Pollyanna laughed.

“Well, anyhow, you can be glad of that,” she retorted; “for when I’m talking, you don’t have to!”

When the house was reached, Pollyanna unhesitatingly piloted her companion straight into the presence of her amazed aunt.

“Oh, Aunt Polly,” she triumphed, “just look a-here!  I’ve got something ever so much nicer, even, than Fluffy and Buffy for you to bring up.  It’s a real live boy.  He won’t mind a bit sleeping in the attic, at first, you know, and he says he’ll work; but I shall need him the most of the time to play with, I reckon.”

Miss Polly grew white, then very red.  She did not quite understand; but she thought she understood enough.

“Pollyanna, what does this mean?  Who is this dirty little boy?  Where did you find him?” she demanded sharply.

The “dirty little boy” fell back a step and looked toward the door.  Pollyanna laughed merrily.

“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.