Pollyanna looked shocked.

"Oh, no! It couldn't be till doomsday, you know, when the angel
Gabriel blows his trumpet, unless it should come quicker than we
think it will--oh, of course, I know the Bible says it may come
quicker than we think, but I don't think it will--that is, of
course I believe the Bible; but I mean I don't think it will come
as much quicker as it would if it should come now, and--"

John Pendleton laughed suddenly--and aloud. The nurse, coming in
at that moment, heard the laugh, and beat a hurried--but a very
silent--retreat. He had the air of a frightened cook who, seeing
the danger of a breath of cold air striking a half-done cake,
hastily shuts the oven door.

"Aren't you getting a little mixed?" asked John Pendleton of
Pollyanna.

The little girl laughed.

"Maybe. But what I mean is, that legs don't last--broken ones,
you know--like lifelong invalids, same as Mrs. Snow has got. So
yours won't last till doomsday at all. I should think you could
be glad of that."

"Oh, I am," retorted the man grimly.

"And you didn't break but one. You can be glad 'twasn't two."
Pollyanna was warming to her task.