"Hephzibah!"

"Yes. Mrs. White's name is that. Her husband calls her 'Hep,' and
she doesn't like it. She says when he calls out 'Hep--Hep!' she
feels just as if the next minute he was going to yell 'Hurrah!'
And she doesn't like to be hurrahed at."

Nancy's gloomy face relaxed into a broad smile.

"Well, if you don't beat the Dutch! Say, do you know?--I sha'n't
never hear 'Nancy' now that I don't think o' that 'Hep--Hep!' and
giggle. My, I guess I AM glad--" She stopped short and turned
amazed eyes on the little girl. "Say, Miss Pollyanna, do you
mean--was you playin' that 'ere game THEN--about my bein' glad I
wa'n't named Hephzibah'?"

Pollyanna frowned; then she laughed.

"Why, Nancy, that's so! I WAS playing the game--but that's one of
the times I just did it without thinking, I reckon. You see, you
DO, lots of times; you get so used to it--looking for something
to be glad about, you know. And most generally there is something
about everything that you can be glad about, if you keep hunting
long enough to find it."

"Well, m-maybe," granted Nancy, with open doubt.


At half-past eight Pollyanna went up to bed. The screens had not