“You remember Pinkie’s exclamation when she first saw his Endymion,” said the doctor, smiling; “‘Oh! how I should like to kiss him!’” “Ah! exactly! ‘like Dian’s kiss!’ There’s a softness, a tenderness about his manner that’s very attractive, and intensely American.” “Do you consider tenderness a prominent feature of the American character?” “Why, we don’t get the credit of it, because we cover it up with flippancy; but yes, we are tender-hearted to a fault.” “Father,” said Freddy, “oh! I beg your pardon for interrupting you, Uncle Henry, but Louis has been telling me something so very interesting. Only imagine! a clergyman giving up his pulpit, and a salary of five thousand a year, because he preached Socialism. And so he has come to Prices, and means to turn carpenter there.” “He must be a fool,” said Mr. Randolph. “Appearances are against him; he is a clergyman,” observed Dr. Richards. “Nonsense, Uncle Fred; that’s your agnosticism,” put in Pinkie decidedly. “Who is he, Louis? and isn’t he rather old to learn carpentering?” “He is a carpenter,” said Louis. “You always see the practical side of a subject, Miss Rose; he worked at his trade, he says, while he was studying.” “Oh! if he’s that sort of a person it’s not to be wondered at,” observed Miss Dare, interrupting a very animated conversation with Frank, and bringing her aquiline features to bear upon the matter in hand. “It’s a mere case of wallowing in the mire after being washed, don’t you know.” “Do you call carpentry a wallowing in the mire?” asked Louis with sudden gravity. Miss Dare grew scarlet. “I beg your pardon, I’m sure,” she said; “I really had forgotten”— “Had you? and why do you beg _my_ pardon?” asked the boy, with some surprise; “but I always think of Him as a carpenter.” “Him?” “Jesus Christ,” said the boy, not without reverence. There was a decided sensation around the table; for that sacred name is considered altogether _malàpropos_, and in wretched taste in good society. Then Alice said, “I don’t think Miss Dare intended any reflection upon the trade of a carpenter, Louis; that was only her witty manner of speaking. What she meant was that if he were brought up a carpenter there was less wonder in his taking to the trade now.” “But it does give one a kind of shock,” quoth Pinkie with candor, “to hear our Lord spoken of as a carpenter. I wonder why?” “So do I,” said her uncle. “It is very un-American.” “He was a very good carpenter, I’m sure of that,” said Louis, the wistfulness growing deeper in his blue eyes. “Do you think we had better discuss the subject?” asked Mr. Randolph with grave disapprobation; “besides,—Miss Dare, I have been wishing to ask you—how soon does your father intend returning to America?”