Page 118 - pollyanna

Behind the doctor, a young man (a trained nurse from
the nearest city) gave a disturbed exclamation.
‘But, Doctor, didn’t Mr. Pendleton give orders not to ad-
mit—any one?’
‘Oh, yes,’ nodded the doctor, imperturbably. ‘But I’m
giving orders now. I’ll take the risk.’ Then he added whimsi-
cally: ‘You don’t know, of course; but that little girl is better
than a six-quart bottle of tonic any day. If anything or any-
body can take the grouch out of Pendleton this afternoon,
she can. That’s why I sent her in.’
‘Who is she?’
For one brief moment the doctor hesitated.
‘She’s the niece of one of our best known residents. Her
name is Pollyanna Whittier. I—I don’t happen to enjoy a
very extensive personal acquaintance with the little lady as
yet; but lots of my patients do—I’m thankful to say!
The nurse smiled.
‘Indeed! And what are the special ingredients of this
wonder-working—tonic of hers?’
The doctor shook his head.
‘I don’t know. As near as I can find out it is an over-
whelming, unquenchable gladness for everything that has
happened or is going to happen. At any rate, her quaint
speeches are constantly being repeated to me, and, as near
as I can make out, ‘just being glad’ is the tenor of most of
them. All is,’ he added, with another whimsical smile, as he
stepped out on to the porch, ‘I wish I could prescribe her—
and buy her—as I would a box of pills;—though if there gets
to be many of her in the world, you and I might as well go to

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