, but her chin was bravely high.
"After all, I--I reckon I'm glad she doesn't want me to talk about father," Pollyanna was thinking.

"It'll be easier, maybe--if I don't talk about him.

Probably, anyhow, that is why she told me not to talk about him." And Pollyanna, convinced anew of her aunt's "kindness," blinked off the tears and looked eagerly about her.
She was on the stairway now.

Just ahead, her aunt's black silk skirt rustled luxuriously.