Thus cast off by his women-kind, Mr. Randolph had no alternative but to obey, since interference was not his cue. “Tell Pinkie not to be long, she is keeping her cousin from his ride,” said the great Wall Street operator, as he left her; but Virgie was not thinking of Pinkie at all. “I want to say, Mr. Metzerott,” she said, “that I am so much obliged to you for speaking as you did, about—carpenters, you know.” “Why, I did not say anything, did I?” replied Louis, rather absently, following Pinkie with his eyes as she walked away by the side of Freddy’s chair, which his father wheeled into the office. “Oh! I know you’d rather go with them,” said Virgie with the candid directness which was a part of her character; “but I’ve got something to say, and I mean to say it. Mr. Metzerott—or, I say, do you mind if I call you Louis?” “No, why should I? everybody does except Mr. Randolph; and he—oh! I don’t suppose he meant to make fun of me.” “Humph!” said the astute Virginia. “But never mind what he meant, _I_ know his tricks and his manners. Louis, what you said was this, that you always thought of our Lord as a carpenter. Now, does that mean that you think of Him often? a bright, handsome boy like you! because _I_ don’t, not more than once a week, on Sundays, you know; and yet girls,—one would think a girl had more time!” “It’s while we’re at work,” answered the boy; “oh! I have plenty of time, Miss Dare. My father is a very silent man. When he does talk, what he says is well worth hearing; but he don’t talk much when we’re at work; and so I think of things then.” “Things! do you mean our Lord?” “Him, yes; and of Washington and Bonaparte; and our own Hermann, who fought the Romans; and Fra Angelico and Titian, and—oh! I couldn’t tell you half,” said Louis, smiling. “I’m here about every day, you know; and Fred and I talk about things and people; heroes and great artists, and all sorts of things. Fred believes that Jesus Christ was really God, you know, and so is alive still.” “And don’t you?” “No: I wish I did, but I can’t. I love Him, you know; I’d rather be like Him than any of those men I told you of; but I can’t _feel_ Him, like Fred.” “_Feel_ Him; what do you mean?” “Why, Fred says that sometimes, when he is suffering, he knows Jesus Christ is in the room, close by him; closer than any of us.” “And that makes him always so bright and happy,” said Virgie under her breath. “I suppose so; it would, you know. I’d change with Fred, spine and all, to feel so,—I know that. Well, I’d change with him anyway, if I could, and he’d like it; but you can’t make yourself feel, can you?” “Wouldn’t you just as soon leave the feeling to other people, sometimes?” asked Miss Dare, relapsing into frivolity without the slightest warning. “Never mind, Louis, if he does take her abroad to get her out of your way; fathers are not always as clever as they think themselves, and I won’t let her forget you.”