POLLYANNA
quite understood the anxiety that lay behind that short "well?"
"It ain't well, Mr. Pendleton," she choked.
"You don't mean—" He paused, and she bowed her head miserably.
"Yes, sir. He says—she can't walk again—never."
For a moment there was absolute silence in the room; then the man spoke, in a voice shaken with emotion.
"Poor—little—girl! Poor—little—girl!"
Nancy glanced at him, but dropped her eyes at once. She had not supposed that sour, cross, stern John Pendleton could look like that. In a moment he spoke again, still in the low, unsteady voice.
"It seems cruel—never to dance in the sunshine again! My little prism girl!"
There was another silence; then, abruptly, the man asked:
"She herself doesn't know yet—of course—does she?"
"But she does, sir," sobbed Nancy; "an' that's what makes it all the harder. She found out—drat that cat! I begs yer pardon," apologized the girl, hurriedly. "It's only that the cat pushed open the door an' Miss Pollyanna overheard 'em talkin'. She found out—that way."
"Poor—little—girl!" sighed the man again.
242
