galling us
sometimes; and although we would not break them, even if we could, we
grumble at them occasionally--that is to say, if we are merely human, as
is the case with so many of us.

"It is a great pity," Elisabeth went on, "that you deliberately narrow
yourself down to such a small world and such petty interests. It is bad
enough for old people to be practical and sensible and commonplace and
all that; but for a man as young as you are it is simply disgusting. I
can not understand you, because you really are clever and ought to know
better; but although I am your greatest friend, you never talk to me
about anything except the merest frivolities."

Christopher bowed his head to the storm and was still--he was one of the
people who early learn the power of silence; but Elisabeth, having once
mounted her high horse, dug her spurs into her steed and rode on to
victory. In those days she was so dreadfully sure of herself that she
felt competent to teach anybody anything.

"You laugh at me as long as I am funny and I amuse you; but the minute
I begin to talk about serious subjects--such as feelings and sentiments
and emotions--you lose your interest at once, and turn everything into a
joke. The truth is, you have so persistently suppressed your higher self
that it is dying of inanition; you'll soon have no higher self left at
all. If people don't use their hearts they don't have any, like the
Kentucky fish that can't see in the dark because they are blind, don't
you know? Now you should take a leaf out of Mr. Tremaine's book. The
first minute I saw him I knew that he was the sort of man that
cultivated his higher self; he was interested in just the things that
interest me."

The preacher paused for breath, and looked up to see whether her sermon
was being "blessed" to her hearer; then suddenly her voice changed--

"What is the matter, Chris?"

"Nothing. Why?"

"Because you look so awfully white. I was talking so fast that I didn't
notice it; but I expect it is the heat. Do sit down on the grass and
rest a bit; it is quite dry; and I'll fan you with a big dock leaf."

"I'm all right," replied Christopher, trying to laugh, and succeeding
but indifferently.

"But I'm sure you are not, you are so pale; you look just as you looked
the day that I tumbled off the rick--do you remember it?--and you took
me into Mrs. Bateson's to have my head bound up. She said you'd got a
touch of the sun, and I'm afraid you've got o