Page 176 - pollyanna

he said, too, that he wouldn’t STAY a minister a minute if
‘twasn’t for the rejoicing texts.’
‘The—WHAT?’ The Rev. Paul Ford’s eyes left the leaf and
gazed wonderingly into Pollyanna’s merry little face.
‘Well, that’s what father used to call ‘em,’ she laughed. ‘Of
course the Bible didn’t name ‘em that. But it’s all those that
begin ‘Be glad in the Lord,’ or ‘Rejoice greatly,’ or ‘Shout for
joy,’ and all that, you know—such a lot of ‘em. Once, when
father felt specially bad, he counted ‘em. There were eight
hundred of ‘em.’
‘Eight hundred!’
‘Yes—that told you to rejoice and be glad, you know;
that’s why father named ‘em the ‘rejoicing texts.’ ‘
‘Oh!’ There was an odd look on the minister’s face. His
eyes had fallen to the words on the top paper in his hands—
‘But woe unto you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites!’ ‘And
so your father—liked those ‘rejoicing texts,’ ‘ he mur-
mured.
‘Oh, yes,’ nodded Pollyanna, emphatically. ‘He said he felt
better right away, that first day he thought to count ‘em. He
said if God took the trouble to tell us eight hundred times
to be glad and rejoice, He must want us to do it—SOME.
And father felt ashamed that he hadn’t done it more. After
that, they got to be such a comfort to him, you know, when
things went wrong; when the Ladies’ Aiders got to fight—I
mean, when they DIDN’T AGREE about something,’ cor-
rected Pollyanna, hastily. ‘Why, it was those texts, too,
father said, that made HIM think of the game—he began
with ME on the crutches—but he said ‘twas the rejoicing

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