Pollyanna listened with growing anxiety.  Some of what was said she could not understand.  She did gather, after a time, however, that there was no woman there who had a home to give him, though every woman seemed to think that some of the others might take him, as there were several who had no little boys of their own already in their homes.  But there was no one who agreed herself to take him.  Then she heard the minister’s wife suggest timidly that they, as a society, might perhaps assume his support and education instead of sending quite so much money this year to the little boys in far-away India.

A great many ladies talked then, and several of them talked all at once, and even more loudly and more unpleasantly than before.  It seemed that their society was famous for its offering to Hindu missions, and several said they should die of mortification if it should be less this year.  Some of what was said at this time Pollyanna again thought she could not have understood, too, for it sounded almost as if they did not care at all what the money did, so long as the sum opposite the name of their society in a certain “report” “headed the list”—­and of course that could not be what they meant at all!  But it was all very confusing, and not quite pleasant, so that Pollyanna was glad, indeed, when at last she found herself outside in the hushed, sweet air—­only she was very sorry, too:  for she knew it was not going to be easy, or anything but sad, to tell Jimmy Bean to-morrow that the Ladies’ Aid had decided that they would rather send all their money to bring up the little India boys than to save out enough to bring up one little boy in their own town, for which they would not get “a bit of credit in the report,” according to the tall lady who wore spectacles.

“Not but that it’s good, of course, to send money to the heathen, and I shouldn’t want ’em not to send some there,” sighed Pollyanna to herself, as she trudged sorrowfully along.  “But they acted as if little boys here weren’t any account—­only little boys ’way off.  I should think, though, they’d rather see Jimmy Bean grow—­than just a report!”

CHAPTER XIII.  IN PENDLETON WOODS

Pollyanna had not turned her steps toward home, when she left the chapel.  She had turned them, instead, toward Pendleton Hill.  It had been a hard day, for all it had been a “vacation one” (as she termed the infrequent days when there was no sewing or cooking lesson), and Pollyanna was sure that nothing would do her quite so much good as a walk through the green quiet of Pendleton Woods.  Up Pendleton Hill, therefore, she climbed steadily, in spite of the warm sun on her back.

“I don’t have to get home till half-past five, anyway,” she was telling herself; “and it’ll be so much nicer to go around by the way of the woods, even if I do have to climb to get there.”

It was very beautiful in the Pendleton Woods, as Pollyanna knew by experience.  But to-day it seemed even more delightful than ever, notwithstanding her disappointment over what she must tell Jimmy Bean to-morrow.