POLLYANNA
"Oh, but it isn't queer—it's lovely," maintained Pollyanna enthusiastically. "And we've played it ever since. And the harder 'tis, the more fun 'tis to get 'em out; only—only—sometimes it's almost too hard—like when your father goes to Heaven, and there isn't anybody but a Ladies' Aid left."
"Yes, or when you're put in a snippy little room 'way at the top of the house with nothin' in it," growled Nancy.
Pollyanna sighed.
"That was a hard one, at first," she admitted, "specially when I was so kind of lonesome. I just didn't feel like playing the game, anyway, and I had been wanting pretty things, so! Then I happened to think how I hated to see my freckles in the looking-glass, and I saw that lovely picture out the window, too; so then I knew I'd found the things to be glad about. You see, when you're hunting for the glad things, you sort of forget the other kind—like the doll you wanted, you know."
"Humph!" choked Nancy, trying to swallow the lump in her throat.
"Most generally it doesn't take so long," sighed Pollyanna; "and lots of times now I just think of them without thinking, you know. I've got so used to playing it. It's a lovely game. F-father and I
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