The man did not answer. His face, as he lay back on the pillow now, was
very white--so white that Pollyanna was frightened. She rose uncertainly
to her feet.

"I reckon maybe I'd better go now," she proposed. "I--I hope you'll
like--the jelly."

The man turned his head suddenly, and opened his eyes. There was a
curious longing in their dark depths which even Pollyanna saw, and at
which she marvelled.

"And so you are--Miss Polly Harrington's niece," he said gently.

"Yes, sir."

Still the man's dark eyes lingered on her face, until Pollyanna, feeling
vaguely restless, murmured:

"I--I suppose you know--her."

John Pendleton's lips curved in an odd smile.

"Oh, yes; I know her." He hesitated, then went on, still with that
curious smile. "But--you don't mean--you can't mean that it was Miss
Polly Harrington who sent that jelly--to me?" he said slowly.

Pollyanna looked distressed.

"N-no, sir: she didn't. She said I must be very sure not to let you
think she did send it. But I--"

"I thought as much," vouchsafed the man, shortly, turning away his head.
And Pollyanna, still more distressed, tiptoed from the room.

Under the porte-cochere she found the doctor waiting in his gig. The
nurse stood on the steps.

"Well, Miss Pollyanna, may I have the pleasure of seeing you home?"
asked the doctor smilingly. "I started to drive on a few minutes ago;
then it occurred to me that I'd wait for you."

"Thank you, sir. I'm glad you did. I just love to ride," beamed
Pollyanna, as he reached out his hand to help her in.

"Do you?" smiled the doctor, nodding his head in farewell to the young
man on the steps. "Well, as near as I can judge, there are a good many
things you 'love' to do--eh?" he added, as they drove briskly away.

Pollyanna laughed.

"Why, I don't know. I reckon perhaps there are," she admitted. "I like
to do 'most everything that's LIVING. Of course I don't like the other
things very well--sewing, and reading out loud, and all that. But THEY
aren't LIVING."

"No? What are they, then?"

"Aunt Polly says they're 'learning to live,'" sighed Pollyanna, with a
rueful smile.

The doctor smiled now--a little queerly.

"Does she? Well, I should think she might say--just that."

"Yes," responded Pollyanna. "But I don't see it that way at all. I don't
think you have to LEARN how to live. I didn't, anyhow."

The doctor drew a long sigh.

"After all, I'm afraid some of us--do have to, little girl," he