Mrs. Carew shook her head sadly.
"But I can't. I've looked everywhere, even in foreign lands."
"But he must be somewhere."
"He may be—dead, Pollyanna."
Pollyanna gave a quick cry.
"Oh, no, Mrs. Carew. Please don't say that! Let's imagine he's alive. We CAN do that, and that'll help; and when we get him IMAGINED alive we can just as well imagine we're going to find him. And that'll help a whole lot more."
"But I'm afraid he's—dead, Pollyanna," choked Mrs. Carew.
"You don't know it for sure, do you?" besought the little girl, anxiously.
"N-no."
"Well, then, you're just imagining it," maintained Pollyanna, in triumph. "And if you can imagine him dead, you can just as well imagine him alive, and it'll be a whole lot nicer while you're doing it. Don't you see? And some day, I'm just sure you'll find him. Why, Mrs. Carew, you CAN play the game now! You can play it on Jamie. You can be glad every day, for every day brings you just one day nearer to the time when you're going to find him. See?"