"She's Miss Polly Harrington. I live with her."

The man made a sudden movement.

"Miss--Polly--Harrington!" he breathed. "You live with--HER!"

"Yes; I'm her niece. She's taken me to bring up--on account of my
mother, you know," faltered Pollyanna, in a low voice. "She was
her sister. And after father--went to be with her and the rest of
us in Heaven, there wasn't any one left for me down here but the
Ladies' Aid; so she took me."

The man did not answer. His face, as he lay back on the pillow
now, was very white--so white that Pollyanna was frightened. She
rose uncertainly to her feet.

"I reckon maybe I'd better go now," she proposed. "I--I hope
you'll like--the jelly."

The man turned his head suddenly, and opened his eyes. There was
a curious longing in their dark depths which even Pollyanna saw,
and at which she marvelled.

"And so you are--Miss Polly Harrington's niece," he said gently.

"Yes, sir."

Still the man's dark eyes lingered on her face, until Pollyanna,
feeling vaguely restless, murmured: