"I'm glad it isn't smallpox that ails me, too," she murmured
contentedly. "That would be worse than freckles. And I'm glad
'tisn't whooping cough--I've had that, and it's horrid--and I'm
glad 'tisn't appendicitis nor measles, 'cause they're
catching--measles are, I mean--and they wouldn't let you stay
here."
"You seem to--to be glad for a good many things, my dear,"
faltered Aunt Polly, putting her hand to her throat as if her
collar bound.
Pollyanna laughed softly.
"I am. I've been thinking of 'em--lots of 'em--all the time I've
been looking up at that rainbow. I love rainbows. I'm so glad Mr.
Pendleton gave me those prisms! I'm glad of some things I haven't
said yet. I don't know but I'm 'most glad I was hurt."
"Pollyanna!"
Pollyanna laughed softly again. She turned luminous eyes on her
aunt. "Well, you see, since I have been hurt, you've called me
'dear' lots of times--and you didn't before. I love to be called
'dear'--by folks that belong to you, I mean. Some of the Ladies'
Aiders did call me that; and of course that was pretty nice, but
not so nice as if they had belonged to me, like you do.
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