“No, sir; I thought you didn’t.  That’s why I told you.”

“Yes; well—­Eh?  What?” he broke off sharply, in sudden understanding of her words.

“I say, that’s why I told you—­so you would notice it, you know—­that the sun shines, and all that.  I knew you’d be glad it did if you only stopped to think of it—­and you didn’t look a bit as if you were thinking of it!”

“Well, of all the—­” ejaculated the man, with an oddly impotent gesture.  He started forward again, but after the second step he turned back, still frowning.

“See here, why don’t you find some one your own age to talk to?”

“I’d like to, sir, but there aren’t any ’round here, Nancy says.  Still, I don’t mind so very much.  I like old folks just as well, maybe better, sometimes—­being used to the Ladies’ Aid, so.”

“Humph!  The Ladies’ Aid, indeed!  Is that what you took me for?” The man’s lips were threatening to smile, but the scowl above them was still trying to hold them grimly stern.

Pollyanna laughed gleefully.

“Oh, no, sir.  You don’t look a mite like a Ladies’ Aider—­not but that you’re just as good, of course—­maybe better,” she added in hurried politeness.  “You see, I’m sure you’re much nicer than you look!”

The man made a queer noise in his throat.

“Well, of all the—­” he ejaculated again, as he turned and strode on as before.

The next time Pollyanna met the Man, his eyes were gazing straight into hers, with a quizzical directness that made his face look really pleasant, Pollyanna thought.

“Good afternoon,” he greeted her a little stiffly.  “Perhaps I’d better say right away that I know the sun is shining to-day.”

“But you don’t have to tell me,” nodded Pollyanna, brightly.  “I knew you knew it just as soon as I saw you.”

“Oh, you did, did you?”

“Yes, sir; I saw it in your eyes, you know, and in your smile.”

“Humph!” grunted the man, as he passed on.

The Man always spoke to Pollyanna after this, and frequently he spoke first, though usually he said little but “good afternoon.”  Even that, however, was a great surprise to Nancy, who chanced to be with Pollyanna one day when the greeting was given.

“Sakes alive, Miss Pollyanna,” she gasped, “did that man speak to you?”

“Why, yes, he always does—­now,” smiled Pollyanna.

" ‘He always does’!  Goodness!  Do you know who—­he—­is?” demanded Nancy.

Pollyanna frowned and shook her head.

“I reckon he forgot to tell me one day.  You see, I did my part of the introducing, but he didn’t.”

Nancy’s eyes widened.

“But he never speaks ter anybody, child—­he hain’t for years, I guess, except when he just has to, for business, and all that.  He’s John Pendleton.  He lives all by himself in the big house on Pendleton Hill.  He won’t even have any one ’round ter cook for him—­comes down ter the hotel for his meals three times a day.  I know Sally Miner, who waits on him, and she says he hardly opens his head enough ter tell what he wants ter eat.  She has ter guess it more’n half the time—­only it’ll be somethin’ cheap!  She knows that without no tellin’.”