"I—I liked you, sir." Not until the words were uttered did Pollyanna realize just how they would sound. She strove then, frantically, to recall or modify them and had almost added a "that is, I mean, I liked you THEN!" when she stopped just in time: certainly THAT would not have helped matters any! She listened then, fearfully, for John Pendleton's next words. They came almost at once.
"I know you did—bless your little heart! And it was that that was the saving of me. I wonder, Pollyanna, if I could ever make you realize just what your childish trust and liking did for me."
Pollyanna stammered a confused protest; but he brushed it smilingly aside.
"Oh, yes, it was! It was you, and no one else. I wonder if you remember another thing, too," resumed the man, after a moment's silence, during which Pollyanna looked furtively, but longingly toward the door. "I wonder if you remember my telling you once that nothing but a woman's hand and heart, or a child's presence could make a home."
Pollyanna felt the blood rush to her face.
"Y-yes, n-no—I mean, yes, I remember it," she stuttered; "but I—I don't think it's always so now. I mean—that is, I'm sure your home now is—is lovely just as 'tis, and—"
"But it's my home I'm talking about, child," interrupted the man, impatiently. "Pollyanna, you know the kind of home I once hoped to have, and how those hopes were dashed to the ground. Don't think, dear, I'm blaming your mother. I'm not. She but obeyed her heart, which was right; and she made the wiser choice, anyway, as was proved by the dreary waste I've made of life because of that disappointment. After all, Pollyanna, isn't it strange," added John Pendleton, his voice growing tender, "that it should be the little hand of her own daughter that led me into the path of happiness, at last?"
Pollyanna moistened her lips convulsively.
"Oh, but Mr. Pendleton, I—I—"
Once again the man brushed aside her protests with a smiling gesture.