"Nothin', sir, only--well, ye see, that's one of the things that she was
feelin' bad about, that she couldn't take him ter see you, now. She said
she'd taken him once, but she didn't think he showed off very well that
day, and that she was afraid you didn't think he would make a very nice
child's presence, after all. Maybe you know what she means by that; but
I didn't, sir."

"Yes, I know--what she means."

"All right, sir. It was only that she was wantin' ter take him again,
she said, so's ter show ye he really was a lovely child's presence. And
now she--can't--drat that autymobile! I begs yer pardon, sir. Good-by!"
And Nancy fled precipitately.

It did not take long for the entire town of Beldingsville to learn that
the great New York doctor had said Pollyanna Whittier would never
walk again; and certainly never before had the town been so stirred.
Everybody knew by sight now the piquant little freckled face that had
always a smile of greeting; and almost everybody knew of the "game" that
Pollyanna was playing. To think that now never again would that smiling
face be seen on their streets--never again would that cheery little
voice proclaim the gladness of some everyday experience! It seemed
unbelievable, impossible, cruel.

In kitchens and sitting rooms, and over back-yard fences women talked of
it, and wept openly. On street corners and in store lounging-places the
men talked, too, and wept--though not so openly. And neither the talking
nor the weeping grew less when fast on the heels of the news itself,
came Nancy's pitiful story that Pollyanna, face to face with what had
come to her, was bemoaning most of all the fact that she could not play
the game; that she could not now be glad over--anything.

It was then that the same thought must have, in some way, come to
Pollyanna's friends. At all events, almost at once, the mistress of the
Harrington homestead, greatly to her surprise, began to receive calls:
calls from people she knew, and people she did not know; calls from men,
women, and children--many of whom Miss Polly had not supposed that her
niece knew at all.

Some came in and sat down for a stiff five or ten minutes. Some stood
awkwardly on the porch steps, fumbling with hats or hand-bags, according
to their sex. Some brought a book, a bunch of flowers, or a dainty to
tempt the palate. Some cried frankly. Some turned their backs and blew
their noses furiously. But all inquired very anxiously for the