"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, get your hat and coat. Boy, wait here,
please. We'll be ready to go with you immediately." The next minute
she had hurried up-stairs.

In the hall the boy drew a long breath.

"Gee whiz!" he muttered softly. "If we ain't goin' ter go in a
buzz-wagon! Some class ter that! Gorry! what'll Sir James say?"