She can always be sick and
have things, you know; but his is just a broken leg, and legs
don't last--I mean, broken ones. He's had it a whole week now."
"Yes, I remember. I heard Mr. John Pendleton had met with an
accident," said Miss Polly, a little stiffly; "but--I do not care
to be sending jelly to John Pendleton, Pollyanna."
"I know, he is cross--outside," admitted Pollyanna, sadly, "so I
suppose you don't like him. But I wouldn't say 'twas you sent it.
I'd say 'twas me. I like him. I'd be glad to send him jelly."
Miss Polly began to shake her head again. Then, suddenly, she
stopped, and asked in a curiously quiet voice:
"Does he know who you--are, Pollyanna?"
The little girl sighed.
"I reckon not. I told him my name, once, but he never calls me
it--never."
"Does he know where you--live?"
"Oh, no. I never told him that."
"Then he doesn't know you're my--niece?"
"I don't think so."
For a moment there was silence. Miss Polly was looking at
Pollyanna with eyes that did not seem to see her at all.
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