“Yes,” responded Pollyanna. “But I don’t see it that way at all. I don’t think you have to learn how to live. I didn’t, anyhow.”

The doctor drew a long sigh.

“After all, I’m afraid some of us—do have to, little girl,” he said. Then, for a time he was silent. Pollyanna, stealing a glance at his face, felt vaguely sorry for him. He looked so sad. She wished, uneasily, that she could “do something.” It was this, perhaps, that caused her to say in a timid voice:

“Dr. Chilton, I should think being a doctor would, be the very gladdest kind of a business there was.”

The doctor turned in surprise.

“ ‘Gladdest’!—when I see so much suffering always, everywhere I go?” he cried.

She nodded.

“I know; but you’re helping it—don’t you see?—and of course you’re glad to help it! And so that makes you the gladdest of any of us, all the time.”

The doctor’s eyes filled with sudden hot tears. The doctor’s life was a singularly lonely one. He had no wife and no home save his two-room office in a boarding house. His profession was very dear to him. Looking now into Pollyanna’s shining eyes, he felt as if a loving hand had been suddenly laid on his head in blessing. He knew, too, that never again would a long day’s work or a long night’s weariness be quite without that new-found exaltation that had come to him through Pollyanna’s eyes.

“God bless you, little girl,” he said unsteadily. Then, with the bright smile his patients knew and loved so well, he added: “And I’m thinking, after all, that it was the doctor, quite as much as his patients, that needed a draft of that tonic!” All of which puzzled Pollyanna very much—until a chipmunk, running across the road, drove the whole matter from her mind.

The doctor left Pollyanna at her own door, smiled at Nancy, who was sweeping off the front porch, then drove rapidly away.

“I’ve had a perfectly beautiful ride with the doctor,” announced Pollyanna, bounding up the steps. “He’s lovely, Nancy!”

“Is he?”

“Yes. And I told him I should think his business would be the very gladdest one there was.”

“What!—goin’ ter see sick folks—an’ folks what ain’t sick but thinks they is, which is worse? Nancy’s face showed open skepticism.

Pollyanna laughed gleefully.

“Yes. That’s ’most what he said, too; but there is a way to be glad, even then. Guess!”

Nancy frowned in meditation. Nancy was getting so she could play this game of “being glad” quite successfully, she thought. She rather enjoyed studying out Pollyanna’s “posers,” too, as she called some of the little girl’s questions.

“Oh, I know,” she chuckled. “It’s just the opposite from what you told Mis’ Snow.”

“Opposite?” repeated Pollyanna, obviously puzzled.

“Yes. You told her she could be glad because other folks wasn’t like her—all sick, you know.”