Pollyanna Grows Up

by Eleanor H. Porter

"But he isn't a strange boy," objected Pollyanna. "I've known him ever so long, and I MUST go. I—"

"What in the world is the meaning of this?" demanded Mrs. Carew icily from the drawing-room doorway. "Pollyanna, who is this boy, and what is he doing here?"

Pollyanna turned with a quick cry.

"Oh, Mrs. Carew, you'll let me go, won't you?"

"Go where?"

"To see my brother, ma'am," cut in the boy hurriedly, and with an obvious effort to be very polite. "He's sort of off his feed, ye know, and he wouldn't give me no peace till I come up—after her," with an awkward gesture toward Pollyanna. "He thinks a sight an' all of her."

"I may go, mayn't I?" pleaded Pollyanna.

Mrs. Carew frowned.

"Go with this boy—YOU? Certainly not, Pollyanna! I wonder you are wild enough to think of it for a moment."

"Oh, but I want you to come, too," began Pollyanna.