Chapter X
Douglas dropped wearily onto the rustic bench. He sat with drooped head and unseeing eyes. He did not hear Polly as she scurried down the path, her arms filled with autumn leaves. She glanced at him, dropped the bright-coloured foliage, and slipped quickly to the nearest tree. “One, two, three for Mr. John,” she cried, as she patted the huge, brown trunk.
“Is that you, Polly?” he asked absently.
“Now, it's your turn to catch me,” she said, lingering near the tree. The pastor was again lost in thought. “Aren't you going to play any more?” There was a shade of disappointment in her voice. She came slowly to his side.
“Sit here, Polly,” he answered gravely, pointing to a place on the bench. “I want to talk to you.”
“Now, I've done something wrong,” she pouted. She gathered up her garlands and brought them to a place near his feet, ignoring the seat at his side. “You might just as well tell me and get it over.”
“You couldn't do anything wrong,” he answered, looking down at her.
“Oh, yes, I could—and I've done it—I can see it in your face. What is it?”
“What have you there?” he asked, trying to gain time, and not knowing how to broach the subject that in justice to her must be discussed.