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.
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