“Well, I don't—just now. I'm huntin' up a new place.”
“Oh! Where is it?”
The boy regarded her with scornful eyes.
“Silly! As if I'd be a-huntin' for it—if I knew!”
Pollyanna tossed her head a little. This was not a nice boy, and she did not like to be called “silly.” Still, he was somebody besides—old folks. “Where did you live—before?” she queried.
“Well, if you ain't the beat'em for askin' questions!” sighed the boy impatiently.
“I have to be,” retorted Pollyanna calmly, “else I couldn't find out a thing about you. If you'd talk more I wouldn't talk so much.”
The boy gave a short laugh. It was a sheepish laugh, and not quite a willing one; but his face looked a little pleasanter when he spoke this time.
“All right then—here goes! I'm Jimmy Bean, and I'm ten years old goin' on eleven. I come last year ter live at the Orphans' Home; but they've got so many kids there ain't much room for me, an' I wa'n't never wanted, anyhow, I don't believe. So I've quit. I'm goin' ter live somewheres else—but I hain't found the place, yet. I'd LIKE a home—jest a common one, ye know, with a mother in it, instead of a Matron. If ye has a home, ye has folks; an' I hain't had folks since—dad died. So I'm a-huntin' now. I've tried four houses, but—they didn't want me—though I said I expected ter work, 'course. There! Is that all you want ter know?” The boy's voice had broken a little over the last two sentences.
“Why, what a shame!” sympathized Pollyanna. “And didn't there anybody want you? O dear! I know just how you feel, because after—after my father died, too, there wasn't anybody but the Ladies' Aid for me, until Aunt Polly said she'd take—” Pollyanna stopped abruptly. The dawning of a wonderful idea began to show in her face.