Page 174 - pollyanna

Pendleton house, found him. With a little cry she ran for-
ward.
‘Oh, oh, Mr. Ford! You—YOU haven’t broken YOUR leg
or—or anything, have you?’ she gasped.
The minister dropped his hands, and looked up quickly.
He tried to smile.
‘No, dear—no, indeed! I’m just—resting.’
‘Oh,’ sighed Pollyanna, falling back a little. ‘That’s all
right, then. You see, Mr. Pendleton HAD broken his leg
when I found him—but he was lying down, though. And
you are sitting up.’
‘Yes, I am sitting up; and I haven’t broken anything—that
doctors can mend.’
The last words were very low, but Pollyanna heard them.
A swift change crossed her face. Her eyes glowed with ten-
der sympathy.
‘I know what you mean—something plagues you. Father
used to feel like that, lots of times. I reckon ministers do—
most generally. You see there’s such a lot depends on ‘em,
somehow.’
The Rev. Paul Ford turned a little wonderingly.
‘Was YOUR father a minister, Pollyanna?’
‘Yes, sir. Didn’t you know? I supposed everybody knew
that. He married Aunt Polly’s sister, and she was my moth-
er.’
‘Oh, I understand. But, you see, I haven’t been here many
years, so I don’t know all the family histories.’
‘Yes, sir—I mean, no, sir,’ smiled Pollyanna.
There was a long pause. The minister, still sitting at the

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