the Lady Rowena, and Ivanhoe, and all those? DO you?"

Pollyanna gave her head a dubious shake.

"Well, I'm afraid maybe I don't know ALL of 'em," she admitted. "Are
they all--in books?"

The boy nodded.

"I've got 'em here--some of 'em," he said. "I like to read 'em over
and over. There's always SOMETHING new in 'em. Besides, I hain't got
no others, anyway. These were father's. Here, you little rascal--quit
that!" he broke off in laughing reproof as a bushy-tailed squirrel
leaped to his lap and began to nose in his pockets. "Gorry, guess we'd
better give them their dinner or they'll be tryin' to eat us,"
chuckled the boy. "That's Sir Lancelot. He's always first, you know."

From somewhere the boy produced a small pasteboard box which he opened
guardedly, mindful of the numberless bright little eyes that were
watching every move. All about him now sounded the whir and flutter of
wings, the cooing of doves, the saucy twitter of the sparrows. Sir
Lancelot, alert and eager, occupied one arm of the wheel chair.
Another bushy-tailed little fellow, less venturesome, sat back on his
haunches five feet away. A third squirrel chattered noisily on a
neighboring tree-branch.

From the box the boy took a few nuts, a small roll, and a doughnut. At
the latter he looked longingly, hesitatingly.

"Did you--bring anything?" he asked then.