To-day, even, to Pollyanna's huge delight, she had said that she was glad Pollyanna brought calf's-foot jelly, because that was just what she had been wanting--she did not know that Milly, at the front door, had told Pollyanna that the minister's wife had already that day sent over a great bowlful of that same kind of jelly.
Pollyanna was thinking of this now when suddenly she saw the boy.
The boy was sitting in a disconsolate little heap by the roadside, whittling half-heartedly at a small stick.
"Hullo," smiled Pollyanna, engagingly.
The boy glanced up, but he looked away again, at once.
"Hullo yourself," he mumbled.
Pollyanna laughed.
"Now you don't look as if you'd be glad even for calf's-foot jelly," she chuckled, stopping before him.
The boy stirred restlessly, gave her a surprised look, and began to whittle again at his stick, with the dull, broken-bladed knife in his hand.
Pollyanna hesitated, then dropped herself comfortably down on the grass near him.

In spite of Pollyanna's brave assertion that she was "used to Ladies' Aiders," and "didn't mind," she had sighed at times for some companion of her own age.

Hence her determination to make the most of this one.
"My name's Pollyanna Whittier," she began pleasantly.

"What's yours ?" Again the boy stirred restlessly.

He even almost got to his feet.