Page 210 - pollyanna

though not so openly. And neither the talking nor the
weeping grew less when fast on the heels of the news itself,
came Nancy’s pitiful story that Pollyanna, face to face with
what had come to her, was bemoaning most of all the fact
that she could not play the game; that she could not now be
glad over—anything.
It was then that the same thought must have, in some
way, come to Pollyanna’s friends. At all events, almost at
once, the mistress of the Harrington homestead, greatly to
her surprise, began to receive calls: calls from people she
knew, and people she did not know; calls from men, women,
and children—many of whom Miss Polly had not supposed
that her niece knew at all.
Some came in and sat down for a stiff five or ten minutes.
Some stood awkwardly on the porch steps, fumbling with
hats or hand-bags, according to their sex. Some brought a
book, a bunch of flowers, or a dainty to tempt the palate.
Some cried frankly. Some turned their backs and blew their
noses furiously. But all inquired very anxiously for the little
injured girl; and all sent to her some message—and it was
these messages which, after a time, stirred Miss Polly to ac-
tion.
First came Mr. John Pendleton. He came without his
crutches to-day.
‘I don’t need to tell you how shocked I am,’ he began al-
most harshly. ‘But can—nothing be done?’
Miss Polly gave a gesture of despair.
‘Oh, we’re ‘doing,’ of course, all the time. Dr. Mead pre-
scribed certain treatments and medicines that might help,

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