Faith patted her mother's arm where folds of baby-creases narrowed to a tiny wrist. "Mama, I think Mr. Cory never met Uncle James." Faith's charming double wink instructed Ben not to be even slightly dismayed by sudden Uncle James: she would see him through. A red enameled comb projected from Madam Jenks' tight-bound hair like the comb of a hen, bobbing so unstably that Ben's anxiety climbed notch after notch. "He did not know James?" Madam Jenks shook her head, but nothing happened. "A pity, seeing he was ever a worthy influence to young and old and would have profited much by knowing him, but God disposes." Pronouns, Ben noted, counted for no more than ripples, to be brushed aside by the lady under full sail. Solidly abeam of him, cutting his wind and threatening to broach him just when he was trying to claw off to windward, she seemed to be conveying a message: that Benjamin Cory or Carey must have found it extraordinary difficult to maintain the Christian virtues with no assistance from Uncle James. "My father's brother-in-law," Faith interpreted. "He died last year, Mr. Cory. Mamma thought you might have met him." "Hadn't the honor, ma'am. I'm sorry to learn of your affliction." "He resteth in the Lord," said the fat woman, and beamed. "Lived in Cambridge. I trust your grandfather is well?" "Yes, ma'am, very well these days." (What was the use?) "I join you, Mr. Carey, in praising, for that mercy, the Dispenser of All Things." Madam Jenks went on to pronounce the weather changeable; Ben agreed; Faith expressed intelligent neutrality. Small silence spread like a blot of ink.... "I understand you intend going to the college this year, Mr. Carey?" "Yes, ma'am, my brother and I." "Preparing for the ministry, I presume?" "Neither of us would appear to have the call, Madam Jenks." "Indeed.... Do you enjoy the Boston air?" "I don't think I've ever heard it, ma'am." "Your pardon, sir?" "Nay, I--beg _your_ pardon--I must have misunderstood." "My inquiry was in reference to the Boston air. Do you enjoy it?" "Oh, very much...." By some transition which Ben heard but didn't understand--the instant of kaleidoscopic shift was blurred for him by a gleam of merriment in Faith--Madam Jenks was comparing cats and dogs. "'Tis true a cat is a tidy beast and of value if she be a good mouser, but one can feel no affection for them." "Why," said Ben, "our big yellow cat----" "They are treacherous," said Madam Jenks. The comb was rising. "Now a dog is a faithful animal instant ever to his master's needs, for it would appear the Lord hath prepared him for the service of man, and I am trying, Faith, to recall the name of a small dog Mr. Jenks owned, you must remember: I mean the one that was two before Sultan, or was it three?--with a white ear." "You must be thinking of Prince, Mama."