“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.