her bent and bruised and brokenhearted, crushed with failure instead of
crowned with success, her heart would never send him empty away, but
would go out to him with a passionate longing to make up to him for all
that he had missed in life.

A few days after Mrs. Bateson's tea-party he said to Elisabeth, for
about the twentieth time:

"I say, I wish you wouldn't tire yourself with going to read to that
Stubbs brat."

"Tire myself? What rubbish! nothing can tire me. I never felt tired in
my life; but I shouldn't mind it just once, to see what it feels like."

"It feels distinctly unpleasant, I can tell you. But I really do wish
you'd take more care of yourself, or else you'll get ill, or have
headaches or something--you will indeed."

"No, I shan't; I never had a headache. That's another of the things that
I don't know what they feel like; and yet I want to know what everything
feels like--even disagreeable things."

"You'll know fast enough, I'm afraid," replied Christopher; "but even if
it doesn't tire you, you would enjoy playing in the garden more than
reading to Johnnie Stubbs--you know you would; and I can go and read to
the little chap, if you are set on his being read to."

"But you would much rather play in the garden than read to him; and
especially as it is your holidays, and your own reading-time will soon
begin."

"Oh! _I_ don't matter. Never bother your head about _me_; remember I'm
all right as long as you are; and that as long as you're jolly, I'm
bound to have a good time. But it riles me to see you worrying and
overdoing yourself."

"You don't understand, Chris; you really are awfully stupid about
understanding things. I don't go to see Jemima and Johnnie because I
hate going, and yet think I ought; I go because I am so sorry for them
both that my sorriness makes me like to go."

But Christopher did not understand, and Elisabeth could not make him do
so. The iron of duty had entered into his childish soul; and,
unconsciously, he was always trying to come between it and Elisabeth,
and to save her from the burden of obligation which lay so heavily upon
his spirit. He was a religious boy, but his religion was of too stern a
cast to bring much joy to him; and he was passionately anxious that
Elisabeth should not be distressed in like manner. His desire was that
she should have sufficient religion to insure heaven, but not enough to
spoil earth--a not uncommon desire on behalf of their dear one