“Yes, yes; well, never mind,” interposed Aunt Polly, a trifle impatiently.  “You do run on so, Pollyanna, and no matter what we’re talking about you always bring up at those Ladies’ Aiders!”

“Yes’m,” smiled Pollyanna, cheerfully, “I reckon I do, maybe.  But you see they used to bring me up, and—­”

“That will do, Pollyanna,” interrupted a cold voice.  “Now what is it about this jelly?”

“Nothing, Aunt Polly, truly, that you would mind, I’m sure.  You let me take jelly to her, so I thought you would to him—­this once.  You see, broken legs aren’t like—­like lifelong invalids, so his won’t last forever as Mrs. Snow’s does, and she can have all the rest of the things after just once or twice.”

" ‘Him’?  ‘He’?  ‘Broken leg’?  What are you talking about, Pollyanna?”

Pollyanna stared; then her face relaxed.

“Oh, I forgot.  I reckon you didn’t know.  You see, it happened while you were gone.  It was the very day you went that I found him in the woods, you know; and I had to unlock his house and telephone for the men and the doctor, and hold his head, and everything.  And of course then I came away and haven’t seen him since.  But when Nancy made the jelly for Mrs. Snow this week I thought how nice it would be if I could take it to him instead of her, just this once.  Aunt Polly, may I?”

“Yes, yes, I suppose so,” acquiesced Miss Polly, a little wearily.  “Who did you say he was?”

“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—­now.  He’s only cross outside, you know.  I’ll go and get the jelly.  Nancy had it ’most fixed when I came in,” finished Pollyanna, already halfway across the room.

“Pollyanna, wait!  Miss Polly’s voice was suddenly very stern.  I’ve changed my mind.  I would prefer that Mrs. Snow had that jelly to-day—­as usual.  That is all.  You may go now.”

Pollyanna’s face fell.

“Oh, but Aunt Polly, hers will last.  She can always be sick and have things, you know; but his is just a broken leg, and legs don’t last—­I mean, broken ones.  He’s had it a whole week now.”

“Yes, I remember.  I heard Mr. John Pendleton had met with an accident,” said Miss Polly, a little stiffly; “but—­I do not care to be sending jelly to John Pendleton, Pollyanna.”

“I know, he is cross—­outside,” admitted Pollyanna, sadly, “so I suppose you don’t like him.  But I wouldn’t say ’twas you sent it.  I’d say ’twas me.  I like him.  I’d be glad to send him jelly.”

Miss Polly began to shake her head again.  Then, suddenly, she stopped, and asked in a curiously quiet voice: