The nurse closed the door and came forward hurriedly.  Her face was very pale.

“She—­she can’t come just this minute, dear.  She will—­a little later.  What is it?  Can’t I—­get it?”

Pollyanna shook her head.

“But I want to know what she said—­just now.  Did you hear her?  I want Aunt Polly—­she said something.  I want her to tell me ’tisn’t true—­’tisn’t true!”

The nurse tried to speak, but no words came.  Something in her face sent an added terror to Pollyanna’s eyes.

“Miss Hunt, you did hear her!  It is true!  Oh, it isn’t true!  You don’t mean I can’t ever—­walk again?”

“There, there, dear—­don’t, don’t!” choked the nurse.  “Perhaps he didn’t know.  Perhaps he was mistaken.  There’s lots of things that could happen, you know.”

“But Aunt Polly said he did know!  She said he knew more than anybody else about—­about broken legs like mine!”

“Yes, yes, I know, dear; but all doctors make mistakes sometimes.  Just—­just don’t think any more about it now—­please don’t, dear.”

Pollyanna flung out her arms wildly.  “But I can’t help thinking about it,” she sobbed.  “It’s all there is now to think about.  Why, Miss Hunt, how am I going to school, or to see Mr. Pendleton, or Mrs. Snow, or—­or anybody?” She caught her breath and sobbed wildly for a moment.  Suddenly she stopped and looked up, a new terror in her eyes.  “Why, Miss Hunt, if I can’t walk, how am I ever going to be glad for—­anything?”

Miss Hunt did not know “the game;” but she did know that her patient must be quieted, and that at once.  In spite of her own perturbation and heartache, her hands had not been idle, and she stood now at the bedside with the quieting powder ready.

“There, there, dear, just take this,” she soothed; “and by and by we’ll be more rested, and we’ll see what can be done then.  Things aren’t half as bad as they seem, dear, lots of times, you know.”

Obediently Pollyanna took the medicine, and sipped the water from the glass in Miss Hunt’s hand.

“I know; that sounds like things father used to say,” faltered Pollyanna, blinking off the tears.  “He said there was always something about everything that might be worse; but I reckon he’d never just heard he couldn’t ever walk again.  I don’t see how there can be anything about that, that could be worse—­do you?”

Miss Hunt did not reply.  She could not trust herself to speak just then.

CHAPTER XXVII.  TWO VISITS

It was Nancy who was sent to tell Mr. John Pendleton of Dr. Mead’s verdict.  Miss Polly had remembered her promise to let him have direct information from the house.  To go herself, or to write a letter, she felt to be almost equally out of the question.  It occurred to her then to send Nancy.

There had been a time when Nancy would have rejoiced greatly at this extraordinary opportunity to see something of the House of Mystery and its master.  But to-day her heart was too heavy to, rejoice at anything.  She scarcely even looked about her at all, indeed, during the few minutes, she waited for Mr. John Pendleton to appear.