“Oh, but you don’t know about the rest of it,” she reminded him eagerly.  “There’s the very gladdest thing you can do—­truly there is!”

“Not for me, Pollyanna.”

“Yes, sir, for you.  You said it.  You said only a—­a woman’s hand and heart or a child’s presence could make a home.  And I can get it for you—­a child’s presence;—­not me, you know, but another one.”

“As if I would have any but you!” resented an indignant voice.

“But you will—­when you know; you’re so kind and good!  Why, think of the prisms and the gold pieces, and all that money you save for the heathen, and—­”

“Pollyanna!” interrupted the man, savagely.  “Once for all let us end that nonsense!  I’ve tried to tell you half a dozen times before.  There is no money for the heathen.  I never sent a penny to them in my life.  There!”

He lifted his chin and braced himself to meet what he expected—­the grieved disappointment of Pollyanna’s eyes.  To his amazement, however, there was neither grief nor disappointment in Pollyanna’s eyes.  There was only surprised joy.

“Oh, oh!” she cried, clapping her hands.  “I’m so glad!  That is,” she corrected, coloring distressfully, “I don’t mean that I’m not sorry for the heathen, only just now I can’t help being glad that you don’t want the little India boys, because all the rest have wanted them.  And so I’m glad you’d rather have Jimmy Bean.  Now I know you’ll take him!”

“Take—­who?”

“Jimmy Bean.  He’s the ‘child’s presence,’ you know; and he’ll be so glad to be it.  I had to tell him last week that even my Ladies’ Aid out West wouldn’t take him, and he was so disappointed.  But now—­when he hears of this—­he’ll be so glad!”

“Will he?  Well, I won’t,” ejaculated the man, decisively.  “Pollyanna, this is sheer nonsense!”

“You don’t mean—­you won’t take him?”

“I certainly do mean just that.”

“But he’d be a lovely child’s presence,” faltered Pollyanna.  She was almost crying now.  “And you couldn’t be lonesome—­with Jimmy ’round.”

“I don’t doubt it,” rejoined the man; “but—­I think I prefer the lonesomeness.”

It was then that Pollyanna, for the first time in weeks, suddenly remembered something Nancy had once told her.  She raised her chin aggrievedly.

“Maybe you think a nice live little boy wouldn’t be better than that old dead skeleton you keep somewhere; but I think it would!”

“Skeleton?”

“Yes.  Nancy said you had one in your closet, somewhere.”

“Why, what—­” Suddenly the man threw back his head and laughed.  He laughed very heartily indeed—­so heartily that Pollyanna began to cry from pure nervousness.  When he saw that, John Pendleton sat erect very promptly.  His face grew grave at once.

“Pollyanna, I suspect you are right—­more right than you know,” he said gently.  “In fact, I know that a ‘nice live little boy’ would be far better than—­my skeleton in the closet; only—­we aren’t always willing to make the exchange.  We are apt to still cling to—­our skeletons, Pollyanna.  However, suppose you tell me a little more about this nice little boy.”  And Pollyanna told him.