Eleanor H. Porter

“ Never mind why. I just didn't—that's all. And ever since then this great gray pile of stone has been a house—never a home. It takes a woman's hand and heart, or a child's presence, to make a home, Pollyanna; and I have not had either. Now will you come, my dear?"
Pollyanna sprang to her feet. Her face was fairly illumined.
"Mr. Pendleton, you—you mean that you wish you—you had had that woman's hand and heart all this time?"
"Why, y-yes, Pollyanna."
"Oh, I'm so glad! Then it's all right," sighed the little girl. "Now you can take us both, and everything will be lovely." ”

“ Never mind, I'll be on my own two feet yet, one of these days; then I'll see who steps around," he finished, picking up one of the crutches at his side and shaking it playfully at the little girl. They were sitting in the great library to-day.
"Oh, but you aren't really glad at all for things; you just say you are," pouted Pollyanna, her eyes on the dog, dozing before the fire. "You know you don't play the game right ever, Mr. ”