POLLYANNA
was deaf and couldn't hear anything, like her husband's sister. You see, she was playing the game, too. I'd told her about it."
"The—game?"
Pollyanna clapped her hands.
"There! I 'most forgot; but I've thought it up, Mrs. Snow—what you can be glad about."
"Glad about! What do you mean?"
"Why, I told you I would. Don't you remember? You asked me to tell you something to be glad about—glad, you know, even though you did have to lie here abed all day."
"Oh!" scoffed the woman. "That? Yes, I remember that; but I didn't suppose you were in earnest any more than I was."
"Oh, yes, I was," nodded Pollyanna, triumphantly; "and I found it, too. But 'twas hard. It's all the more fun, though, always, when 'tis hard. And I will own up, honest to true, that I couldn't think of anything for a while. Then I got it."
"Did you, really? Well, what is it?" Mrs. Snow's voice was sarcastically polite.
Pollyanna drew a long breath.
"I thought—how glad you could be—that other folks weren't like you—all sick in bed like this, you know," she announced impressively.
Mrs. Snow stared. Her eyes were angry and she compressed her lips.
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