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Page 33
Polly nodded sympathetically.
"I know. It IS awful! Mrs. White had it once--one of my Ladies'
Aiders, you know. She had rheumatic fever, too, at the same time,
so she couldn't thrash 'round. She said 'twould have been easier
if she could have. Can you?"
"Can I--what?"
"Thrash 'round--move, you know, so as to change your position
when the music gets too hard to stand."
Mrs. Snow stared a little.
"Why, of course I can move--anywhere--in bed," she rejoined a
little irritably.
"Well, you can be glad of that, then, anyhow, can't you?" nodded
Pollyanna. "Mrs. White couldn't. You can't thrash when you have
rheumatic fever--though you want to something awful, Mrs. White
says. She told me afterwards she reckoned she'd have gone raving
crazy if it hadn't been for Mr. White's sister's ears--being
deaf, so."
"Sister's--EARS! What do you mean?"
Pollyanna laughed.
"Well, I reckon I didn't tell it all, and I forgot you didn't
know Mrs. White. You see, Miss White was deaf--awfully deaf; and
she came to visit 'em and to help take care of Mrs. White and the
house. Well, they had such an awful time making her understand
ANYTHING, that after that, every time the piano commenced to play
across the street, Mrs. White felt so glad she COULD hear it,
that she didn't mind so much that she DID hear it, 'cause she
couldn't help thinking how awful 'twould be if she 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.
"Well, really!" she ejaculated then, in not quite an agreeable
tone of voice.
"And now I'll tell you the game," proposed Pollyanna, blithely
confident. "It'll be just lovely for you to play--it'll be so
hard. And there's so much more fun when it is hard! You see, it's
like this." And she began to tell of the missionary barrel, the
crutches, and the doll that did not come.
The story was just finished when Milly appeared at the door.
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