CHAPTER XI.  INTRODUCING JIMMY

August came.  August brought several surprises and some changes—­none of which, however, were really a surprise to Nancy.  Nancy, since Pollyanna’s arrival, had come to look for surprises and changes.

First there was the kitten.

Pollyanna found the kitten mewing pitifully some distance down the road.  When systematic questioning of the neighbors failed to find any one who claimed it, Pollyanna brought it home at once, as a matter of course.

“And I was glad I didn’t find any one who owned it, too,” she told her aunt in happy confidence; " ’cause I wanted to bring it home all the time.  I love kitties.  I knew you’d be glad to let it live here.”

Miss Polly looked at the forlorn little gray bunch of neglected misery in Pollyanna’s arms, and shivered:  Miss Polly did not care for cats—­not even pretty, healthy, clean ones.

“Ugh!  Pollyanna!  What a dirty little beast!  And it’s sick, I’m sure, and all mangy and fleay.”

“I know it, poor little thing,” crooned Pollyanna, tenderly, looking into the little creature’s frightened eyes.  “And it’s all trembly, too, it’s so scared.  You see it doesn’t know, yet, that we’re going to keep it, of course.”

“No—­nor anybody else,” retorted Miss Polly, with meaning emphasis.

“Oh, yes, they do,” nodded Pollyanna, entirely misunderstanding her aunt’s words.  “I told everybody we should keep it, if I didn’t find where it belonged.  I knew you’d be glad to have it—­poor little lonesome thing!”

Miss Polly opened her lips and tried to speak; but in vain.  The curious helpless feeling that had been hers so often since Pollyanna’s arrival, had her now fast in its grip.

“Of course I knew,” hurried on Pollyanna, gratefully, “that you wouldn’t let a dear little lonesome kitty go hunting for a home when you’d just taken me in; and I said so to Mrs. Ford when she asked if you’d let me keep it.  Why, I had the Ladies’ Aid, you know, and kitty didn’t have anybody.  I knew you’d feel that way,” she nodded happily, as she ran from the room.

“But, Pollyanna, Pollyanna,” remonstrated Miss Polly.  “I don’t—­” But Pollyanna was already halfway to the kitchen, calling: 

“Nancy, Nancy, just see this dear little kitty that Aunt Polly is going to bring up along with me!” And Aunt Polly, in the sitting room—­who abhorred cats—­fell back in her chair with a gasp of dismay, powerless to remonstrate.

The next day it was a dog, even dirtier and more forlorn, perhaps, than was the kitten; and again Miss Polly, to her dumfounded amazement, found herself figuring as a kind protector and an angel of mercy—­a role that Pollyanna so unhesitatingly thrust upon her as a matter of course, that the woman—­who abhorred dogs even more than she did cats, if possible—­found herself as before, powerless to remonstrate.