Поллианна

           "IreckonI’mglad,afterall,thatyouDIDgetscared—alittle,‘causethenyoucameafterme,"sheshivered. 

           "Poorlittlelamb! Andyoumustbehungry,too. I—I’mafraidyou’llhaveterhavebreadandmilkinthekitchenwithme. Yerauntdidn’tlikeit—becauseyoudidn’tcomedowntersupper,yeknow." 

           "ButIcouldn’t. Iwasuphere." 

           "Yes; but—shedidn’tknowthat,yousee!"observedNancy,dryly,stiflingachuckle. "I’msorryaboutthebreadandmilk;Iam,Iam." 

           "Oh,I’mnot. I’mglad." 

           "Glad!Why?" 

           "Why,Ilikebreadandmilk,andI’dliketoeatwithyou. Idon’tseeanytroubleaboutbeinggladaboutthat." 

           "Youdon’tseemterseeanytroublebein’gladabouteverythin’,"retortedNancy,chokingalittleoverherremembranceofPollyanna’sbraveattemptstolikethebarelittleatticroom. 

           Pollyannalaughedsoftly. 

           "Well,that’sthegame,youknow,anyway." 

           "The—GAME?" 

           "Yes; the‘justbeingglad’game." 

           "Whateverintheworldareyoutalkin’about?" 

           "Why,it’sagame. Fathertoldittome,andit’slovely,"rejoinedPollyanna. "We’veplayeditalways,eversinceIwasalittle,littlegirl. ItoldtheLadies’Aid,andtheyplayedit—someofthem." 

           "Whatisit? Iain’tmuchongames,though." 

           Pollyannalaughedagain,butshesighed,too; andinthegatheringtwilightherfacelookedthinandwistful. 

           "Why,webeganitonsomecrutchesthatcameinamissionarybarrel." "CRUTCHES!"