"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.
"Never mind. I guess I can find one myself. I ain't no beggar, you know."
Pollyanna was frowning thoughtfully. Of a sudden she turned, her face illumined.
"Say, I'll tell you what I WILL do! The Ladies' Aid meets this afternoon. I heard Aunt Polly say so. I'll lay your case before them. That's what father always did, when he wanted anything--educating the heathen and new carpets, you know."
The boy turned fiercely.
"Well, I ain't a heathen or a new carpet. Besides--what is a Ladies' Aid?"
Pollyanna stared in shocked disapproval.
"Why, Jimmy Bean, wherever have you been brought up?--not to know what a Ladies' Aid is!"
"Oh, all right--if you ain't tellin'," grunted the boy, turning and beginning to walk away indifferently.
Pollyanna sprang to his side at once.
"It's--it's--why, it's just a lot of ladies that meet and sew and give suppers and raise money and--and talk; that's what a Ladies' Aid is. They're awfully kind--that is, most of mine was, back home. I haven't seen this one here, but they're always good, I reckon. I'm going to tell them about you this afternoon."
Again the boy turned fiercely.
"Not much you will! Maybe you think I'm goin' ter stand 'round an' hear a whole LOT o' women call me a beggar, instead of jest ONE! Not much!"
"Oh, but you wouldn't be there," argued Pollyanna, quickly. "I'd go alone, of course, and tell them."
"You would?"
"Yes; and I'd tell it better this time," hurried on Pollyanna, quick to see the signs of relenting in the boy's face. "And there'd be some of 'em, I know, that would be glad to give you a home."
"I'd work--don't forget ter say that," cautioned the boy.
"Of course not," promised Pollyanna, happily, sure now that her point was gained. "Then I'll let you know to-morrow."
"Where?"
"By the road--where I found you to-day; near Mrs. Snow's house."
"All right. I'll be there." The boy paused before he went on slowly: "Maybe I'd better go back, then, for ter-night, ter the Home. You see I hain't no other place ter stay; and--and I didn't leave till this mornin'. I slipped out. I didn't tell 'em I wasn't comin' back, else they'd pretend I couldn't come--though I'm thinkin' they won't do no worryin' when I don't show up sometime. They ain't like FOLKS, ye know. They don't CARE!"
"I know," nodded Pollyanna, with understanding eyes. "But I'm sure, when I see you to-morrow, I'll have just a common home and folks that do care all ready for you. Good-by!" she called brightly, as she turned back toward the house.
In the sitting-room window at that moment, Miss Polly, who had been watching the two children, followed with sombre eyes the boy until a bend of the road hid him from sight. Then she sighed, turned, and walked listlesly up-stairs--and Miss Polly did not usually move listlessly. In her ears still was the boy's scornful "you was so good and kind." In her heart was a curious sense of desolation--as of something lost.
