Pollyanna was a little late for supper on the night of the accident to John Pendleton.
Nancy met her at the door.
“Well, I’m glad you’re home,” she sighed in obvious relief. “It’s half-past six!”
“I know it,” said Pollyanna; “but I’m not to blame. And I don’t think even Aunt Polly will say I am, either.”
“She won’t have the chance,” retorted Nancy. “She’s gone. She will be back in three days.”
And Pollyanna began to tell of the accident; and Nancy, open-mouthed, was listening.
At the appointed place the next afternoon, Pollyanna met Jimmy. As was to be expected, of course, Jimmy showed disappointment about the Ladies’ Aid decision.
About a week after the accident in Pendleton Woods that Pollyanna said to her aunt one morning:
“Aunt Polly, please would you mind very much if I took Mrs. Snow’s calf’s-foot jelly this week to someone else?”
“Dear me, Pollyanna, what ARE you up to now?” sighed her aunt.
“Please let me take jelly to HIM. He has broken leg.”
“‘Him’? ‘Broken leg’? What are you talking about, Pollyanna?”
“Oh, I forgot. I reckon you didn’t know. You see, it happened while you were gone. I found him in the woods, you know; and I had to unlock his house and telephone for the men and the doctor, and everything. Aunt Polly, may I take jelly to him?”
“Yes, I suppose so,” said Miss Polly. “Who was he?”
“The Man. I mean, Mr. John Pendleton.”
Miss Polly almost sprang from her chair.
“JOHN PENDLETON!”
“Yes. Nancy told me his name. Maybe you know him.”
Miss Polly did not answer this. Instead she asked:
“Do YOU know him?”
Pollyanna nodded.
“Oh, yes. He always speaks and smiles. He’s only cross OUTSIDE, you know. I’ll go and get the jelly.” finished Pollyanna, already halfway across the room.
“Pollyanna, wait! I’ve changed my mind. Take the jelly to Mrs. Snow as usual. That is all. You may go now.”
“I know, he is cross – outside,” said Pollyanna, sadly, “so I suppose you don’t like him. But I like him. I’d be glad to send him jelly.”
Miss Polly began to shake her head. 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.”
“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. Then Miss Polly roused herself with a start.
“Very well, Pollyanna,” she said at last, “you may take the jelly to Mr. Pendleton as your own gift. But understand: I do not send it. Be very sure that he does not think I do!”
“Thank you, Aunt Polly,” exulted Pollyanna.