Поллианна

           "Hullo,doggie—hullo!"Pollyannasnappedherfingersatthedogandlookedexpectantlydownthepath. Shehadseenthedogoncebefore,shewassure. HehadbeenthenwiththeMan,Mr.JohnPendleton. Shewaslookingnow,hopingtoseehim. Forsomeminutesshewatchedeagerly,buthedidnotappear. Thensheturnedherattentiontowardthedog. 

           Thedog,asevenPollyannacouldsee,wasactingstrangely. Hewasstillbarking—givinglittleshort,sharpyelps,asifofalarm. Hewasrunningbackandforth,too,inthepathahead. Soontheyreachedasidepath,anddownthisthelittledogfairlyflew,onlytocomebackatonce,whiningandbarking. 

           "Ho!Thatisn’tthewayhome,"laughedPollyanna,stillkeepingtothemainpath. 

           Thelittledogseemedfranticnow. Backandforth,backandforth,betweenPollyannaandthesidepathhevibrated,barkingandwhiningpitifully. Everyquiverofhislittlebrownbody,andeveryglancefromhisbeseechingbrowneyeswereeloquentwithappeal—soeloquentthatatlastPollyannaunderstood,turned,andfollowedhim. 

           Straightahead,now,thelittledogdashedmadly; anditwasnotlongbeforePollyannacameuponthereasonforitall:amanlyingmotionlessatthefootofasteep,overhangingmassofrockafewyardsfromthesidepath. 

           AtwigcrackedsharplyunderPollyanna’sfoot,andthemanturnedhishead. WithacryofdismayPollyannarantohisside. 

           "Mr.Pendleton! Oh,areyouhurt?"