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Page 83
"Well, yes, I guess 'twould be--THEN," retorted Nancy. "I ain't
sayin' what 'twould be NOW. I'd believe anythin' o' the mistress
now--even that she'd take ter playin' it herself!"
"But hain't the little gal told her--ever? She's told ev'ry one
else, I guess. I'm hearin' of it ev'rywhere, now, since she was
hurted," said Tom.
"Well, she didn't tell Miss Polly," rejoined Nancy. "Miss
Pollyanna told me long ago that she couldn't tell her, 'cause her
aunt didn't like ter have her talk about her father; an' 'twas
her father's game, an' she'd have ter talk about him if she did
tell it. So she never told her."
"Oh, I see, I see." The old man nodded his head slowly. "They
was always bitter against the minister chap--all of 'em, 'cause
he took Miss Jennie away from 'em. An' Miss Polly--young as she
was--couldn't never forgive him; she was that fond of Miss
Jennie--in them days. I see, I see. 'Twas a bad mess," he sighed,
as he turned away.
"Yes, 'twas--all 'round, all 'round," sighed Nancy in her turn,
as she went back to her kitchen.
For no one were those days of waiting easy. The nurse tried to
look cheerful, but her eyes were troubled. The doctor was openly
nervous and impatient. Miss Polly said little; but even the
softening waves of hair about her face, and the becoming laces at
her throat, could not hide the fact that she was growing thin and
pale. As to Pollyanna--Pollyanna petted the dog, smoothed the
cat's sleek head, admired the flowers and ate the fruits and
jellies that were sent in to her; and returned innumerable cheery
answers to the many messages of love and inquiry that were
brought to her bedside. But she, too, grew pale and thin; and the
nervous activity of the poor little hands and arms only
emphasized the pitiful motionlessness of the once active little
feet and legs now lying so woefully quiet under the blankets.
As to the game--Pollyanna told Nancy these days how glad she was
going to be when she could go to school again, go to see Mrs.
Snow, go to call on Mr. Pendleton, and go to ride with Dr.
Chilton nor did she seem to realize that all this "gladness" was
in the future, not the present. Nancy, however, did realize
it--and cry about it, when she was alone.
CHAPTER XXVI. A DOOR AJAR
Just a week from the time Dr. Mead, the specialist, was first
expected, he came. He was a tall, broad-shouldered man with kind
gray eyes, and a cheerful smile. Pollyanna liked him at once, and
told him so.
"You look quite a lot like MY doctor, you see," she added
engagingly.
"YOUR doctor?" Dr. Mead glanced in evident surprise at Dr.
Warren, talking with the nurse a few feet away. Dr. Warren was a
small, brown-eyed man with a pointed brown beard.
"Oh, THAT isn't my doctor," smiled Pollyanna, divining his
thought. "Dr. Warren is Aunt Polly's doctor. My doctor is Dr.
Chilton."
"Oh-h!" said Dr. Mead, a little oddly, his eyes resting on Miss
Polly, who, with a vivid blush, had turned hastily away.
"Yes." Pollyanna hesitated, then continued with her usual
truthfulness. "You see, _I_ wanted Dr. Chilton all the time, but
Aunt Polly wanted you. She said you knew more than Dr. Chilton,
anyway about--about broken legs like mine. And of course if you
do, I can be glad for that. Do you?"
A swift something crossed the doctor's face that Pollyanna could
not quite translate.
"Only time can tell that, little girl," he said gently; then he
turned a grave face toward Dr. Warren, who had just come to the
bedside.
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