Полліанна
In Pendleton woods
"Hullo,doggie—hullo!"Pollyannasnappedherfingersatthedogandlookedexpectantlydownthepath. Shehadseenthedogoncebefore,shewassure. HehadbeenthenwiththeMan,Mr.JohnPendleton. Shewaslookingnow,hopingtoseehim. Forsomeminutesshewatchedeagerly,buthedidnotappear. Thensheturnedherattentiontowardthedog.
Thedog,asevenPollyannacouldsee,wasactingstrangely. Hewasstillbarking—givinglittleshort,sharpyelps,asifofalarm. Hewasrunningbackandforth,too,inthepathahead. Soontheyreachedasidepath,anddownthisthelittledogfairlyflew,onlytocomebackatonce,whiningandbarking.
"Ho!Thatisn’tthewayhome,"laughedPollyanna,stillkeepingtothemainpath.
Thelittledogseemedfranticnow. Backandforth,backandforth,betweenPollyannaandthesidepathhevibrated,barkingandwhiningpitifully. Everyquiverofhislittlebrownbody,andeveryglancefromhisbeseechingbrowneyeswereeloquentwithappeal—soeloquentthatatlastPollyannaunderstood,turned,andfollowedhim.
Straightahead,now,thelittledogdashedmadly; anditwasnotlongbeforePollyannacameuponthereasonforitall:amanlyingmotionlessatthefootofasteep,overhangingmassofrockafewyardsfromthesidepath.
AtwigcrackedsharplyunderPollyanna’sfoot,andthemanturnedhishead. WithacryofdismayPollyannarantohisside.
"Mr.Pendleton! Oh,areyouhurt?"
