Поллианна
Sermons and Woodboxes
"Oh!" Therewasanoddlookontheminister’sface. Hiseyeshadfallentothewordsonthetoppaperinhishands—"Butwoeuntoyou,scribesandPharisees,hypocrites!" "Andsoyourfather—likedthose‘rejoicingtexts,’"hemurmured.
"Oh,yes,"noddedPollyanna,emphatically. "Hesaidhefeltbetterrightaway,thatfirstdayhethoughttocount‘em. HesaidifGodtookthetroubletotelluseighthundredtimestobegladandrejoice,Hemustwantustodoit—SOME. Andfatherfeltashamedthathehadn’tdoneitmore. Afterthat,theygottobesuchacomforttohim,youknow,whenthingswentwrong; whentheLadies’Aidersgottofight—Imean,whentheyDIDN’TAGREEaboutsomething,"correctedPollyanna,hastily. "Why,itwasthosetexts,too,fathersaid,thatmadeHIMthinkofthegame—hebeganwithMEonthecrutches—buthesaid‘twastherejoicingtextsthatstartedhimonit."
"Andwhatgamemightthatbe?"askedtheminister.
"Aboutfindingsomethingineverythingtobegladabout,youknow. AsIsaid,hebeganwithmeonthecrutches." AndoncemorePollyannatoldherstory—thistimetoamanwholistenedwithtendereyesandunderstandingears.
AlittlelaterPollyannaandtheministerdescendedthehill,handinhand. Pollyanna’sfacewasradiant. Pollyannalovedtotalk,andshehadbeentalkingnowforsometime:thereseemedtobesomany,manythingsaboutthegame,herfather,andtheoldhomelifethattheministerwantedtoknow.
