mine' kind of way; I believe He
wants the same mind to be in us that was in Christ Jesus, so that He and
we shall be wishing for the same things."

"Wise Elisabeth, I believe that you are right."

"And you'll see how right I am, when you really care very much for
somebody yourself. I don't mean in the jolly, comfortable way in which
you care for Mr. Smallwood and Cousin Maria and me. That's a very nice
friendly sort of caring, I admit, and keeps the world warm and homelike,
just as having a fire in the room keeps the room warm and homelike; but
it doesn't teach one much."

Christopher smiled sadly. "Doesn't it? I should have thought that it
taught one a good deal."

"Oh! but not as much as a lovely romantic attachment would teach
one--not as much as Alan and Felicia are teaching each other now."

"Don't you think so?"

"Of course I don't. Why, you've never taught me anything, Chris, though
we've always been fond of each other in the comfortable, easy fashion."

"Then the fault has been in me, for you have taught me a great many
things, Elisabeth."

"Because I've taken the trouble to do so. But the worst of it is that by
the time I've taught you anything, I have changed my mind about it
myself, and find I've been teaching you all wrong. And it is a bother to
begin to unteach you."

"I wonder why. I don't think I should find it at all a bother to unteach
you certain things."

"And it is a greater bother still to teach you all over again, and teach
you different." Elisabeth added, without attending to the last remark.

"Thank you, I think I won't trespass on your forbearance to that extent.
Some lessons are so hard to master that life would be unbearable if one
had to learn them twice over." Christopher spoke somewhat bitterly.

Elisabeth attended then. "What a funny thing to say! But I know what it
is--you've got a headache; I can see it in your face, and that makes you
take things so contrariwise."

"Possibly."

"Poor old boy! Does it hurt?"

"Pretty considerably."

"And have you had it long?"

"Yes," replied Christopher with truth, and he added to himself, "ever
since I can remember, and it isn't in my head at all."

Elisabeth stroked his sleeve affectionately. "I am so sorry."

Christopher winced; it was when Elisabeth was affectionate that he found
his enforced silence most hard to bear. How he could have made her love
him if he had tried, he thought; and how could he find the heart to make
h