see him," almost sobbed Pollyanna. "I can't lose him again!"
An angry color flamed into Mrs. Carew's cheeks.
"Pollyanna, this is sheer nonsense. I am surprised. I am amazed at you for insisting upon doing something you know I disapprove of. I can not allow you to go with this boy. Now please let me hear no more about it."
A new expression came to Pollyanna's face. With a look half-terrified, half-exalted, she lifted her chin and squarely faced Mrs. Carew. Tremulously, but determinedly, she spoke.
"Then I'll have to tell you. I didn't mean to—till I was sure. I wanted you to see him first. But now I've got to tell. I can't lose him again. I think, Mrs. Carew, he's—Jamie."
"Jamie! Not—my—Jamie!" Mrs. Carew's face had grown very white.
"Yes."
"Impossible!"
"I know; but, please, his name is Jamie, and he doesn't know the other one. His father died when he was six years old, and he can't remember his mother. He's twelve years old, he thinks. These folks took him in when his father died, and his father was queer, and didn't tell folks his name, and—"
But Mrs. Carew had stopped her with a gesture. Mrs. Carew was even whiter than before, but her eyes burned with a sudden fire.
"We'll go at once," she said. "Mary, tell Perkins to have the car here as soon as possible. Pollyanna,
