I'm glad." "Glad! Why ?" "Why, I like bread and milk, and I'd like to eat with you.

I don't see any trouble about being glad about that." "You don't seem ter see any trouble bein' glad about everythin'," retorted Nancy, choking a little over her remembrance of Pollyanna's brave attempts to like the bare little attic room.
Pollyanna laughed softly.
"Well, that's the game, you know, anyway." "The--GAME ?" "Yes; the 'just being glad' game." "Whatever in the world are you talkin' about ?" "Why, it's a game.

Father told it to me, and it's lovely," rejoined Pollyanna.

"We've played it always, ever since I was a little, little girl.

I told the Ladies' Aid, and they played it--some of them." "What is it?
I ain't much on games, though." Pollyanna laughed again, but she sighed, too; and in the gathering twilight her face looked thin and wistful.
"Why, we began it on some crutches that came in a missionary barrel." "CRUTCHES!" "Yes.