"A avenOO, is it? Sure, now, some class to that! We're doin' fine. What's the number of the house? Can ye tell me that? Just scratch your head!"
"Scratch—my—head?" Pollyanna frowned questioningly, and raised a tentative hand to her hair.
The boy eyed her with disdain.
"Aw, come off yer perch! Ye ain't so dippy as all that. I say, don't ye know the number of the house ye want?"
"N-no, except there's a seven in it," returned Pollyanna, with a faintly hopeful air.
"Won't ye listen ter that?" gibed the scornful youth. "There's a seven in it—an' she expects me ter know it when I see it!"
"Oh, I should know the house, if I could only see it," declared Pollyanna, eagerly; "and I think I'd know the street, too, on account of the lovely long yard running right up and down through the middle of it."
This time it was the boy who gave a puzzled frown.
"YARD?" he queried, "in the middle of a street?"
"Yes—trees and grass, you know, with a walk in the middle of it, and seats, and—" But the boy interrupted her with a whoop of delight.