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JUST A MATTER OF JELLY The little girl sighed.

"I reckon not. I told him my name, once, but he never calls me it—never."

"Does he know where you—live?"

"Oh, no. I never told him that."

"Then he doesn't know you're my—niece?"

"I don't think so."

For a moment there was silence. Miss Polly was looking at Pollyanna with eyes that did not seem to see her at all. The little girl, shifting impatiently from one small foot to the other, sighed audibly. Then Miss Polly roused herself with a start.

"Very well, Pollyanna," she said at last, still in that queer voice, so unlike her own; "you may—you may take the jelly to Mr. Pendleton as your own gift. But understand: I do not send it. Be very sure that he does not think I do!"

"Yes'm—no'm—thank you, Aunt Polly," exulted Pollyanna, as she flew through the door. 133