tinually
providing him with fresh food for thought. Although he was cleverer at
lessons than she was, she was by far the cleverer at play; and though he
had the finer character, hers was the stronger personality. It was
because Elisabeth was so much to him that he now and then worried her
easy-going conscience with his strictures; for, to do him justice, the
boy was no prig, and would never have dreamed of preaching to anybody
except her. But it must be remembered that Christopher had never heard
of such things as spiritual evolutions and streams of tendency: to him
right or wrong meant heaven or hell--neither more nor less; and he was
overpowered by a burning anxiety that Elisabeth should eventually go to
heaven, partly for her own sake, and partly (since human love is
stronger than dogmas and doctrines) because a heaven, uncheered by the
presence of Elisabeth, seemed a somewhat dreary place wherein to spend
one's eternity.

"Why do feathers make a better sacrifice than paper?" repeated
Christopher, Elisabeth being so much absorbed in his work that she had
not answered his question.

"Oh! because they smell; and it seems so much more like a real
sacrifice, somehow, if it smells."

"I see. What ideas you do get into your head!"

But Elisabeth's volatile thoughts had flown off in another direction.
"You really have got awfully nice-coloured hair," she remarked, Chris
having taken his cap off for the sake of coolness, as he was heated
with his toil. "I do wish I had light hair like yours. Angels, and
goddesses, and princesses, and people of that kind always have golden
hair; but only bad fairies and cruel stepmothers have nasty dark hair
like me. I think it is horrid to have dark hair."

"I don't: I like dark hair best; and I don't think yours is half bad."
Christopher never overstated a case; but then one had the comfort of
knowing that he always meant what he said, and frequently a good deal
more.

"Don't you really, Chris? I think it is hideous," replied Elisabeth,
taking one of her elf-locks between her fingers and examining it as if
it were a sample of material; "it is like that ugly brown seaweed which
shows which way the wind blows--no, I mean that shows whether it is
going to rain or not."

"Never mind; I've seen lots of people with uglier hair than yours."
Chris really could be of great consolation when he tried.

"Aren't the trees lovely when they have got all their leaves off?" said
Elisabeth, her th