“Oh, Nancy, I’m so glad—­glad—­glad!  You don’t know how glad I am that Aunt Polly—­wants me!”

“As if I’d leave her now!” thought Pollyanna, as she climbed the stairs to her room a little later.  “I always knew I wanted to live with Aunt Polly—­but I reckon maybe I didn’t know quite how much I wanted Aunt Polly—­to want to live with me!”

The task of telling John Pendleton of her decision would not be an easy one, Pollyanna knew, and she dreaded it.  She was very fond of John Pendleton, and she was very sorry for him—­because he seemed to be so sorry for himself.  She was sorry, too, for the long, lonely life that had made him so unhappy; and she was grieved that it had been because of her mother that he had spent those dreary years.  She pictured the great gray house as it would be after its master was well again, with its silent rooms, its littered floors, its disordered desk; and her heart ached for his loneliness.  She wished that somewhere, some one might be found who—­And it was at this point that she sprang to her feet with a little cry of joy at the thought that had come to her.

As soon as she could, after that, she hurried up the hill to John Pendleton’s house; and in due time she found herself in the great dim library, with John Pendleton himself sitting near her, his long, thin hands lying idle on the arms of his chair, and his faithful little dog at his feet.

“Well, Pollyanna, is it to be the ‘glad game’ with me, all the rest of my life?” asked the man, gently.

“Oh, yes,” cried Pollyanna.  “I’ve thought of the very gladdest kind of a thing for you to do, and—­”

“With—­you?” asked John Pendleton, his mouth growing a little stern at the corners.

“N-no; but—­”

“Pollyanna, you aren’t going to say no!” interrupted a voice deep with emotion.

“I—­I’ve got to, Mr. Pendleton; truly I have.  Aunt Polly—­”

“Did she refuse—­to let you—­come?”

“I—­I didn’t ask her,” stammered the little girl, miserably.

“Pollyanna!”

Pollyanna turned away her eyes.  She could not meet the hurt, grieved gaze of her friend.

“So you didn’t even ask her!”

“I couldn’t, sir—­truly,” faltered Pollyanna.  “You see, I found out—­without asking.  Aunt Polly wants me with her, and—­and I want to stay, too,” she confessed bravely.  “You don’t know how good she’s been to me; and—­and I think, really, sometimes she’s beginning to be glad about things—­lots of things.  And you know she never used to be.  You said it yourself.  Oh, Mr. Pendleton, I couldn’t leave Aunt Polly—­now!”

There was a long pause.  Only the snapping of the wood fire in the grate broke the silence.  At last, however, the man spoke.

“No, Pollyanna; I see.  You couldn’t leave her—­now,” he said.  “I won’t ask you—­again.”  The last word was so low it was almost inaudible; but Pollyanna heard.