“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.

CHAPTER XII.  BEFORE THE LADIES’ AID

Dinner, which came at noon in the Harrington homestead, was a silent meal on the day of the Ladies’ Aid meeting.  Pollyanna, it is true, tried to talk; but she did not make a success of it, chiefly because four times she was obliged to break off a “glad” in the middle of it, much to her blushing discomfort.  The fifth time it happened, Miss Polly moved her head wearily.

“There, there, child, say it, if you want to,” she sighed.  “I’m sure I’d rather you did than not if it’s going to make all this fuss.”

Pollyanna’s puckered little face cleared.

“Oh, thank you.  I’m afraid it would be pretty hard—­not to say it.  You see I’ve played it so long.”

“You’ve—­what?” demanded Aunt Polly.

“Played it—­the game, you know, that father—­” Pollyanna stopped with a painful blush at finding herself so soon again on forbidden ground.

Aunt Polly frowned and said nothing.  The rest of the meal was a silent one.

Pollyanna was not sorry to hear Aunt Polly tell the minister’s wife over the telephone, a little later, that she would not be at the Ladies’ Aid meeting that afternoon, owing to a headache.  When Aunt Polly went up-stairs to her room and closed the door, Pollyanna tried to be sorry for the headache; but she could not help feeling glad that her aunt was not to be present that afternoon when she laid the case of Jimmy Bean before the Ladies’ Aid.  She could not forget that Aunt Polly had called Jimmy Bean a little beggar; and she did not want Aunt Polly to call him that—­before the Ladies’ Aid.