t out of goodness," said Elisabeth thoughtfully--"I did it
to please you; and pleasing a person you are fond of isn't goodness. I
wonder if grown-up people get to be as fond of religion as they are of
one another. I expect they do; and then they do good things just for the
sake of doing good."

"Of course they do," replied Christopher, who was always at sea when
Elisabeth became metaphysical.

"I suppose," she continued seriously, "that if I were really good,
religion ought to be the same to me as Cousin Anne."

"The same as Cousin Anne! What do you mean?"

"I mean that if I were really good, religion would give me the same sort
of feelings as Cousin Anne does."

"What sort of feelings?"

"Oh! they are lovely feelings," Elisabeth answered--"too lovely to
explain. Everything is a treat if Cousin Anne is there. When she speaks,
it's just like music trickling down your back; and when you do something
that you don't like to please her, you feel that you do like it."

"Well, you are a rum little thing! I should think nobody ever thought of
all the queer things that you think of."

"Oh! I expect everybody does," retorted Elisabeth, who was far too
healthy minded to consider herself peculiar. After another pause, she
inquired: "Do you like me, Chris?"

"Rather! What a foolish question to ask!" Christopher replied, with a
blush, for he was always shy of talking about his feelings; and the more
he felt the shyer he became.

But Elisabeth was not shy, and had no sympathy with anybody who was.
"How much do you like me?" she continued.

"A lot."

"But I want to know exactly how much."

"Then you can't. Nobody can tell how much they like anybody. You do ask
silly questions!"

"Yes; they can. I can tell how much I like everybody," Elisabeth
persisted.

"How?"

"I have a sort of thermometer in my mind, just like the big thermometer
in the hall; and I measure how much I like people by that."

"How much do you like your Cousin Anne?" he asked.

"Ninety-six degrees," replied Elisabeth promptly.

"And your Cousin Maria?"

"Sixty."

"And Mrs. Bateson?"

"Fifty-four." Elisabeth always knew her own mind.

"I say, how--how--how much do you like me?" asked Christopher, with some
hesitation.

"Sixty-two," answered Elisabeth, with no hesitation at all.

And Christopher felt a funny, cold feeling round his loyal heart. He
grew to know the feeling well in after years, and to wonder how
Elisabeth could understand