Page 124 - pollyanna

you home?’ asked the doctor smilingly. ‘I started to drive
on a few minutes ago; then it occurred to me that I’d wait
for you.’
‘Thank you, sir. I’m glad you did. I just love to ride,’
beamed Pollyanna, as he reached out his hand to help her
in.
‘Do you?’ smiled the doctor, nodding his head in farewell
to the young man on the steps. ‘Well, as near as I can judge,
there are a good many things you ‘love’ to do—eh?’ he add-
ed, as they drove briskly away.
Pollyanna laughed.
‘Why, I don’t know. I reckon perhaps there are,’ she ad-
mitted. ‘I like to do ‘most everything that’s LIVING. Of
course I don’t like the other things very well—sewing, and
reading out loud, and all that. But THEY aren’t LIVING.’
‘No? What are they, then?
‘Aunt Polly says they’re ‘learning to live,’ sighed Polly-
anna, with a rueful smile.
The doctor smiled now—a little queerly.
‘Does she? Well, I should think she might say—just that.’
‘Yes,’ responded Pollyanna. ‘But I don’t see it that way at
all. I don’t think you have to LEARN how to live. I didn’t,
anyhow.’
The doctor drew a long sigh.
‘After all, I’m afraid some of us—do have to, little girl,’
he said. Then, for a time he was silent. Pollyanna, stealing a
glance at his face, felt vaguely sorry for him. He looked so
sad. She wished, uneasily, that she could ‘do something.’ It
was this, perhaps, that caused her to say in a timid voice:

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