Page 153 - pollyanna

He made a wry face.
‘Oh, but that was before you taught me to play that won-
derful game of yours. Now I’m glad to be waited on, hand
and foot! Never mind, I’ll be on my own two feet yet, one
of these days; then I’ll see who steps around,’ he finished,
picking up one of the crutches at his side and shaking it
playfully at the little girl. They were sitting in the great li-
brary to-day.
‘Oh, but you aren’t really glad at all for things; you just
SAY you are,’ pouted Pollyanna, her eyes on the dog, doz-
ing before the fire. ‘You know you don’t play the game right
EVER, Mr. Pendleton—you know you don’t!’
The man’s face grew suddenly very grave.
‘That’s why I want you, little girl—to help me play it. Will
you come?’
Pollyanna turned in surprise.
‘Mr. Pendleton, you don’t really mean—that?
‘But I do. I want you. Will you come?’
Pollyanna looked distressed.
‘Why, Mr. Pendleton, I can’t—you know I can’t. Why,
I’m—Aunt Polly’s!’
A quick something crossed the man’s face that Pollyan-
na could not quite understand. His head came up almost
fiercely.
‘You’re no more hers than—Perhaps she would let you
come to me,’ he finished more gently. ‘Would you come—if
she did?’
Pollyanna frowned in deep thought.
‘But Aunt Polly has been so—good to me,’ she began

1 Pollyanna