Поллианна

           Themanturnedhisheadsuddenly,andopenedhiseyes. TherewasacuriouslongingintheirdarkdepthswhichevenPollyannasaw,andatwhichshemarvelled. "Andsoyouare—MissPollyHarrington’sniece,"hesaidgently. 

           "Yes,sir." 

           Stilltheman’sdarkeyeslingeredonherface,untilPollyanna,feelingvaguelyrestless,murmured: 

           "I—Isupposeyouknow—her." 

           JohnPendleton’slipscurvedinanoddsmile. 

           "Oh,yes; Iknowher." Hehesitated,thenwenton,stillwiththatcurioussmile. "But—youdon’tmean—youcan’tmeanthatitwasMissPollyHarringtonwhosentthatjelly—tome?"hesaidslowly. 

           Pollyannalookeddistressed. 

           "N-no,sir:shedidn’t. ShesaidImustbeverysurenottoletyouthinkshedidsendit. ButI—" 

           "Ithoughtasmuch,"vouchsafedtheman,shortly,turningawayhishead. AndPollyanna,stillmoredistressed,tiptoedfromtheroom. 

           Undertheporte-cochereshefoundthedoctorwaitinginhisgig. Thenursestoodonthesteps. 

           "Well,MissPollyanna,mayIhavethepleasureofseeingyouhome?"askedthedoctorsmilingly. "Istartedtodriveonafewminutesago;thenitoccurredtomethatI’dwaitforyou." 

           "Thankyou,sir. I’mgladyoudid. Ijustlovetoride,"beamedPollyanna,ashereachedouthishandtohelpherin. 

           "Doyou?"smiledthedoctor,noddinghisheadinfarewelltotheyoungmanonthesteps. "Well,asnearasIcanjudge,thereareagoodmanythingsyou‘love’todo—eh?"headded,astheydrovebrisklyaway. 

           Pollyannalaughed.