Sunday mornings Pollyanna usually attended church and Sunday school. Sunday afternoons she frequently went for a walk with Nancy. She had planned one for the day after her Saturday afternoon visit to Mr. John Pendleton; but on the way home from Sunday school Dr. Chilton overtook her in his gig, and brought his horse to a stop.  
“Suppose you let me drive you home, Pollyanna,” he suggested. “I want to speak to you a minute. I, was just driving out to your place to tell you,” he went on, as Pollyanna settled herself at his side. “Mr. Pendleton sent a special request for you to go to see him this afternoon, SURE. He says it's very important.”
 
Pollyanna nodded happily.
 
“Yes, it is, I know. I'll go.”
 
The doctor eyed her with some surprise.
 
“I'm not sure I shall let you, after all,” he declared, his eyes twinkling. “You seemed more upsetting than yesterday, young lady.”
 
Pollyanna laughed.
 
“Oh, it wasn't me, truly—not really, you know; not so much as it was Aunt Polly.”
 
The doctor turned with a quick start.
 
“Your—aunt!” he ejaculated.
 
Pollyanna gave a happy little bounce in her seat.
 
“Yes. And it's so exciting and lovely, just like a story, you know. I—I'm going to tell you,” she burst out, with sudden decision. “He said not to mention it; but he wouldn't mind your knowing, of course. He meant not to mention it to HER.”
 
“HER?”
 
“Yes; Aunt Polly. And, of course he WOULD want to tell her himself instead of having me do it—lovers, so!”
 
“Lovers!” As the doctor said the word, the horse started violently, as if the hand that held the had given them a sharp jerk.
 
“Yes,” nodded Pollyanna, happily. “That's the story-part, you see. I didn't know it till Nancy told me. She said Aunt Polly had a lover years ago, and they quarrelled. She didn't know who it was at first. But we've found out now. It's Mr. Pendleton, you know.”
 
The doctor relaxed suddenly, The hand holding the reins fell limply to his lap.
 
“Oh! No; I—didn't know,” he said quietly.
 
Pollyanna hurried on—they were nearing the Harrington homestead.
 
“Yes; and I'm so glad now. It's come out lovely. Mr. Pendleton asked me to come and live with him, but of course I wouldn't leave Aunt Polly like that—after she'd been so good to me. Then he told me all about the woman's hand and heart that he used to want, and I found out that he wanted it now; and I was so glad! For of course if he wants to make up the quarrel, everything will be all right now, and Aunt Polly and I will both go to live there, or else he'll come to live with us. Of course Aunt Polly doesn't know yet, and we haven't got everything settled; so I suppose that is why he wanted to see me this afternoon, sure.”
 
The doctor sat suddenly . There was an odd smile on his lips.
 
“Yes; I can well imagine that Mr. John Pendleton does—want to see you, Pollyanna,” he nodded, as he pulled his horse to a stop before the door.
 
“There's Aunt Polly now in the window,” cried Pollyanna; then, a second later: “Why, no, she isn't—but I thought I saw her!”
 
“No; she isn't there—now,” said the doctor, His lips had suddenly lost their smile.
 
Pollyanna found a very nervous John Pendleton waiting for her that afternoon.
 
“Pollyanna,” he began at once. “I've been trying all night to puzzle out what you meant by all that, yesterday—about my wanting your Aunt Polly's hand and heart here all those years. What did you mean?”
 
“Why, because you were lovers, you know once; and I was so glad you still felt that way now.”
 
“Lovers!—your Aunt Polly and I?”
 
At the obvious surprise in the man's voice, Pollyanna opened wide her eyes.
 
“Why, Mr. Pendleton, Nancy said you were!”
 
The man gave a short little laugh.
 
“Indeed! Well, I'm afraid I shall have to say that Nancy—didn't know.”
 
“Then you—weren't lovers?” Pollyanna's voice was with dismay.
 
“Never!”
 
“And it ISN'T all coming out like a book?”
 
There was no answer. The man's eyes were out the window.
 
“O dear! And it was all going so splendidly,” almost Pollyanna. “I'd have been so glad to come—with Aunt Polly.”
 
“And you won't—now?” The man asked the question without turning his head.
 
“Of course not! I'm Aunt Polly's.”
 
The man turned now, almost fiercely.
 
“Before you were hers, Pollyanna, you were—your mother's. And—it was your mother's hand and heart that I wanted long years ago.”
 
“My mother's!”
 
“Yes. I had not meant to tell you, but perhaps it's better, after all, that I do—now.” John Pendleton's face had grown very white. He was speak............