It worries her, too, 'cause she can't seem ter be
glad--maybe you don't know about her game, though," broke off
Nancy, apologetically.
"The 'glad game'?" asked the man. "Oh, yes; she told me of that."
"Oh, she did! Well, I guess she has told it generally ter most
folks. But ye see, now she--she can't play it herself, an' it
worries her. She says she can't think of a thing--not a thing
about this not walkin' again, ter be glad about."
"Well, why should she?" retorted the man, almost savagely.
Nancy shifted her feet uneasily.
"That's the way I felt, too--till I happened ter think--it WOULD
be easier if she could find somethin', ye know. So I tried to--to
remind her."
"To remind her! Of what?" John Pendleton's voice was still
angrily impatient.
"Of--of how she told others ter play it Mis' Snow, and the rest,
ye know--and what she said for them ter do. But the poor little
lamb just cries, an' says it don't seem the same, somehow. She
says it's easy ter TELL lifelong invalids how ter be glad, but
'tain't the same thing when you're the lifelong invalid yerself,
an' have ter try ter do it.
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