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 did not see the boy "to-morrow." It rained, and she could not go to the Garden at all. It rained the next day, too. Even on the third day she did not see him, for, though the sun came out bright and warm, and though she went very early in the afternoon to the Garden and waited long, he did not come at all. But on the fourth day he was there in his old place, and Pollyanna hastened forward with a joyous greeting.

"Oh, I'm so glad, glad to see you! But where've you been? You weren't here yesterday at all."

"I couldn't. The pain wouldn't let me come yesterday," explained the lad, who was looking very white.

"The pain! Oh, does it—ache?" stammered Pollyanna, all sympathy at once.

"Oh, yes, always," nodded the boy, with a cheerfully matter-of-fact air. "Most generally I can stand it and come here just the same, except when it gets too bad, same as 'twas yesterday. Then I can't."

"But how can you stand it—to have it ache—always?" gasped Pollyanna.

"Why, I have to," answered the boy, opening his eyes a little wider. "Things that are so are so, and they can't be any other way. So what's the use think-