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"
Yes
--
that
told
you
to
rejoice
and
be
glad
,
you
know
;
that
's
why
father
named
'
em
the
'
rejoicing
texts
.
'
"
"
Oh
!
"
There
was
an
odd
look
on
the
minister
's
face
.
His
eyes
had
fallen
to
the
words
on
the
top
paper
in
his
hands
--
"
But
woe
unto
you
,
scribes
and
Pharisees
,
hypocrites
!
"
"
And
so
your
father
--
liked
those
'
rejoicing
texts
,
'
"
he
murmured
.
"
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
.
And
father
felt
ashamed
that
he
had
n't
done
it
more
.
After
that
,
they
got
to
be
such
a
comfort
to
him
,
you
know
,
when
things
went
wrong
;
when
the
Ladies
'
Aiders
got
to
fight
--
I
mean
,
when
they
DID
N'T
AGREE
about
something
,
"
corrected
Pollyanna
,
hastily
.
"
Why
,
it
was
those
texts
,
too
,
father
said
,
that
made
HIM
think
of
the
game
--
he
began
with
ME
on
the
crutches
--
but
he
said
'
twas
the
rejoicing
texts
that
started
him
on
it
.
"
"
And
what
game
might
that
be
?
"
asked
the
minister
.
"
About
finding
something
in
everything
to
be
glad
about
,
you
know
.
As
I
said
,
he
began
with
me
on
the
crutches
.
"
And
once
more
Pollyanna
told
her
story
--
this
time
to
a
man
who
listened
with
tender
eyes
and
understanding
ears
.
A
little
later
Pollyanna
and
the
minister
descended
the
hill
,
hand
in
hand
.
Pollyanna
's
face
was
radiant
.
Pollyanna
loved
to
talk
,
and
she
had
been
talking
now
for
some
time
:
there
seemed
to
be
so
many
,
many
things
about
the
game
,
her
father
,
and
the
old
home
life
that
the
minister
wanted
to
know
.
At
the
foot
of
the
hill
their
ways
parted
,
and
Pollyanna
down
one
road
,
and
the
minister
down
another
,
walked
on
alone
.
In
the
Rev.
Paul
Ford
's
study
that
evening
the
minister
sat
thinking
.
Near
him
on
the
desk
lay
a
few
loose
sheets
of
paper
--
his
sermon
notes
.
Under
the
suspended
pencil
in
his
fingers
lay
other
sheets
of
paper
,
blank
--
his
sermon
to
be
.
But
the
minister
was
not
thinking
either
of
what
he
had
written
,
or
of
what
he
intended
to
write
.
In
his
imagination
he
was
far
away
in
a
little
Western
town
with
a
missionary
minister
who
was
poor
,
sick
,
worried
,
and
almost
alone
in
the
world
--
but
who
was
poring
over
the
Bible
to
find
how
many
times
his
Lord
and
Master
had
told
him
to
"
rejoice
and
be
glad
.
"
After
a
time
,
with
a
long
sigh
,
the
Rev.
Paul
Ford
roused
himself
,
came
back
from
the
far
Western
town
,
and
adjusted
the
sheets
of
paper
under
his
hand
.
"
Matthew
twenty-third
;
13
--
14
and
23
,
"
he
wrote
;
then
,
with
a
gesture
of
impatience
,
he
dropped
his
pencil
and
pulled
toward
him
a
magazine
left
on
the
desk
by
his
wife
a
few
minutes
before
.
Listlessly
his
tired
eyes
turned
from
paragraph
to
paragraph
until
these
words
arrested
them
:
"
A
father
one
day
said
to
his
son
,
Tom
,
who
,
he
knew
,
had
refused
to
fill
his
mother
's
woodbox
that
morning
:
'
Tom
,
I
'm
sure
you
'll
be
glad
to
go
and
bring
in
some
wood
for
your
mother
.
'
And
without
a
word
Tom
went
.
Why
?
Just
because
his
father
showed
so
plainly
that
he
expected
him
to
do
the
right
thing
.
Suppose
he
had
said
:
'
Tom
,
I
overheard
what
you
said
to
your
mother
this
morning
,
and
I
'm
ashamed
of
you
.
Go
at
once
and
fill
that
woodbox
!
'
I
'll
warrant
that
woodbox
,
would
be
empty
yet
,
so
far
as
Tom
was
concerned
!
"
