"Why, they'd give you something, of course!"
The boy laughed once more, this time a little queerly.
"Guess again, kid. You've got another one coming. Nobody I know is dishin' out roast beef and frosted cakes for the askin'. Besides, if you didn't go hungry once in a while, you wouldn't know how good 'taters and milk can taste; and you wouldn't have so much to put in your Jolly Book."
"Your WHAT?"
The boy gave an embarrassed laugh and grew suddenly red.
"Forget it! I didn't think, for a minute, but you was mumsey or
Jerry."
"But what IS your Jolly Book?" pleaded Pollyanna. "Please tell me. Are there knights and lords and ladies in that?"
The boy shook his head. His eyes lost their laughter and grew dark and fathomless.
"No; I wish't there was," he sighed wistfully. "But when you—you can't even WALK, you can't fight battles and win trophies, and have fair ladies hand you your sword, and bestow upon you the golden guerdon." A sudden fire came to the boy's eyes. His chin lifted itself as if in response to a bugle call. Then, as suddenly, the fire died, and the boy fell back into his old listlessness.
"You just can't do nothin'," he resumed wearily, after a moment's silence. "You just have to sit and think; and times like that your THINK gets to be something awful. Mine did, anyhow. I wanted to go to school and learn things—more things than just mumsey can teach me; and I thought of that. I wanted to run and play ball with the other boys; and I thought of that. I wanted to go out and sell papers with Jerry; and I thought of that. I didn't want to be taken care of all my life; and I thought of that."