"I would rather please the Lord Jesus," said Dolly.
"But I was talking about school work," retorted the other. "You don't suppose He cares about our lessons?"
"I guess He does," said Dolly. They were still standing on the landing place, looking into each other's eyes.
"But that's impossible. Think!—French lessons, and English lessons, and music and dancing, and all of it. That couldn't be, you know."
"Do you love Jesus?" said Dolly.
"Love him? I do not know," said Christina colouring. "I am a member of the church, if that is what you mean."
Dolly began slowly to go up the remaining stairs. "I think we ought to study to please Him," she said.
"I don't see how it should please him," said the other a little out of humour. "I don't see how He should care about such little things."
"Why not?" said Dolly. "If your mother cares, and my mother cares. Jesus loves us better than they do, and I guess He cares more than they do."
Christina was silenced now, as her mother had been, and followed Dolly thinking there were a pair of uncomfortably strange people in the house. The next minute Dolly was not strange at all, but as much a child as any of her fellows. She had unlocked the precious bookcase, and with the zeal of a connoisseur and the glee of a discoverer she was enlarging upon the treasures therein stowed away.