Pollyanna & Pollyanna Grows Up (Musaicum Children's Classics). Eleanor H. Porter

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      The doctor’s eyes filled with sudden hot tears. The doctor’s life was a singularly lonely one. He had no wife and no home save his two-room office in a boarding house. His profession was very dear to him. Looking now into Pollyanna’s shining eyes, he felt as if a loving hand had been suddenly laid on his head in blessing. He knew, too, that never again would a long day’s work or a long night’s weariness be quite without that new-found exaltation that had come to him through Pollyanna’s eyes.

      “God bless you, little girl,” he said unsteadily. Then, with the bright smile his patients knew and loved so well, he added: “And I’m thinking, after all, that it was the doctor, quite as much as his patients, that needed a draft of that tonic!” All of which puzzled Pollyanna very much—until a chipmunk, running across the road, drove the whole matter from her mind.

      The doctor left Pollyanna at her own door, smiled at Nancy, who was sweeping off the front porch, then drove rapidly away.

      “I’ve had a perfectly beautiful ride with the doctor,” announced Pollyanna, bounding up the steps. “He’s lovely, Nancy!”

      “Is he?”

      “Yes. And I told him I should think his business would be the very gladdest one there was.”

      “What!—goin’ ter see sick folks—an’ folks what ain’t sick but thinks they is, which is worse?” Nancy’s face showed open skepticism.

      Pollyanna laughed gleefully.

      “Yes. That’s ‘most what he said, too; but there is a way to be glad, even then. Guess!”

      Nancy frowned in meditation. Nancy was getting so she could play this game of “being glad” quite successfully, she thought. She rather enjoyed studying out Pollyanna’s “posers,” too, as she called some of the little girl’s questions.

      “Oh, I know,” she chuckled. “It’s just the opposite from what you told Mis’ Snow.”

      “Opposite?” repeated Pollyanna, obviously puzzled.

      “Yes. You told her she could be glad because other folks wasn’t like her—all sick, you know.”

      “Yes,” nodded Pollyanna.

      “Well, the doctor can be glad because he isn’t like other folks—the sick ones, I mean, what he doctors,” finished Nancy in triumph.

      It was Pollyanna’s turn to frown.

      “Why, y-yes,” she admitted. “Of course that IS one way, but it isn’t the way I said; and—someway, I don’t seem to quite like the sound of it. It isn’t exactly as if he said he was glad they WERE sick, but—You do play the game so funny, sometimes Nancy,” she sighed, as she went into the house.

      Pollyanna found her aunt in the sitting room.

      “Who was that man—the one who drove into the yard, Pollyanna?” questioned the lady a little sharply.

      “Why, Aunt Polly, that was Dr. Chilton! Don’t you know him?”

      “Dr. Chilton! What was he doing—here?”

      “He drove me home. Oh, and I gave the jelly to Mr. Pendleton, and—”

      Miss Polly lifted her head quickly.

      “Pollyanna, he did not think I sent it?”

      “Oh, no, Aunt Polly. I told him you didn’t.”

      Miss Polly grew a sudden vivid pink.

      “You TOLD him I didn’t!”

      Pollyanna opened wide her eyes at the remonstrative dismay in her aunt’s voice.

      “Why, Aunt Polly, you SAID to!”

      Aunt Polly sighed.

      “I SAID, Pollyanna, that I did not send it, and for you to be very sure that he did not think I DID!—which is a very different matter from TELLING him outright that I did not send it.” And she turned vexedly away.

      “Dear me! Well, I don’t see where the difference is,” sighed Pollyanna, as she went to hang her hat on the one particular hook in the house upon which Aunt Polly had said that it must be hung.

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