Mrs. Carew drew in her breath and gave a little gasp of exasperation. This unfailing faith in her goodness of heart, and unhesitating belief in her desire to "help everybody" was most disconcerting, and sometimes most annoying. At the same time it was a most difficult thing to disclaim—under the circumstances, especially with Pollyanna's happy, confident eyes full on her face.
"But, Pollyanna," she objected impotently, at last, feeling very much as if she were struggling against invisible silken cords, "I—you—this girl really isn't Jamie, at all, you know."
"I know she isn't," sympathized Pollyanna quickly. "And of course I'm just as sorry she ISN'T Jamie as can be. But she's somebody's Jamie—that is, I mean she hasn't got anybody down here to love her and—and notice, you know; and so whenever you remember Jamie I should think you couldn't be glad enough there was SOMEBODY you could help, just as you'd want folks to help Jamie, wherever HE is."
Mrs. Carew shivered and gave a little moan.
"But I want MY Jamie," she grieved.
Pollyanna nodded with understanding eyes.
"I know—the 'child's presence.' Mr. Pendleton told me about it—only you've GOT the 'woman's hand.'"
"'Woman's hand'?"
"Yes—to make a home, you know. He said that it took a woman's hand or a child's presence to make a home. That was when he wanted me, and I found him Jimmy, and he adopted him instead."
"JIMMY?" Mrs. Carew looked up with the startled something in her eyes that always came into them at the mention of any variant of that name.