I knew you'd be glad to let it live here." Miss Polly looked at the forlorn little gray bunch of neglected misery in Pollyanna's arms, and shivered: Miss Polly did not care for cats--not even pretty, healthy, clean ones.
"Ugh! Pollyanna! What a dirty little beast! And it's sick, I'm sure, and all mangy and fleay." "I know it, poor little thing," crooned Pollyanna, tenderly, looking into the little creature's frightened eyes.

"And it's all trembly, too, it's so scared.

You see it doesn't know, yet, that we're going to keep it, of course." "No--nor anybody else," retorted Miss Polly, with meaning emphasis.
"Oh, yes, they do," nodded Pollyanna, entirely misunderstanding her aunt's words.

"I told everybody we should keep it, if I didn't find where it belonged.

I knew you'd be glad to have it--poor little lonesome thing!" Miss Polly opened her lips and tried to speak; but in vain.