Slowly the minister folded the papers and thrust them back into his pocket. Then, with a sigh that was almost a moan, he flung himself down at the foot of a tree, and covered his face with his hands.

It was there that Pollyanna, on her way home from the Pendleton house, found him. With a little cry she ran forward.

"Oh, oh, Mr. Ford! You--YOU haven't broken YOUR leg or--or anything, have you?" she gasped.

The minister dropped his hands, and looked up quickly. He tried to smile.

"No, dear--no, indeed! I'm just--resting."

"Oh," sighed Pollyanna, falling back a little. "That's all right, then. You see, Mr. Pendleton HAD broken his leg when I found him--but he was lying down, though. And you are sitting up."

"Yes, I am sitting up; and I haven't broken anything--that doctors can mend."

The last words were very low, but Pollyanna heard them. A swift change crossed her face. Her eyes glowed with tender sympathy.

"I know what you mean--something plagues you. Father used to feel like that, lots of times. I reckon ministers do--most generally. You see there's such a lot depends on 'em, somehow."