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," corrected 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
texts that started him on it."
"And what game might that be?" asked the minister.
"About finding something in everything to be glad about, you
know. As I said, he began with me on the crutches." And once more
Pollyanna told her story--this time to a man who listened with
tender eyes and understanding ears.
A little later Pollyanna and the minister descended the hill,
hand in hand. Pollyanna's face was radiant. Pollyanna loved to
talk, and she had been talking now for some time: there seemed to
be so many, many things about the game, her father, and the old
home life that the minister wanted to know.
At the foot of the hill their ways parted, and Pollyanna down one
road, and the minister down another, walked on alone.
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