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"You just can't do nothin'," he resumed wearily, after a moment's silence. "You just have to sit and think; and times like that your THINK gets to be something awful. Mine did, anyhow. I wanted to go to school and learn things more things than just mumsey can teach me; and I thought of that. I wanted to run and play ball with the other boys; and I thought of that.
"It isn't our war," she said; "and what use will one more enlisted man be to them? And besides, my dear, only sons are always the first ones to get hurt; only sons and men whose families are dependent upon them. But . . ." and here she gave me a wonderful look . . . "I think I know why you want to go. And that makes me very proud." "I think you do know, Mumsey," I said.
Mumsey, this is the little girl, you know, that told me the glad game and mumsey's playing it, too," he triumphed, turning back to Pollyanna. "First she cried 'cause her back hurts too bad to let her work; then when I was took worse she was GLAD she couldn't work, 'cause she could be here to take care of me, you know." At that moment Mrs.
"No, it isn't; but that's what Jerry 'most always calls me. Mumsey and the rest call me 'Jamie." "'JAMIE!" Pollyanna caught her breath and held it suspended. A wild hope had come to her eyes. It was followed almost instantly, however, by fearful doubt. "Does 'mumsey' mean mother?" "Sure!" Pollyanna relaxed visibly. Her face fell. If this Jamie had a mother, he could not, of course, be Mrs.
"Can't you come on," he cried impatiently at last "I don't want mumsey to see me." When both were hidden from the kitchen window through which Fru Gustafsson used to keep a religiously preoccupied eye on the doings of her son, Johan pulled a cigarette from within his coat sleeve and a match from his pocket.
I guess this sure is the Beautiful City of Perhaps, after all!" "I wonder?" "Oh, but I'm sure it is now th' gentleman's gone I just know it is!" "What makes you so sure?" "Everything! 'Cause you see, Prince, my daddy don't have t' be away all day any more. An' mumsey don't have t' sew late, nights, any more.
At that moment a cry of "Johan" rose from the lower part of the lane, and Keith had to come back once more to look. "There's my mumsey now," said Johan philosophically, pointing to an open window on the ground floor of the corner house. With that he slouched off in a manner that Keith half envied and half resented. The sudden emergence of Johan had filled Keith's heart with a new hope.
"You see, mumsey works out stairs and washings so she gets some of her feed in them places, and Jerry picks his up where he can, except nights and mornings; he gets it with us then if we've got any." Pollyanna looked still more shocked. "But what do you do when you don't have anything to eat?" "Go hungry, of course."
"Why does Johan call his mamma 'mumsey' and his papa 'popsey," he asked unexpectedly. "It sounds funny." "Because he does not know any better," his mother rejoined with unmistakable disapproval. "It doesn't sound nice, and it isn't nice." "But his papa and mamma don't care," Keith objected. "That's the worst of it," said the mother.
"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?" "I don't know. I was little. Mumsey says she guesses maybe I was about six.
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