Page 115 - pollyanna

‘Pollyanna, wait! Miss Polly’s voice was suddenly very
stern. I’ve changed my mind. I would prefer that Mrs. Snow
had that jelly to-day—as usual. That is all. You may go
now.’
Pollyanna’s face fell.
‘Oh, but Aunt Polly, HERS will last. She can always be
sick and have things, you know; but his is just a broken leg,
and legs don’t last—I mean, broken ones. He’s had it a whole
week now.’
‘Yes, I remember. I heard Mr. John Pendleton had met
with an accident,’ said Miss Polly, a little stiffly; ‘but—I do
not care to be sending jelly to John Pendleton, Pollyanna.’
‘I know, he is cross—outside,’ admitted Pollyanna, sadly,
‘so I suppose you don’t like him. But I wouldn’t say ‘twas
you sent it. I’d say ‘twas me. I like him. I’d be glad to send
him jelly.’
Miss Polly began to shake her head again. Then, sudden-
ly, she stopped, and asked in a curiously quiet voice:
‘Does he know who you—are, Pollyanna?’
The little girl sighed.
‘I reckon not. I told him my name, once, but he never
calls me it—never.’
‘Does he know where you—live?’
‘Oh, no. I never told him that.’
‘Then he doesn’t know you’re my—niece?’
‘I don’t think so.’
For a moment there was silence. Miss Polly was look-
ing at Pollyanna with eyes that did not seem to see her at
all. The little girl, shifting impatiently from one small foot

11 Pollyanna