CHAPTER XXIX
JIMMY AND JOHN
It was a very determined, square-jawed young man that alighted at the Beldingsville station late that Saturday night. And it was an even more determined, square-jawed young man that, before ten o'clock the next morning, stalked through the Sunday-quiet village streets and climbed the hill to the Harrington homestead. Catching sight of a loved and familiar flaxen coil of hair on a well-poised little head just disappearing into the summerhouse, the young man ignored the conventional front steps and doorbell, crossed the lawn, and strode through the garden paths until he came face to face with the owner of the flaxen coil of hair.
"Jimmy!" gasped Pollyanna, falling back with startled eyes. "Why, where did you—come from?"
"Boston. Last night. I had to see you, Pollyanna."
"To—see—m-me?" Pollyanna was plainly fencing for time to regain her composure. Jimmy looked so big and strong and dear there in the door of the summerhouse that she feared her eyes had been surprised into a telltale admiration, if not more.
"Yes, Pollyanna; I wanted—that is, I thought— I mean, I feared— Oh, hang it all, Pollyanna, I
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