Next day Aunt Polly told the minister’s wife over the telephone, that she would not be at the Ladies’ Aid meeting that afternoon, owing to a headache.

The Ladies’ Aid met at two o’clock in the chapel next the church.

Pollyanna ascended the chapel steps, pushed open the door and entered the vestibule.

“How do you do, Ladies’ Aiders?” she faltered politely. “I’m Pollyanna Whittier. I–I reckon some of you know me, maybe.”

Some of the ladies did know this rather extraordinary niece of their fellow-member, but nearly all had heard of her; but not one of them could think of anything to say, just then.

“I–I’ve come to – to lay the case before you,” stammered Pollyanna, after a moment.

“Did – did your aunt send you, my dear?” asked Mrs. Ford, the minister’s wife.

“Oh, no. I came all by myself.”

“Yes, dear. What is it?”

“Well, it – it’s Jimmy Bean,” sighed Pollyanna. “He hasn’t any home except the Orphan one, and he wants one of the common kind. He’s ten years old. I think some of you might like him – to live with you, you know.”

“Well —!” murmured a voice.

“Oh, I forgot to say; he will work,” she said.

One or two women began to question her. After a time they all had the story and began to talk among themselves.

Pollyanna listened with growing anxiety. Some of what was said she could not understand. After a time, however, she understood that there was no woman who had a home to give him.

It seemed that their society was famous for its offering to Hindu missions. Most of what was said Pollyanna could not understand, but the most important thing was clear to her. Ladies’ Aid had decided that they would rather send all their money to bring up the little Indian boys than to save out enough to bring up one little boy in their own town.