"Poor--little--girl! Poor--little--girl!"
Nancy glanced at him, but dropped her eyes at once. She had not
supposed that sour, cross, stern John Pendleton could look like
that. In a moment he spoke again, still in the low, unsteady
voice.
"It seems cruel--never to dance in the sunshine again! My little
prism girl!"
There was another silence; then, abruptly, the man asked:
"She herself doesn't know yet--of course--does she?"
"But she does, sir." sobbed Nancy, "an' that's what makes it all
the harder. She found out--drat that cat! I begs yer pardon,"
apologized the girl, hurriedly. "It's only that the cat pushed
open the door an' Miss Pollyanna overheard 'em talkin'. She found
out--that way."
"Poor--little--girl!" sighed the man again.
"Yes, sir. You'd say so, sir, if you could see her," choked
Nancy. "I hain't seen her but twice since she knew about it, an'
it done me up both times. Ye see it's all so fresh an' new to
her, an' she keeps thinkin' all the time of new things she can't
do--NOW.
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