"Lots--in here," nodded Pollyanna, tapping the paper bag she carried.

"Oh, then perhaps I WILL eat it to-day," sighed the boy, dropping the
doughnut back into the box with an air of relief.

Pollyanna, on whom the significance of this action was quite lost,
thrust her fingers into her own bag, and the banquet was on.

It was a wonderful hour. To Pollyanna it was, in a way, the most
wonderful hour she had ever spent, for she had found some one who
could talk faster and longer than she could. This strange youth seemed
to have an inexhaustible fund of marvelous stories of brave knights
and fair ladies, of tournaments and battles. Moreover, so vividly did
he draw his pictures that Pollyanna saw with her own eyes the deeds of
valor, the knights in armor, and the fair ladies with their jeweled
gowns and tresses, even though she was really looking at a flock of
fluttering doves and sparrows and a group of frisking squirrels on a
wide sweep of sunlit grass.

[Illustration: "It was a wonderful hour"]

The Ladies' Aiders were forgotten. Even the glad game was not thought
of. Pollyanna, with flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes was trailing
down the golden ages led by a romance-fed boy who--though she did not
know it--was trying to crowd into this one short hour of congenial
companionship countless dreary days of loneliness and longing.

Not until the noon bells sent Pollyanna hurrying homeward did she
remember that she did not even yet know the boy's name.