his eyes. Very slowly he closed them, and turned away his face.
When Mrs. Carew ceased speaking there was a long silence before Jamie turned his head and answered. They saw then that his face was very white, and that his eyes were full of tears.
"Thank you, Mrs. Carew, but—I can't go," he said simply.
"You can't—what?" cried Mrs. Carew, as if she doubted the evidence of her own ears.
"Jamie!" gasped Pollyanna.
"Oh, come, kid, what's eatin' ye?" scowled Jerry, hurriedly coming forward. "Don't ye know a good thing when ye see it?"
"Yes; but I can't—go," said the crippled boy, again.
"But, Jamie, Jamie, think, think what it would mean to you!" quavered Mrs. Murphy, at the foot of the bed.
"I am a-thinkin'," choked Jamie. "Don't you suppose I know what I'm doin'—what I'm givin' up?" Then to Mrs. Carew he turned tear-wet eyes. "I can't," he faltered. "I can't let you do all that for me. If you—cared it would be different. But you don't care—not really. You don't want me—not me. You want the real Jamie, and I ain't the real Jamie. You don't think I am. I can see it in your face."
"I know. But—but—" began Mrs. Carew, helplessly.
"And it isn't as if—as if I was like other boys,
