Miss Polly looked at the forlorn little gray bunch of neglected
misery in Pollyanna's arms, and shivered: Miss Polly did not
care for cats--not even pretty, healthy, clean ones.

"Ugh! Pollyanna! What a dirty little beast! And it's sick, I'm
sure, and all mangy and fleay."

"I know it, poor little thing," crooned Pollyanna, tenderly,
looking into the little creature's frightened eyes. "And it's all
trembly, too, it's so scared. You see it doesn't know, yet, that
we're going to keep it, of course."

"No--nor anybody else," retorted Miss Polly, with meaning
emphasis.

"Oh, yes, they do," nodded Pollyanna, entirely misunderstanding
her aunt's words. "I told everybody we should keep it, if I
didn't find where it belonged. I knew you'd be glad to have
it--poor little lonesome thing!"

Miss Polly opened her lips and tried to speak; but in vain. The
curious helpless feeling that had been hers so often since
Pollyanna's arrival, had her now fast in its grip.

"Of course I knew," hurried on Pollyanna, gratefully, "that you
wouldn't let a dear little lonesome kitty go hunting for a home
when you'd just taken ME in; and I said so to Mrs. Ford when she
asked if you'd let me keep it. Why, I had the Ladies' Aid, you
know, and kitty didn't have anybody. I knew you'd feel that way,"
she nodded happily, as she ran from the room.