guys out of books. Are ye on? Yet he'd ruther feed them than feed hisself. Ain't he the limit? Ta-ta, Sir James," he added, with a grimace, to the boy in the chair. "Buck up, now — nix on the no grub racket for you! See you later." And he was gone.
Pollyanna was still blinking and frowning when the lame boy turned with a smile.
"You mustn't mind Jerry. That's just his way. He'd cut off his right hand for me — Jerry would; but he loves to tease. Where'd you see him? Does he know you? He didn't tell me your name."
"I'm Pollyanna Whittier. I was lost and he found me and took me home," answered Pollyanna, still a little dazedly.
"I see. Just like him," nodded the boy. "Don't he tote me up here every day?"
A quick sympathy came to Pollyanna's eyes.
"Can't you walk — at all — er — Sir J-James?"
The boy laughed gleefully.
"'Sir James,' indeed! That's only more of Jerry's nonsense. I ain't a 'Sir.'"
Pollyanna looked clearly disappointed.
"You aren't? Nor a — a lord, like he said?"
"I sure ain't."
"Oh, I hoped you were — like Little Lord Fauntleroy, you know," rejoined Pollyanna. "And — "
But the boy interrupted her with an eager:
"Do you know Little Lord Fauntleroy? And do you know about Sir Lancelot, and the Holy Grail, and King Arthur and his Round Table, and the Lady Rowena, and Ivanhoe, and all those? Do you?"
