"But I don't see how you can ever play the game here at all, Jamie," she faltered. "I didn't suppose there could be anywhere such a perfectly awful place to live," she shuddered.
"Ho!" scoffed Jamie, valiantly. "You'd oughter see the Pikes' down-stairs. Theirs is a whole lot worse'n this. You don't know what a lot of nice things there is about this room. Why, we get the sun in that winder there for 'most two hours every day, when it shines. And if you get real near it you can see a whole lot of sky from it. If we could only KEEP the room!—but you see we've got to leave, we're afraid. And that's what's worrin' us."
"Leave!"
"Yes. We got behind on the rent—mumsey bein' sick so, and not earnin' anythin'." In spite of a courageously cheerful smile, Jamie's voice shook. "Mis' Dolan down-stairs—the woman what keeps my wheel chair for me, you know—is helpin' us out this week. But of course she can't do it always, and then we'll have to go—if Jerry don't strike it rich, or somethin'."
"Oh, but can't we—" began Pollyanna.
She stopped short. Mrs. Carew had risen to her feet abruptly with a hurried:
"Come, Pollyanna, we must go." Then to the woman she turned wearily.
"You won't have to leave. I'll send you money and food at once, and
I'll mention your case to one of the charity organizations in which I
am interested, and they will—"
In surprise she ceased speaking. The bent little figure of the woman opposite had drawn itself almost erect. Mrs. Murphy's cheeks were flushed. Her eyes showed a smouldering fire.
"Thank you, no, Mrs. Carew," she said tremulously, but proudly. "We're poor—God knows; but we ain't charity folks."
"Nonsense!" cried Mrs. Carew, sharply. "You're letting the woman down-stairs help you. This boy said so."