“Maybe you think a nice live little boy wouldn’t be better than that old dead skeleton you keep somewhere; but I think it would!”

“Skeleton?”

“Yes. Nancy said you had one in your closet, somewhere.”

“Why, what—” Suddenly the man threw back his head and laughed. He laughed very heartily indeed—so heartily that Pollyanna began to cry from pure nervousness. When he saw that, John Pendleton sat erect very promptly. His face grew grave at once.

“Pollyanna, I suspect you are right—more right than you know,” he said gently. “In fact, I know that a ‘nice live little boy’ would be far better than—my skeleton in the closet; only—we aren’t always willing to make the exchange. We are apt to still cling to—our skeletons, Pollyanna. However, suppose you tell me a little more about this nice little boy.” And Pollyanna told him.

Perhaps the laugh cleared the air; or perhaps the pathos of Jimmy Bean’s story as told by Pollyanna’s eager little lips touched a heart already strangely softened. At all events, when Pollyanna went home that night she carried with her an invitation for Jimmy Bean himself to call at the great house with Pollyanna the next Saturday afternoon.

“And I’m so glad, and I’m sure you’ll like him,” sighed Pollyanna, as she said goodby. “I do so want Jimmy Bean to have a home—and folks that care, you know.”