Eleanor H. Porter: Pollyanna

5. CHAPTER V. THE GAME (continued)

For a moment there was silence. The sky was darkening fast. Pollyanna took a firmer hold of her friend's arm.

"I reckon I'm glad, after all, that you DID get scared--a little, 'cause then you came after me," she shivered.

"Poor little lamb! And you must be hungry, too. I--I'm afraid you'll have ter have bread and milk in the kitchen with me. Yer aunt didn't like it--because you didn't come down ter supper, ye know."

"But I couldn't. I was up here."

"Yes; but--she didn't know that, you see!" observed Nancy, dryly, stifling a chuckle. "I'm sorry about the bread and milk; I am, I am."

"Oh, I'm not. 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."