Outside, however, there was a wide world of fairy-like beauty, and there was, too, she knew, fresh, sweet air that would feel so good to hot cheeks and hands! As she stepped nearer and peered longingly out, she saw something else: she saw, only a little way below the window, the wide, flat tin roof of Miss Polly's sun parlor built over the porte-cochere.

The sight filled her with longing.

If only, now, she were out there! Fearfully she looked behind her.

Back there, somewhere, were her hot little room and her still hotter bed; but between her and them lay a horrid desert of blackness across which one must feel one's way with outstretched, shrinking arms; while before her, out on the sun-parlor roof, were the moonlight and the cool, sweet night air.
If only her bed were out there! And folks did sleep out of doors.

Joel Hartley at home, who was so sick with the consumption, HAD to sleep out of doors.
Suddenly Pollyanna remembered that she had seen near this attic window a row of long white bags hanging from nails.