At Mrs. Snow’s request, Pollyanna went one day to Dr. Chilton’s office to get some medicine.

“This IS your home, isn’t it?” she said, looking interestedly about her.

The doctor smiled a little sadly.

“Yes, it is,” he answered, “but it’s a pretty poor apology for a home, Pollyanna. They’re just rooms, that’s all – not a home.”

Pollyanna nodded her head. Her eyes glowed with sympathetic understanding.

“I know. It takes a woman’s hand and heart, or a child’s presence to make a home,” she said.

“Eh?”

“Mr. Pendleton told me,” nodded Pollyanna, again; “about the woman’s hand and heart, or the child’s presence, you know. Why don’t you get a woman’s hand and heart, Dr. Chilton? Or maybe you’d take Jimmy Bean – if Mr. Pendleton doesn’t want him.”

Dr. Chilton laughed a little.

“So Mr. Pendleton says it takes a woman’s hand and heart to make a home, does he?” he asked evasively.

“Yes. He says his is just a house, too. Why don’t you, Dr. Chilton?”

“Why don’t I – what?”

“Get a woman’s hand and heart. Oh – and I forgot! I suppose I ought to tell you. It wasn’t Aunt Polly that Mr. Pendleton loved long ago; and so we – we aren’t going there to live. You see, I told you it was – but I made a mistake. I hope YOU didn’t tell anyone,” she finished anxiously.

“No – I didn’t tell anyone, Pollyanna,” replied the doctor.

“Oh, that’s all right, then,” sighed Pollyanna in relief. “But why don’t you get a woman’s hand and heart, Dr. Chilton?”

There was a moment’s silence; then very gravely the doctor said:

“It isn’t easy, little girl.”

Pollyanna frowned. Then her eyes widened in surprise.

“Dr. Chilton, you don’t mean – you didn’t try to get somebody’s hand and heart once, like Mr. Pendleton, and – and couldn’t, did you?”

“There, there, Pollyanna, never mind about that now. Don’t let other people’s troubles worry your little head. Run back now to Mrs. Snow. Here is the medicine. Was there anything else?”

Pollyanna shook her head.

“No, Sir; thank you, Sir,” she murmured, as she turned toward the door. “Anyhow, I’m glad it wasn’t my mother’s hand and heart that you wanted and couldn’t get, Dr. Chilton. Goodbye!”

It was on the last day of October that the accident occurred. Pollyanna, hurrying home from school, crossed the road at an apparently safe distance in front of a swiftly approaching motor car.

Just what happened, no one could tell afterward. Nobody could tell why it happened or who was to blame that it did happen. Pollyanna, however, at five o’clock, was borne, limp and unconscious, into the little room that was so dear to her. There, by a white-faced Aunt Polly and a weeping Nancy she was undressed and put to bed, while from the village, Dr. Warren was hurrying as fast as another motor car could bring him.

“Just look at her aunt’s face,” Nancy was sobbing to Old Tom in the garden, after the doctor had arrived and was closeted in the room; “Her hands shake, and now she isn’t doing her DUTY, I’m sure of it!”

“Is she hurt – bad?” The old man’s voice shook.

“Nobody knows it,” sobbed Nancy.

“But where is she hurt?”

“I don’t know, I don’t know,” moaned Nancy. “There’s a little cut on her blessed head, but Miss Polly says she’s afraid she’s hurt internally.”

Even after the doctor was gone, however, there seemed to be little that Nancy could tell Mr. Tom. There appeared to be no bones broken, and the cut was of slight consequence; but the doctor looked very grave. Later they sent for a trained nurse.

It was sometime during the next forenoon that Pollyanna opened conscious eyes and realized where she was.

“Why, Aunt Polly, what’s the matter? Isn’t it daytime? Why don’t I get up?” she cried. “Why, Aunt Polly, I can’t get up,” she moaned, falling back on the pillow, after an ineffectual attempt to lift herself.

“No, dear, I wouldn’t try – just yet,” soothed her aunt quickly, but very quietly.

“But what is the matter? Why can’t I get up?”

“You were hurt, dear, by the automobile last night. But never mind that now. Auntie wants you to rest and go to sleep again.”

“Hurt? Oh, yes; I–I ran.” Pollyanna’s eyes were dazed. She lifted her hand to her forehead. “Why, it’s – done up, and it – hurts!”

“Yes, dear; but never mind. Just – just rest.”

“But, Aunt Polly, I feel so funny, and so bad! My legs feel so – so queer – only they don’t FEEL – at all!”

Miss Polly turned away. The nurse came forward quickly.

“Suppose you let me talk to you now,” she began cheerily. “I am Miss Hunt, and I’m here to help your aunt take care of you. And the very first thing I’m going to do is to ask you to swallow these little white pills for me.”

“But I don’t want to be taken care of – that is, not for long! I want to get up. You know I go to school. Can’t I go to school tomorrow?”

From the window where Aunt Polly stood now there came a half-stifled cry.

“Tomorrow?” smiled the nurse.

“Well, I can’t let you go to school so soon as that, Miss Pollyanna. But just swallow these little pills for me, please, and we’ll see what THEY’LL do.”

“All right,” agreed Pollyanna; “but I MUST go to school the day after tomorrow – there are examinations then, you know.”