[Illustration: GRETA'S MEDITATIONS.] ONE Sunday morning Greta tripped across to Rufus to ask him to take her to church. "Mother isn't well, and Becca is going to stay at home with her. I don't like going alone: may I go with you?" "I wasn't thinking of going this morning," Rufus responded; "it is too lovely a day to be cooped up within four walls; but I'll come with you, if you like." She waited till he had donned his Sunday coat, and then trotted contentedly by his side up the country lane leading to the old village church. "Do you like going to church?" she asked, presently. "I don't know that I do. One goes from force of habit generally. It is a mere form to me." "What is a form? A wooden seat without a back, isn't it? You don't like the seats, I s'pose?" Rufus laughed. "What takes you to church, Greta?" Greta's face assumed a sweet, serious air. "To meet God," she replied, softly. "It's rather a long time to sit still, but I like to sing and listen to the organ; and in the sermon I look about for God." "What on earth do you mean?" "Well, I like to look up high in the roof till I fancy He is looking down; and when I seem to know He is there, I just speak to Him a little in a whisper, you know. I don't mean say my prayers; but I tell Him little things that Becca wouldn't call proper if I put them in my prayers." "What kind of things?" Greta did not answer for a moment, and Rufus, looking down upon the sweet little face felt an awe as he realized that this tiny child had no difficulty in holding communion with the Almighty God, the Creator of the Universe. When she spoke again, it was in very sober accents. "We have had a death in our family to-day." Rufus looked startled. "Not any near relation, I hope?" "He was a very dear friend—Peter—my canary. He was ill yesterday, but I thought he was sulky. He wouldn't eat his food, and this morning I found him quite dead at the bottom of his cage. I cried dreadfully, for I loved him next best to our cat 'Toodles.' Peter was so good; he would always sing to me when I chirped to him, even if it wasn't a sunny day, and it must be difficult to sing when one is dull, and it is raining and people are very grave round one. I'm sure Peter was a bird who tried to live for others, and please them and cheer them up. Mother often used to say, 'I wonder what makes him so happy?' Becca says you can often sing yourself into a good humor, if you try, but I've never heard her sing." "I should not think she carries her precepts into practice," said Rufus, with a grim smile. "You wouldn't call her a person whose aim in life was to please other people and cheer them up!" "Well," said Greta, gravely; "she told me once you mustn't go by outside looks. Some people are born into the world with grave faces, and some with sunny ones, and you can't alter your looks. It is the heart, she says, and your motives and pinnacles that are the important thing!" "Motives and principles," murmured Rufus, smiling.