woman, both of whom now were watching her with startled, questioning eyes.
"I wish you'd tell me—both of you—all you know about yourselves," she said brokenly, dropping herself once more into the chair by the bed.
And they told her. It was much the same story that Jamie had told Pollyanna in the Public Garden. There was little that was new, nothing that was significant, in spite of the probing questions that Mrs. Carew asked. At its conclusion Jamie turned eager eyes on Mrs. Carew's face.
"Do you think you knew—my father?" he begged.
Mrs. Carew closed her eyes and pressed her hand to her head.
"I don't—know," she answered. "But I think—not."
Pollyanna gave a quick cry of keen disappointment, but as quickly she suppressed it in obedience to Mrs. Carew's warning glance. With new horror, however, she surveyed the tiny room.
Jamie, turning his wondering eyes from Mrs. Carew's face, suddenly awoke to his duties as host.
"Wasn't you good to come!" he said to Pollyanna, gratefully. "How's Sir Lancelot? Do you ever go to feed him now?" Then, as Pollyanna did not answer at once, he hurried on, his eyes going from her face to the somewhat battered pink in a broken-necked bottle in the window. "Did you see my posy? Jerry found it. Somebody dropped it and he picked it up. Ain't it pretty? And it smells a little."
