They were sitting in the great library to-day.
"Oh, but you aren't really glad at all for things; you just SAY
you are," pouted Pollyanna, her eyes on the dog, dozing before
the fire. "You know you don't play the game right EVER, Mr.
Pendleton--you know you don't!"
The man's face grew suddenly very grave.
"That's why I want you, little girl--to help me play it. Will you
come?"
Pollyanna turned in surprise.
"Mr. Pendleton, you don't really mean--that?"
"But I do. I want you. Will you come?"
Pollyanna looked distressed.
"Why, Mr. Pendleton, I can't--you know I can't. Why, I'm--Aunt
Polly's!"
A quick something crossed the man's face that Pollyanna could not
quite understand. His head came up almost fiercely.
"You're no more hers than--Perhaps she would let you come to me,"
he finished more gently. "Would you come--if she did?"
Pollyanna frowned in deep thought.
"But Aunt Polly has been so--good to me," she began slowly; "and
she took me when I didn't have anybody left but the Ladies' Aid,
and--"
Again that spasm of something crossed the man's face; but this
time, when he spoke, his voice was low and very sad.
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