A twig cracked sharply under Pollyanna's foot, and the man turned
his head. With a cry of dismay Pollyanna ran to his side.

"Mr. Pendleton! Oh, are you hurt?"

"Hurt? Oh, no! I'm just taking a siesta in the sunshine," snapped
the man irritably. "See here, how much do you know? What can you
do? Have you got any sense?"

Pollyanna caught her breath with a little gasp, but--as was her
habit--she answered the questions literally, one by one.

"Why, Mr. Pendleton, I--I don't know so very much, and I can't do
a great many things; but most of the Ladies' Aiders, except Mrs.
Rawson, said I had real good sense. I heard 'em say so one
day--they didn't know I heard, though."

The man smiled grimly.

"There, there, child, I beg your pardon, I'm sure; it's only this
confounded leg of mine. Now listen." He paused, and with some
difficulty reached his hand into his trousers pocket and brought
out a bunch of keys, singling out one between his thumb and
forefinger. "Straight through the path there, about five minutes'
walk, is my house. This key will admit you to the side door under
the porte-cochere. Do you know what a porte-cochere is?"

"Oh, yes, sir. Auntie has one with a sun parlor over it. That's
the roof I slept on--only I didn't sleep, you know. They found
me."