Page 224 - pollyanna

course, like any child would. It seems ‘twas then her father
told her that there wasn’t ever anythin’ but what there was
somethin’ about it that you could be glad about; an’ that she
could be glad about them crutches.’
‘Glad for—CRUTCHES!’ Miss Polly choked back a
sob—she was thinking of the helpless little legs on the bed
up-stairs.
‘Yes’m. That’s what I said, an’ Miss Pollyanna said that’s
what she said, too. But he told her she COULD be glad—
‘cause she DIDN’T NEED ‘EM.’
‘Oh-h!’ cried Miss Polly.
‘And after that she said he made a regular game of it—fin-
din’ somethin’ in everythin’ ter be glad about. An’ she said
ye could do it, too, and that ye didn’t seem ter mind not
havin’ the doll so much, ‘cause ye was so glad ye DIDN’T
need the crutches. An’ they called it the ‘jest bein’ glad’
game. That’s the game, ma’am. She’s played it ever since.’
‘But, how—how—‘ Miss Polly came to a helpless pause.
‘An’ you’d be surprised ter find how cute it works, ma’am,
too,’ maintained Nancy, with almost the eagerness of Pol-
lyanna herself. ‘I wish I could tell ye what a lot she’s done
for mother an’ the folks out home. She’s been ter see ‘em, ye
know, twice, with me. She’s made me glad, too, on such a lot
o’ things—little things, an’ big things; an’ it’s made ‘em so
much easier. For instance, I don’t mind ‘Nancy’ for a name
half as much since she told me I could be glad ‘twa’n’t ‘Hep-
hzibah.’ An’ there’s Monday mornin’s, too, that I used ter
hate so. She’s actually made me glad for Monday mornin’s.’
‘Glad—for Monday mornings!’