"Be glad about things."

"Be glad about things--when you're sick in bed all your days?
Well, I should say it would," retorted Mrs. Snow. "If you don't
think so, just tell me something to be glad about; that's all!"

To Mrs. Snow's unbounded amazement, Pollyanna sprang to her feet
and clapped her hands.

"Oh, goody! That'll be a hard one--won't it? I've got to go, now,
but I'll think and think all the way home; and maybe the next
time I come I can tell it to you. Good-by. I've had a lovely
time! Good-by," she called again, as she tripped through the
doorway.

"Well, I never! Now, what does she mean by that?" ejaculated Mrs.
Snow, staring after her visitor. By and by she turned her head
and picked up the mirror, eyeing her reflection critically.

"That little thing HAS got a knack with hair and no mistake," she
muttered under her breath. "I declare, I didn't know it could
look so pretty. But then, what's the use?" she sighed, dropping
the little glass into the bedclothes, and rolling her head on the
pillow fretfully.

A little later, when Milly, Mrs. Snow's daughter, came in, the
mirror still lay among the bedclothes it had been carefully
hidden from sight.