"But, say, listen! Don't ye know the name of the street ye want?"

"No--only that it's some kind of an avenue," desponded Pollyanna.

"A avenOO, is it? Sure, now, some class to that! We're doin' fine.
What's the number of the house? Can ye tell me that? Just scratch your
head!"

"Scratch--my--head?" Pollyanna frowned questioningly, and raised a
tentative hand to her hair.

The boy eyed her with disdain.

"Aw, come off yer perch! Ye ain't so dippy as all that. I say, don't
ye know the number of the house ye want?"

"N-no, except there's a seven in it," returned Pollyanna, with a
faintly hopeful air.

"Won't ye listen ter that?" gibed the scornful youth. "There's a seven
in it--an' she expects me ter know it when I see it!"

"Oh, I should know the house, if I could only see it," declared
Pollyanna, eagerly; "and I think I'd know the street, too, on account
of the lovely long yard running right up and down through the middle
of it."

This time it was the boy who gave a puzzled frown.

"YARD?" he queried, "in the middle of a street?"