“There, if I didn’t forget to tell you his name! I’m as bad as the Man. And he is dirty, too, isn’t he?—I mean, the boy is—just like Fluffy and Buffy were when you took them in. But I reckon he’ll improve all right by washing, just as they did, and—Oh, I ’most forgot again,” she broke off with a laugh. “This is Jimmy Bean, Aunt Polly.”

“Well, what is he doing here?”

“Why, Aunt Polly, I just told you!” Pollyanna’s eyes were wide with surprise. “He’s for you. I brought him home—so he could live here, you know. He wants a home and folks. I told him how good you were to me, and to Fluffy and Buffy, and that I knew you would be to him, because of course he’s even nicer than cats and dogs.”

Miss Polly dropped back in her chair and raised a shaking hand to her throat. The old helplessness was threatening once more to overcome her. With a visible struggle, however, Miss Polly pulled herself suddenly erect.

“That will do, Pollyanna. This is a little the most absurd thing you’ve done yet. As if tramp cats and mangy dogs weren’t bad enough but you must needs bring home ragged little beggars from the street, who—”

There was a sudden stir from the boy. His eyes flashed and his chin came up. With two strides of his sturdy little legs he confronted Miss Polly fearlessly.

“I ain’t a beggar, marm, an’ I don’t want nothin’ o’ you. I was cal’latin’ ter work, of course, fur my board an’ keep. I wouldn’t have come ter your old house, anyhow, if this ’ere girl hadn’t ’a’ made me, a-tellin’ me how you was so good an’ kind that you’d be jest dyin’ ter take me in. So, there!” And he wheeled about and stalked from the room with a dignity that would have been absurd had it not been so pitiful.

“Oh, Aunt Polly,” choked Pollyanna. “Why, I thought you’d be glad to have him here! I’m sure, I should think you’d be glad—”

Miss Polly raised her hand with a peremptory gesture of silence. Miss Polly’s nerves had snapped at last. The “good and kind” of the boy’s words were still ringing in her ears, and the old helplessness was almost upon her, she knew. Yet she rallied her forces with the last atom of her will power.

“Pollyanna,” she cried sharply, “will you stop using that everlasting word ’glad’! It’s ’glad’—’glad’—’glad’ from morning till night until I think I shall grow wild!”

From sheer amazement Pollyanna’s jaw dropped.

“Why, Aunt Polly,” she breathed, “I should think you’d be glad to have me gl—Oh!” she broke off, clapping her hand to her lips and hurrying blindly from the room.

Before the boy had reached the end of the driveway, Pollyanna overtook him.

“Boy! Boy! Jimmy Bean, I want you to know how—how sorry I am,” she panted, catching him with a detaining hand.

“Sorry nothin’! I ain’t blamin’ you,” retorted the boy, sullenly. “But I ain’t no beggar!” he added, with sudden spirit.

“Of course you aren’t! But you mustn’t blame auntie,” appealed Pollyanna. “Probably I didn’t do the introducing right, anyhow; and I reckon I didn’t tell her much who you were. She is good and kind, really—she’s always been; but I probably didn’t explain it right. I do wish I could find some place for you, though!”

The boy shrugged his shoulders and half turned away.