Last night I hated you, and made up a story in my own mind that
another really nice boy came to play with me instead of you. And I said
nice things to him, and horrid things to you; he and I played in the
wood, and you had to do lessons all by yourself at school, and had
nobody to play with. But when I woke up this morning I didn't care about
the pretending boy any more, and I wanted you."

Christopher looked pleased; but it was not his way to express his
pleasure in words. "And so, I suppose, you came to look for me," he
said.

"Not the first thing. Somehow it always makes you like a person better
when you have hated them for a bit, so I liked you awfully when I woke
this morning and remembered you. When you really are fond of a person,
you always want to do something to please them; so I went and told
Cousin Maria that I'd read a lot of books in the library without
thinking whether I ought to or not; but that now I wanted her to say
what I might read and what I mightn't."

This was a course of action that Christopher could thoroughly understand
and appreciate. "Was she angry?" he asked.

"Not a bit. That is the best of Cousin Maria--she never scolds you
unless you really deserve it; and she is very sharp at finding out
whether you deserve it or not. She said that there were a lot of books
in the library that weren't suitable for a little girl to read; but
that it wasn't naughty of me to have read what I chose, since nobody had
told me not to. And then she said it was good of me to have told her,
for she should never have found it out if I hadn't."

"And so it was," remarked Christopher approvingly.

"No; it wasn't--and I told her it wasn't. I told her that the goodness
was yours, because it was you that made me tell. I should never have
thought of it by myself."

"I say, you are a regular brick!"

Elisabeth looked puzzled. "I don't see anything brickish in saying that;
it was the truth. It was you that made me tell, you know; and it wasn't
fair for me to be praised for your goodness."

"You really are awfully straight, for a girl," said Christopher, with
admiration; "you couldn't be straighter if you were a boy."

This was high praise, and Elisabeth's pale little face glowed with
delight. She loved to be commended.

"It was really very good of you to speak to Miss Farringdon about the
books," continued Christopher; "for I know you'll hate having to ask
permission before you read a tale."

"I didn't do i