she did not like to be called "silly." Still, he was somebody
besides--old folks. "Where did you live--before?" she queried.

"Well, if you ain't the beat'em for askin' questions!" sighed the
boy impatiently.

"I have to be," retorted Pollyanna calmly, "else I couldn't find
out a thing about you. If you'd talk more I wouldn't talk so
much."

The boy gave a short laugh. It was a sheepish laugh, and not
quite a willing one; but his face looked a little pleasanter when
he spoke this time.

"All right then--here goes! I'm Jimmy Bean, and I'm ten years old
goin' on eleven. I come last year ter live at the Orphans' Home;
but they've got so many kids there ain't much room for me, an' I
wa'n't never wanted, anyhow, I don't believe. So I've quit. I'm
goin' ter live somewheres else--but I hain't found the place,
yet. I'd LIKE a home--jest a common one, ye know, with a mother
in it, instead of a Matron. If ye has a home, ye has folks; an' I
hain't had folks since--dad died. So I'm a-huntin' now. I've
tried four houses, but--they didn't want me--though I said I
expected ter work, 'course. There! Is that all you want ter
know?" The boy's voice had broken a little over the last two
sentences.

"Why, what a shame!" sympathized Pollyanna. "And didn't there
anybody want you? O dear! I know just how you feel, because
after--after my father died, too, there wasn't anybody but the