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           "Why,Idon’tknow. Ireckonperhapsthereare,"sheadmitted. "Iliketodo‘mosteverythingthat’sLIVING. OfcourseIdon’tliketheotherthingsverywell—sewing,andreadingoutloud,andallthat. ButTHEYaren’tLIVING." 

           "No? Whatarethey,then?" 

           "AuntPollysaysthey’re‘learningtolive,’"sighedPollyanna,witharuefulsmile. 

           Thedoctorsmilednow—alittlequeerly. 

           "Doesshe? Well,Ishouldthinkshemightsay—justthat." 

           "Yes,"respondedPollyanna. "ButIdon’tseeitthatwayatall. Idon’tthinkyouhavetoLEARNhowtolive. Ididn’t,anyhow." 

           Thedoctordrewalongsigh. 

           "Afterall,I’mafraidsomeofus—dohaveto,littlegirl,"hesaid. Then,foratimehewassilent. Pollyanna,stealingaglanceathisface,feltvaguelysorryforhim. Helookedsosad. Shewished,uneasily,thatshecould"dosomething." Itwasthis,perhaps,thatcausedhertosayinatimidvoice: 

           "Dr.Chilton,Ishouldthinkbeingadoctorwould,betheverygladdestkindofabusinesstherewas." 

           Thedoctorturnedinsurprise. 

           "‘Gladdest’!—whenIseesomuchsufferingalways,everywhereIgo?"hecried. 

           Shenodded. 

           "Iknow; butyou’reHELPINGit—don’tyousee?—andofcourseyou’regladtohelpit! Andsothatmakesyouthegladdestofanyofus,allthetime."