The sun was slowly setting in the west, casting golden beams of light into the somber old room.

... if God took the trouble to tell us eight hundred times to be glad and rejoice, He must want us to do it—SOME.

Oh, yes; the game was to just find something about everything to be glad about—no matter what 'twas

'Oh, yes,' nodded Pollyanna emphatically. 'He said he felt better right away, that first day he thought to count 'em. He said if God took the trouble to tell us eight hundred times to be glad and rejoice, He must want us to do it - some.

The sun was slowly setting in the west, casting golden beams of light into the somber old room.

It's funny how dogs and cats know the inside of folks better than other folks do, isn't it?

I long ago discovered that you can't TELL about Pollyanna. The minute you try to, she sounds priggish and preachy, and--impossible. Yet you and I know she is anything but that.