“You look quite a lot like MY doctor, you see,” she added engagingly.

 

“YOUR doctor?” Dr. Mead glanced in evident surprise at Dr. Warren, talking with the nurse a few feet away. Dr. Warren was a small, brown-eyed man with a pointed² brown beard.

 

“Oh, THAT isn't my doctor,” smiled Pollyanna, divining his thought. “Dr. Warren is Aunt Polly's doctor. My doctor is Dr. Chilton.”

 

“Oh-h!” said Dr. Mead, a little oddly, his eyes resting on Miss Polly, who, with a vivid blush, had turned hastily away.

 

“Yes.” Pollyanna hesitated, then continued with her usual truthfulness³. “You see, I wanted Dr. Chilton all the time, but Aunt Polly wanted you. She said you knew more than Dr. Chilton, anyway about—about broken legs like mine. And of course if you do, I can be glad for that. Do you?”

 

A swift something crossed the doctor's face that Pollyanna could not quite translate.

 

“Only time can tell that, little girl,” he said gently; then he turned a grave face toward Dr. Warren, who had just come to the bedside.

 

Every one said afterward⁴ that it was the cat that did it. Certainly, if Fluffy⁵ had not poked⁶ an insistent⁷ paw and nose against Pollyanna's unlatched door, the door would not have swung noiselessly open on its hinges until it stood perhaps a foot ajar; and if the door had not been open, Pollyanna would not have heard her aunt's words.

 

In the hall the two doctors, the nurse, and Miss Polly stood talking. In Pollyanna's room Fluffy had just jumped to the bed with a little purring “meow” of joy when through the open door sounded clearly and sharply Aunt Polly's

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