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92 "It don't look like it. They said I couldn't."

"Oh, but that's what they said about me, and then they sent me to Dr. Ames, and I stayed 'most a year; and he made me walk. Maybe he could you!"

The boy shook his head.

"He couldn't—you see; I couldn't go to him, anyway. 'Twould cost too much. We'll just have to call it that I can't ever—walk again. But never mind." The boy threw back his head impatiently. "I'm trying not to think of that. You know what it is when—when your think gets to going."

"Yes, yes, of course—and here I am talking about it!" cried Pollyanna, penitently. "I said you knew how to play the game better than I did, now. But go on. You haven't told me half, yet. Where do you live? And is Jerry all the brothers and sisters you've got?"

A swift change came to the boy's face. His eyes glowed.

"Yes—and he ain't mine, really. He ain't any relation, nor mumsey ain't, neither. And only think how good they've been to me!"

"What's that?" questioned Pollyanna, instantly on the alert. "Isn't that—that 'mumsey' your mother at all?"

"No; and that's what makes—"

"And haven't you got any mother?" interrupted Pollyanna, in growing excitement.

"No; I never remember any mother, and father died six years ago."

"How old were you?"