Just a week from the time Dr. Mead, the specialist, was first expected, he came.  He was a tall, broad-shouldered man with kind gray eyes, and a cheerful smile.  Pollyanna liked him at once, and told him so.

“You look quite a lot like my doctor, you see,” she added engagingly.

“Your doctor?” Dr. Mead glanced in evident surprise at Dr. Warren, talking with the nurse a few feet away.  Dr. Warren was a small, brown-eyed man with a pointed brown beard.

“Oh, that isn’t my doctor,” smiled Pollyanna, divining his thought.  “Dr. Warren is Aunt Polly’s doctor.  My doctor is Dr. Chilton.”

“Oh-h!” said Dr. Mead, a little oddly, his eyes resting on Miss Polly, who, with a vivid blush, had turned hastily away.

“Yes.”  Pollyanna hesitated, then continued with her usual truthfulness.  “You see, I wanted Dr. Chilton all the time, but Aunt Polly wanted you.  She said you knew more than Dr. Chilton, anyway about—­about broken legs like mine.  And of course if you do, I can be glad for that.  Do you?”

A swift something crossed the doctor’s face that Pollyanna could not quite translate.

“Only time can tell that, little girl,” he said gently; then he turned a grave face toward Dr. Warren, who had just come to the bedside.

Every one said afterward that it was the cat that did it.  Certainly, if Fluffy had not poked an insistent paw and nose against Pollyanna’s unlatched door, the door would not have swung noiselessly open on its hinges until it stood perhaps a foot ajar; and if the door had not been open, Pollyanna would not have heard her aunt’s words.

In the hall the two doctors, the nurse, and Miss Polly stood talking.  In Pollyanna’s room Fluffy had just jumped to the bed with a little purring “meow” of joy when through the open door sounded clearly and sharply Aunt Polly’s agonized exclamation.

“Not that!  Doctor, not that!  You don’t mean—­the child—­will never walk again!”

It was all confusion then.  First, from the bedroom came Pollyanna’s terrified “Aunt Polly Aunt Polly!” Then Miss Polly, seeing the open door and realizing that her words had been heard, gave a low little moan and—­for the first time in her life—­fainted dead away.

The nurse, with a choking “She heard!” stumbled toward the open door.  The two doctors stayed with Miss Polly.  Dr. Mead had to stay—­he had caught Miss Polly as she fell.  Dr. Warren stood by, helplessly.  It was not until Pollyanna cried out again sharply and the nurse closed the door, that the two men, with a despairing glance into each other’s eyes, awoke to the immediate duty of bringing the woman in Dr. Mead’s arms back to unhappy consciousness.

In Pollyanna’s room, the nurse had found a purring gray cat on the bed vainly trying to attract the attention of a white-faced, wild-eyed little girl.

“Miss Hunt, please, I want Aunt Polly.  I want her right away, quick, please!”