Pollyanna had not turned her steps toward home, when she left the . She had turned them, instead, toward Pendleton Hill. It had been a hard day, for all it had been a “vacation one” (as she termed the infrequent days when there was no sewing or cooking lesson), and Pollyanna was sure that nothing would do her quite so much good as a walk through the green quiet of Pendleton Woods. Up Pendleton Hill, therefore, she climbed , in spite of the warm sun on her back.  
“I don't have to get home till half-past five, anyway,” she was telling herself; “and it'll be so much nicer to go around by the way of the woods, even if I do have to climb to get there.”
 
It was very beautiful in the Pendleton Woods, as Pollyanna knew by experience. But to-day it seemed even more than ever, notwithstanding her disappointment over what she must tell Jimmy Bean to-morrow.
 
“I wish they were up here—all those ladies who talked so loud,” sighed Pollyanna to herself, raising her eyes to the patches of vivid blue between the sunlit green of the tree-tops. “Anyhow, if they were up here, I just reckon they'd change and take Jimmy Bean for their little boy, all right,” she finished, secure in her conviction, but unable to give a reason for it, even to herself.
 
Suddenly Pollyanna lifted her head and listened. A dog had barked some distance ahead. A moment later he came dashing toward her, still barking.
 
“Hullo, doggie—hullo!” Pollyanna snapped her fingers at the dog and looked expectantly down the path. She had seen the dog once before, she was sure. He had been then with the Man, Mr. John Pendleton. She was looking now, hoping to see him. For some minutes she watched eagerly, but he did not appear. Then she turned her attention toward the dog.
 
The dog, as even Pollyanna could see, was strangely. He was still barking—giving little short, sharp , as if of alarm. He was running back and , too, in the path ahead. Soon they reached a side path, and down this the little dog fairly flew, only to come back at once, and barking.
 
“Ho! That isn't the way home,” laughed Pollyanna, still keeping to the main path.
 
The little dog seemed now. Back and forth, back and forth, between Pollyanna and the side path he vibrated, barking and whining pitifully. Every quiver of his little brown body, and every glance from his brown eyes were with appeal—so eloquent that at last Pollyanna understood, turned, and followed him.
 
Straight ahead, now, the little dog dashed madly; and it was not long before Pollyanna came upon the reason for it all: a man lying motionless at the foot of a steep, overhanging mass of rock a few yards from the side path.
 
A 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 in the sunshine,” snapped the man . “See here, how much do you know? What can you do? Have you got any sense?”
 
Pollyanna caught her breath with a little , but—as was her habit—she answered the questions , 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 . “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 over it. That's the roof I slept on—only I didn't sleep, you know. They found me.”
 
“Eh? Oh! Well, when you get into the house, go straight through the vestibule and hall to the door at the end. On the big, flat-topped desk in the middle of the room you'll find a telephone. Do you know how to use a telephone?”
 
“Oh, yes, sir! Why, once when Aunt Polly—”
 
“Never mind Aunt Polly now,” cut in the man scowlingly, as he tried to move himself a little.
 
“Hunt up Dr. Thomas Chilton's number on the card you'll find somewhere around there—it ought to be on the hook down at the side, but it probably won't be. You know a telephone card, I suppose, when you see one!”
 
“Oh, yes, sir! I just love Aunt Polly's. There's such a lot of queer names, and—”
 
“Tell Dr. Chilton that John Pendleton is at the foot of Little Eagle in Pendleton Woods with a broken leg, and to come at once with a stretcher and two men. He'll know what to do besides that. Tell him to come by the path from the house.”
 
“A broken leg? Oh, Mr. Pendleton, how awful!” Pollyanna. “But I'm so glad I came! Can't I do—”
 
“Yes, you can—but evidently you won't! WILL you go and do what I ask and stop talking,” moaned the man, faintly. And, with a little cry, Pollyanna went.
 
Pollyanna did not stop now to look up at the patches of blue between the sunlit tops of ............