Free The Island of Dr. Libris by Chris Grabenstein Page A

and a straw hat the size of a small umbrella. She wore a bellshaped yellow gingham dress that made her look like anupside-down daffodil. She also carried a basket of freshly cut yellow flowers. Daffodils.
    “What’s the glad game?” asked Billy.
    “Oh, it’s ever so simple,” gushed Pollyanna. “Change a few words and you can change everything! My father and I started playing it when I asked for a doll and got crutches instead. The game was to find something to be glad about in everything.”
    “Even crutches?” said Walter.
    “Of course, goosey! Why, just be glad because you don’t need them.”
    “Well,” said Billy, “I’d be really glad if my name wasn’t on that ‘wanted’ poster.”
    “But I think it’s wonderful!” said Pollyanna, sort of dancing on her toes.
    “You do?”
    “Why, you’re nearly as famous as Robin Hood, and, heavens—he’s legendary.”
    “Do you know Robin Hood?” asked Billy.
    “Oh, yes!”
    “Any idea where he might be? We’re kind of looking for him.”
    “I gather he and his merry people are on their way to the Saint Petersburg Sunday School Picnic and Archery Contest.”
    “Saint Petersburg?” asked Walter. “Where’s that?”
    “Just up the road a piece in Missouri, right on the banks of the Mississippi River.”
    Pollyanna reached into her flower basket and pulled out a parchment scroll.
    “Mr. Hood was kind enough to give me this handbill announcing today’s event.”
    She passed the small scroll to Walter.
    “Huh,” said Walter. “ ‘Ye Olde-Fashioned Sunday School Picnic and Archery Contest. Today. Saint Petersburg, Missouri.’ ” He looked up at Billy. “The grand prize is an arrow made out of solid gold. Robin Hood will win it for sure.”
    Something didn’t feel right. Billy shook his head. “It’s a trap.”
    “Heavens,” said Pollyanna. “Whatever do you mean?”
    “The Sheriff of Nottingham knows Robin can’t resist an archery contest with a prize like that. So when he shows up at the Sunday school picnic, the sheriff will arrest him. He’d probably like to arrest me, too.”
    “Billy?” said Walter. “Why is the sheriff after you?”
    “He thinks I’m a traitor.”
    “How come?”
    “I sort of said I was joining Robin Hood’s merry band of outlaws.”
    “Maybe we should go home,” said Walter. “We could come back tomorrow to find the treasure.”
    “We can’t, Walter. Robin Hood’s in danger. Maid Marian and Hercules, too. And it’s my fault. Maid Marian only threw her dagger at the sheriff to protect me.” Billy turned to Pollyanna. “Can you take us to the picnic?”
    “I’d be glad to show you boys the way.”
    “Wait,” said Walter. “What if the sheriff
does
arrest you? What’ll you do?”
    Billy shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess I’ll play Pollyanna’s glad game.”
    Pollyanna clapped her hands. “Oh, goody!” She skipped up the trail.
    Billy and Walter followed her.
    Neither one was skipping.

The winding path ended in a lush green glen filled with tables, tents, and fluttering banners.
    The people strolling across the grass and working in the canvas booths were dressed in their Sunday best and looked like they had stepped out of an old-fashioned photograph taken before the Civil War.
    The fluttering banners, on the other hand, came from some other century—maybe the Middle Ages.
    “Golly,” said Pollyanna. “I’m so glad we’re here! Now, if you two will excuse me, I need to go help out over in the pie tent.”
    “There’s pie?” said Walter.
    “Of course, goosey. You can’t have a proper picnic without pie.”
    A barefoot boy munching on an apple sauntered toward Billy, Walter, and Pollyanna. He was wearing blue jeanscut off at the knee, a faded blue shirt, and leather suspenders, and he was crowned with a speckled straw hat.
    “Hello, Thomas Sawyer,” said Pollyanna.
    “Thomas?” said the boy. “That’s the name they lick me by. I’m ‘Tom’ when I’m