An Accident

At Mrs. Snow’s request, Pollyanna went one day to Dr. Chilton’s office to get the name of a medicine which Mrs. Snow had forgotten. As it chanced, Pollyanna had never before seen the inside of Dr. Chilton’s office.

“I’ve never been to your home before! This is your home, isn’t it?” she said, looking interestedly about her.

The doctor smiled a little sadly.

“Yes—such as ’tis,” he answered, as he wrote something on the pad of paper in his hand; “but it’s a pretty poor apology for a home, Pollyanna. They’re just rooms, that’s all—not a home.”

Pollyanna nodded her head wisely. Her eyes glowed with sympathetic understanding.

“I know. It takes a woman’s hand and heart, or a child’s presence to make a home,” she said.

“Eh?” The doctor wheeled about abruptly.

“Mr. Pendleton told me,” nodded Pollyanna, again; “about the woman’s hand and heart, or the child’s presence, you know. Why don’t you get a woman’s hand and heart, Dr. Chilton? Or maybe you’d take Jimmy Bean—if Mr. Pendleton doesn’t want him.”

Dr. Chilton laughed a little constrainedly.

“So Mr. Pendleton says it takes a woman’s hand and heart to make a home, does he?” he asked evasively.

“Yes. He says his is just a house, too. Why don’t you, Dr. Chilton?”

“Why don’t I—what?” The doctor had turned back to his desk.

“Get a woman’s hand and heart. Oh—and I forgot.” Pollyanna’s face showed suddenly a painful color. “I suppose I ought to tell you. It wasn’t Aunt Polly that Mr. Pendleton loved long ago; and so we—we aren’t going there to live. You see, I told you it was—but I made a mistake. I hope you didn’t tell any one,” she finished anxiously.

“No—I didn’t tell any one, Pollyanna,” replied the doctor, a little queerly.

“Oh, that’s all right, then,” sighed Pollyanna in relief. “You see you’re the only one I told, and I thought Mr. Pendleton looked sort of funny when I said I’d told you.”

“Did he?” The doctor’s lips twitched.

“Yes. And of course he wouldn’t want many people to know it—when ’twasn’t true. But why don’t you get a woman’s hand and heart, Dr. Chilton?”

There was a moment’s silence; then very gravely the doctor said:

“They’re not always to be had—for the asking, little girl.”

Pollyanna frowned thoughtfully.

“But I should think you could get ’em,” she argued. The flattering emphasis was unmistakable.

“Thank you,” laughed the doctor, with uplifted eyebrows. Then, gravely again: “I’m afraid some of your older sisters would not be quite so—confident. At least, they—they haven’t shown themselves to be so—obliging,” he observed.