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"Suppose you let me drive you home, Pollyanna," he suggested. "I
want to speak to you a minute. I, was just driving out to your
place to tell you," he went on, as Pollyanna settled herself at
his side. "Mr. Pendleton sent a special request for you to go to
see him this afternoon, SURE. He says it's very important."

Pollyanna nodded happily.

"Yes, it is, I know. I'll go."

The doctor eyed her with some surprise.

"I'm not sure I shall let you, after all," he declared, his eyes
twinkling. "You seemed more upsetting than soothing yesterday,
young lady."

Pollyanna laughed.

"Oh, it wasn't me, truly--not really, you know; not so much as it
was Aunt Polly."

The doctor turned with a quick start.

"Your--aunt!" he ejaculated.

Pollyanna gave a happy little bounce in her seat.

"Yes. And it's so exciting and lovely, just like a story, you
know. I--I'm going to tell you," she burst out, with sudden
decision. "He said not to mention it; but he wouldn't mind your
knowing, of course. He meant not to mention it to HER."

"HER?"

"Yes; Aunt Polly. And, of course he WOULD want to tell her
himself instead of having me do it--lovers, so!"

"Lovers!" As the doctor said the word, the horse started
violently, as if the hand that held the reins had given them a
sharp jerk.

"Yes," nodded Pollyanna, happily. "That's the story-part, you
see. I didn't know it till Nancy told me. She said Aunt Polly had
a lover years ago, and they quarrelled. She didn't know who it
was at first. But we've found out now. It's Mr. Pendleton, you
know."

The doctor relaxed suddenly, The hand holding the reins fell
limply to his lap.

"Oh! No; I--didn't know," he said quietly.

Pollyanna hurried on--they were nearing the Harrington homestead.

"Yes; and I'm so glad now. It's come out lovely. Mr. Pendleton
asked me to come and live with him, but of course I wouldn't
leave Aunt Polly like that--after she'd been so good to me. Then
he told me all about the woman's hand and heart that he used to
want, and I found out that he wanted it now; and I was so glad!
For of course if he wants to make up the quarrel, everything will
be all right now, and Aunt Polly and I will both go to live
there, or else he'll come to live with us. Of course Aunt Polly
doesn't know yet, and we haven't got everything settled; so I
suppose that is why he wanted to see me this afternoon, sure."

The doctor sat suddenly erect. There was an odd smile on his
lips.

"Yes; I can well imagine that Mr. John Pendleton does--want to
see you, Pollyanna," he nodded, as he pulled his horse to a stop
before the door.

"There's Aunt Polly now in the window," cried Pollyanna; then, a
second later: "Why, no, she isn't--but I thought I saw her!"

"No; she isn't there--now," said the doctor, His lips had
suddenly lost their smile.

Pollyanna found a very nervous John Pendleton waiting for her
that afternoon.

"Pollyanna," he began at once. "I've been trying all night to
puzzle out what you meant by all that, yesterday--about my
wanting your Aunt Polly's hand and heart here all those years.
What did you mean?"

"Why, because you were lovers, you know once; and I was so glad
you still felt that way now."

"Lovers!--your Aunt Polly and I?"

At the obvious surprise in the man's voice, Pollyanna opened wide
her eyes.

"Why, Mr. Pendleton, Nancy said you were!"

The man gave a short little laugh.

"Indeed! Well, I'm afraid I shall have to say that Nancy--didn't
know."

"Then you--weren't lovers?" Pollyanna's voice was tragic with
dismay.

"Never!"

"And it ISN'T all coming out like a book?"

There was no answer. The man's eyes were moodily fixed out the
window.

"O dear! And it was all going so splendidly," almost sobbed
Pollyanna. "I'd have been so glad to come--with Aunt Polly."

"And you won't--now?" The man asked the question without turning
his head.

"Of course not! I'm Aunt Polly's."

The man turned now, almost fiercely.

"Before you were hers, Pollyanna, you were--your mother's.
And--it was your mother's hand and heart that I wanted long years
ago."

"My mother's!"

"Yes. I had not meant to tell you, but perhaps it's better, after
all, that I do--now." John Pendleton's face had grown very
white. He was speaking with evident difficulty. Pollyanna, her
eyes wide and frightened, and her lips parted, was gazing at him
fixedly. "I loved your mother; but she--didn't love me. And after
a time she went away with--your father. I did not know until then
how much I did--care. The whole world suddenly seemed to turn
black under my fingers, and--But, never mind. For long years I
have been a cross, crabbed, unlovable, unloved old man--though
I'm not nearly sixty, yet, Pollyanna. Then, One day, like one of
the prisms that you love so well, little girl, you danced into my
life, and flecked my dreary old world with dashes of the purple
and gold and scarlet of your own bright cheeriness. I found out,
after a time, who you were, and--and I thought then I never
wanted to see you again. I didn't want to be reminded of--your
mother. But--you know how that came out. I just had to have you
come. And now I want you always. Pollyanna, won't you come NOW?"

"But, Mr. Pendleton, I--There's Aunt Polly!" Pollyanna's eyes
were blurred with tears.

The man made an impatient gesture.

"What about me? How do you suppose I'm going to be 'glad' about
anything--without you? Why, Pollyanna, it's only since you came
that I've been even half glad to live! But if I had you for my
own little girl, I'd be glad for--anything; and I'd try to make
you glad, too, my dear. You shouldn't have a wish ungratified.
All my money, to the last cent, should go to make you happy."

Pollyanna looked shocked.

"Why, Mr. Pendleton, as if I'd let you spend it on me--all that
money you've saved for the heathen!"

A dull red came to the man's face. He started to speak, but
Pollyanna was still talking.

"Besides, anybody with such a lot of money as you have doesn't
need me to make you glad about things. You're making other folks
so glad giving them things that you just can't help being glad
yourself! Why, look at those prisms you gave Mrs. Snow and me,
and the gold piece you gave Nancy on her birthday, and--"

"Yes, yes--never mind about all that," interrupted the man. His
face was very, very red now--and no wonder, perhaps: it was not
for "giving things" that John Pendleton had been best known in
the past. "That's all nonsense. 'Twasn't much, anyhow--but what
there was, was because of you. YOU gave those things; not I! Yes,
you did," he repeated, in answer to the shocked denial in her
face. "And that only goes to prove all the more how I need you,
little girl," he added, his voice softening into tender pleading
once more. "If ever, ever I am to play the 'glad game,'
Pollyanna, you'll have to come and play it with me."

The little girl's forehead puckered into a wistful frown.

"Aunt Polly has been so good to me," she began; but the man
interrupted her sharply. The old irritability had come back to
his face. Impatience which would brook no opposition had been a
part of John Pendleton's nature too long to yield very easily now
to restraint.

"Of course she's been good to you! But she doesn't want you, I'll
warrant, half so much as I do," he contested.

"Why, Mr. Pendleton, she's glad, I know, to have--"

"Glad!" interrupted the man, thoroughly losing his patience now.
"I'll wager Miss Polly doesn't know how to be glad--for anything!
Oh, she does her duty, I know. She's a very DUTIFUL woman. I've
had experience with her 'duty,' before. I'll acknowledge we
haven't been the best of friends for the last fifteen or twenty
years. But I know her. Every one knows her--and she isn't the
'glad' kind, Pollyanna. She doesn't know how to be. As for your
coming to me--you just ask her and see if she won't let you come.
And, oh, little girl, little girl, I want you so!" he finished
brokenly.

Pollyanna rose to her feet with a long sigh.

"All right. I'll ask her," she said wistfully. "Of course I don't
mean that I wouldn't like to live here with you, Mr. Pendleton,
but--" She did not complete her sentence. There was a moment's
silence, then she added: "Well, anyhow, I'm glad I didn't tell
her yesterday;--'cause then I supposed SHE was wanted, too."

John Pendleton smiled grimly.

"Well, yes, Pollyanna; I guess it is just as well you didn't
mention it--yesterday."

"I didn't--only to the doctor; and of course he doesn't count."

"The doctor!" cried John Pendleton, turning quickly.
"Not--Dr.--Chilton?"

"Yes; when he came to tell me you wanted to see me to-day, you
know."

"Well, of all the--" muttered the man, falling back in his chair.
Then he sat up with sudden interest. "And what did Dr. Chilton
say?" he asked.

Pollyanna frowned thoughtfully.

"Why, I don't remember. Not much, I reckon. Oh, he did say he
could well imagine you did want to see me."

"Oh, did he, indeed!" answered John Pendleton. And Pollyanna
wondered why he gave that sudden queer little laugh.

CHAPTER XXI. A QUESTION ANSWERED

The sky was darkening fast with what appeared to be an
approaching thunder shower when Pollyanna hurried down the hill
from John Pendleton's house. Half-way home she met Nancy with an
umbrella. By that time, however, the clouds had shifted their
position and the shower was not so imminent.

"Guess it's goin' 'round ter the north," announced Nancy, eyeing
the sky critically. "I thought 'twas, all the time, but Miss Polly
wanted me ter come with this. She was WORRIED about ye!"

"Was she?" murmured Pollyanna abstractedly, eyeing the clouds in
her turn.

Nancy sniffed a little.

"You don't seem ter notice what I said," she observed
aggrievedly. "I said yer aunt was WORRIED about ye!"

"Oh," sighed Pollyanna, remembering suddenly the question she was
so soon to ask her aunt. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare her."

"Well, I'm glad," retorted Nancy, unexpectedly. "I am, I am."

Pollyanna stared.

"GLAD that Aunt Polly was scared about me! Why, Nancy, THAT isn't
the way to play the game--to be glad for things like that!" she
objected.

"There wa'n't no game in it," retorted Nancy. "Never thought of
it. YOU don't seem ter sense what it means ter have Miss Polly
WORRIED about ye, child!"

"Why, it means worried--and worried is horrid--to feel,"
maintained Pollyanna. "What else can it mean?"

Nancy tossed her head.

"Well, I'll tell ye what it means. It means she's at last gettin'
down somewheres near human--like folks; an' that she ain't jest
doin' her duty by ye all the time."

"Why, Nancy," demurred the scandalized Pollyanna, "Aunt Polly
always does her duty. She--she's a very dutiful woman!"
Unconsciously Pollyanna repeated John Pendleton's words of half
an hour before.

Nancy chuckled.

"You're right she is--and she always was, I guess! But she's
somethin' more, now, since you came."

Pollyanna's face changed. Her brows drew into a troubled frown.

"There, that's what I was going to ask you, Nancy," she sighed.
"Do you think Aunt Polly likes to have me here? Would she
mind--if if I wasn't here any more?"

Nancy threw a quick look into the little girl's absorbed face.
She had expected to be asked this question long before, and she
had dreaded it. She had wondered how she should answer it--how
she could answer it honestly without cruelly hurting the
questioner. But now, NOW, in the face of the new suspicions that
had become convictions by the afternoon's umbrella-sending--Nancy
only welcomed the question with open arms. She was sure that,
with a clean conscience to-day, she could set the love-hungry
little girl's heart at rest.

"Likes ter have ye here? Would she miss ye if ye wa'n't here?"
cried Nancy, indignantly. "As if that wa'n't jest what I was
tellin' of ye! Didn't she send me posthaste with an umbrella
'cause she see a little cloud in the sky? Didn't she make me tote
yer things all down-stairs, so you could have the pretty room you
wanted? Why, Miss Pollyanna, when ye remember how at first she
hated ter have--"

With a choking cough Nancy pulled herself up just in time.

"And it ain't jest things I can put my fingers on, neither,"
rushed on Nancy, breathlessly. "It's little ways she has, that
shows how you've been softenin' her up an' mellerin' her
down--the cat, and the dog, and the way she speaks ter me, and
oh, lots o' things. Why, Miss Pollyanna, there ain't no tellin'
how she'd miss ye--if ye wa'n't here," finished Nancy, speaking
with an enthusiastic certainty that was meant to hide the
perilous admission she had almost made before. Even then she was
not quite prepared for the sudden joy that illumined Pollyanna's
face.

"Oh, Nancy, I'm so glad--glad--glad! You don't know how glad I am
that Aunt Polly--wants me!"

"As if I'd leave her now!" thought Pollyanna, as she climbed the
stairs to her room a little later. "I always knew I wanted to
live with Aunt Polly--but I reckon maybe I didn't know quite how
much I wanted Aunt Polly--to want to live with ME!"

The task of telling John Pendleton of her decision would not be
an easy one, Pollyanna knew, and she dreaded it. She was very
fond of John Pendleton, and she was very sorry for him--because
he seemed to be so sorry for himself. She was sorry, too, for the
long, lonely life that had made him so unhappy; and she was
grieved that it had been because of her mother that he had spent
those dreary years. She pictured the great gray house as it would
be after its master was well again, with its silent rooms, its
littered floors, its disordered desk; and her heart ached for his
loneliness. She wished that somewhere, some one might be found
who--And it was at this point that she sprang to her feet with a
little cry of joy at the thought that had come to her.

As soon as she could, after that, she hurried up the hill to John
Pendleton's house; and in due time she found herself in the great
dim library, with John Pendleton himself sitting near her, his
long, thin hands lying idle on the arms of his chair, and his
faithful little dog at his feet.

"Well, Pollyanna, is it to be the 'glad game' with me, all the
rest of my life?" asked the man, gently.

"Oh, yes," cried Pollyanna. "I've thought of the very gladdest
kind of a thing for you to do, and--"

"With--YOU?" asked John Pendleton, his mouth growing a little
stern at the corners.

"N-no; but--"

"Pollyanna, you aren't going to say no!" interrupted a voice deep
with emotion.

"I--I've got to, Mr. Pendleton; truly I have. Aunt Polly--"

"Did she REFUSE--to let you--come?"

"I--I didn't ask her," stammered the little girl, miserably.

"Pollyanna!"

Pollyanna turned away her eyes. She could not meet the hurt,
grieved gaze of her friend.

"So you didn't even ask her!"

"I couldn't, sir--truly," faltered Pollyanna. "You see, I found
out--without asking. Aunt Polly WANTS me with her, and--and I
want to stay, too," she confessed bravely. "You don't know how
good she's been to me; and--and I think, really, sometimes she's
beginning to be glad about things--lots of things. And you know
she never used to be. You said it yourself. Oh, Mr. Pendleton, I
COULDN'T leave Aunt Polly--now!"

There was a long pause. Only the snapping of the wood fire in the
grate broke the silence. At last, however, the man spoke.

"No, Pollyanna; I see. You couldn't leave her--now," he said. "I
won't ask you--again." The last word was so low it was almost
inaudible; but Pollyanna heard.

"Oh, but you don't know about the rest of it," she reminded him
eagerly. "There's the very gladdest thing you CAN do--truly there
is!"

"Not for me, Pollyanna."

"Yes, sir, for you. You SAID it. You said only a--a woman's hand
and heart or a child's presence could make a home. And I can get
it for you--a child's presence;--not me, you know, but another
one."

"As if I would have any but you!" resented an indignant voice.

"But you will--when you know; you're so kind and good! Why, think
of the prisms and the gold pieces, and all that money you save
for the heathen, and--"

"Pollyanna!" interrupted the man, savagely. "Once for all let us
end that nonsense! I've tried to tell you half a dozen times
before. There is no money for the heathen. I never sent a penny
to them in my life. There!"

He lifted his chin and braced himself to meet what he
expected--the grieved disappointment of Pollyanna's eyes. To his
amazement, however, there was neither grief nor disappointment in
Pollyanna's eyes. There was only surprised joy.

"Oh, oh!" she cried, clapping her hands. "I'm so glad! That is,"
she corrected, coloring distressfully, "I don't mean that I'm not
sorry for the heathen, only just now I can't help being glad that
you don't want the little India boys, because all the rest have
wanted them. And so I'm glad you'd rather have Jimmy Bean. Now I
know you'll take him!"

"Take--WHO?"

"Jimmy Bean. He's the 'child's presence,' you know; and he'll be
so glad to be it. I had to tell him last week that even my
Ladies' Aid out West wouldn't take him, and he was so
disappointed. But now--when he hears of this--he'll be so glad!"

"Will he? Well, I won't," ejaculated the man, decisively.
"Pollyanna, this is sheer nonsense!"

"You don't mean--you won't take him?"

"I certainly do mean just that."

"But he'd be a lovely child's presence," faltered Pollyanna. She
was almost crying now. "And you COULDN'T be lonesome--with Jimmy
'round."

"I don't doubt it," rejoined the man; "but--I think I prefer the
lonesomeness."

It was then that Pollyanna, for the first time in weeks, suddenly
remembered something Nancy had once told her. She raised her chin
aggrievedly.

"Maybe you think a nice live little boy wouldn't be better than
that old dead skeleton you keep somewhere; but I think it would!"

"SKELETON?"

"Yes. Nancy said you had one in your closet, somewhere."

"Why, what--" Suddenly the man threw back his head and laughed.
He laughed very heartily indeed--so heartily that Pollyanna began
to cry from pure nervousness. When he saw that, John Pendleton
sat erect very promptly. His face grew grave at once.

"Pollyanna, I suspect you are right--more right than you know,"
he said gently. "In fact, I KNOW that a 'nice live little boy'
would be far better than--my skeleton in the closet; only--we
aren't always willing to make the exchange. We are apt to still
cling to--our skeletons, Pollyanna. However, suppose you tell me
a little more about this nice little boy." And Pollyanna told
him.

Perhaps the laugh cleared the air; or perhaps the pathos of Jimmy
Bean's story as told by Pollyanna's eager little lips touched a
heart already strangely softened. At all events, when Pollyanna
went home that night she carried with her an invitation for Jimmy
Bean himself to call at the great house with Pollyanna the next
Saturday afternoon.

"And I'm so glad, and I'm sure you'll like him," sighed
Pollyanna, as she said good-by. "I do so want Jimmy Bean to have
a home--and folks that care, you know."

CHAPTER XXII. SERMONS AND WOODBOXES

On the afternoon that Pollyanna told John Pendleton of Jimmy
Bean, the Rev. Paul Ford climbed the hill and entered the
Pendleton Woods, hoping that the hushed beauty of God's
out-of-doors would still the tumult that His children of men had
wrought.

The Rev. Paul Ford was sick at heart. Month by month, for a year
past, conditions in the parish under him had been growing worse
and worse; until it seemed that now, turn which way he would, he
encountered only wrangling, backbiting, scandal, and jealousy. He
had argued, pleaded, rebuked, and ignored by turns; and always
and through all he had prayed--earnestly, hopefully. But to-day
miserably he was forced to own that matters were no better, but
rather worse.

Two of his deacons were at swords' points over a silly something
that only endless brooding had made of any account. Three of his
most energetic women workers had withdrawn from the Ladies' Aid
Society because a tiny spark of gossip had been fanned by wagging
tongues into a devouring flame of scandal. The choir had split
over the amount of solo work given to a fanciedly preferred
singer. Even the Christian Endeavor Society was in a ferment of
unrest owing to open criticism of two of its officers. As to the
Sunday school--it had been the resignation of its superintendent
and two of its teachers that had been the last straw, and that
had sent the harassed minister to the quiet woods for prayer and
meditation.

Under the green arch of the trees the Rev. Paul Ford faced the
thing squarely. To his mind, the crisis had come. Something must
be done--and done at once. The entire work of the church was at a
standstill. The Sunday services, the week-day prayer meeting, the
missionary teas, even the suppers and socials were becoming less
and less well attended. True, a few conscientious workers were
still left. But they pulled at cross purposes, usually; and
always they showed themselves to be acutely aware of the critical
eyes all about them, and of the tongues that had nothing to do
but to talk about what the eyes saw.

And because of all this, the Rev. Paul Ford understood very well
that he (God's minister), the church, the town, and even
Christianity itself was suffering; and must suffer still more
unless--

Clearly something must be done, and done at once. But what?

Slowly the minister took from his pocket the notes he had made
for his next Sunday's sermon. Frowningly he looked at them. His
mouth settled into stern lines, as aloud, very impressively, he
read the verses on which he had determined to speak:

" 'But woe unto you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! for ye
shut up the kingdom of heaven against men: for ye neither go in
yourselves, neither suffer ye them that are entering to go in.'

" 'Woe unto you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! for ye devour
widows' houses, and for a pretence make long prayer: therefore ye
shall receive the greater damnation.'

" 'Woe unto you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! for ye pay
tithe of mint and anise and cummin, and have omitted the
weightier matters of the law, judgment, mercy, and faith: these
ought ye to have done, and not to leave the other undone.' "

It was a bitter denunciation. In the green aisles of the woods,
the minister's deep voice rang out with scathing effect. Even the
birds and squirrels seemed hushed into awed silence. It brought
to the minister a vivid realization of how those words would
sound the next Sunday when he should utter them before his people
in the sacred hush of the church.

His people!--they WERE his people. Could he do it? Dare he do it?
Dare he not do it? It was a fearful denunciation, even without
the words that would follow--his own words. He had prayed and
prayed. He had pleaded earnestly for help, for guidance. He
longed--oh, how earnestly he longed!--to take now, in this
crisis, the right step. But was this--the right step?

Slowly the minister folded the papers and thrust them back into
his pocket. Then, with a sigh that was almost a moan, he flung
himself down at the foot of a tree, and covered his face with his
hands.

It was there that Pollyanna, on her way home from the Pendleton
house, found him. With a little cry she ran forward.

"Oh, oh, Mr. Ford! You--YOU haven't broken YOUR leg or--or
anything, have you?" she gasped.

The minister dropped his hands, and looked up quickly. He tried
to smile.

"No, dear--no, indeed! I'm just--resting."

"Oh," sighed Pollyanna, falling back a little. "That's all right,
then. You see, Mr. Pendleton HAD broken his leg when I found
him--but he was lying down, though. And you are sitting up."

"Yes, I am sitting up; and I haven't broken anything--that
doctors can mend."

The last words were very low, but Pollyanna heard them. A swift
change crossed her face. Her eyes glowed with tender sympathy.

"I know what you mean--something plagues you. Father used to feel
like that, lots of times. I reckon ministers do--most generally.
You see there's such a lot depends on 'em, somehow."

The Rev. Paul Ford turned a little wonderingly.

"Was YOUR father a minister, Pollyanna?"

"Yes, sir. Didn't you know? I supposed everybody knew that. He
married Aunt Polly's sister, and she was my mother."

"Oh, I understand. But, you see, I haven't been here many years,
so I don't know all the family histories."

"Yes, sir--I mean, no, sir," smiled Pollyanna.

There was a long pause. The minister, still sitting at the foot
of the tree, appeared to have forgotten Pollyanna's presence. He
had pulled some papers from his pocket and unfolded them; but he
was not looking at them. He was gazing, instead, at a leaf on the
ground a little distance away--and it was not even a pretty leaf.
It was brown and dead. Pollyanna, looking at him, felt vaguely
sorry for him.

"It--it's a nice day," she began hopefully.

For a moment there was no answer; then the minister looked up
with a start.

"What? Oh!--yes, it is a very nice day."

"And 'tisn't cold at all, either, even if 'tis October," observed
Pollyanna, still more hopefully. "Mr. Pendleton had a fire, but
he said he didn't need it. It was just to look at. I like to look
at fires, don't you?"

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