ner of the house and slowly ascended the veranda steps.
"Well, my boy, is it true? Are they coming?" asked the man, with visible eagerness.
"Yes."
"When?"
"To-morrow." The young fellow dropped himself into a chair.
At the crisp terseness of the answer, John Pendleton frowned. He threw a quick look into the young man's face. For a moment he hesitated; then, a little abruptly, he asked:
"Why, son, what's the matter?"
"Matter? Nothing, sir."
"Nonsense! I know better. You left here an hour ago so eager to be off that wild horses could not have held you. Now you sit humped up in that chair and look as if wild horses couldn't drag you out of it. If I didn't know better I'd think you weren't glad that our friends are coming."
He paused, evidently for a reply. But he did not get it.
"Why, Jim, aren't you glad they're coming?"
The young fellow laughed and stirred restlessly.
"Why, yes, of course."
"Humph! You act like it."
The youth laughed again. A boyish red flamed into his face.
"Well, it's only that I was thinking—of Pollyanna."
"Pollyanna! Why, man alive, you've done noth-
