Emerson saw the look. Rising in haste, he said, “Coming, Rose, coming at once.”

A formal meal, in such warm weather and when there were only three of us, was in my opinion a waste of time. Gargery, our butler, did not share this opinion, primarily because he seized every opportunity to listen and contribute to our conversation. (I do not encourage this, but Emerson has not the least notion of proper behavior with servants.) After serving cold ham and salad, Gargery inquired, “May I ask, sir and madam, whether you have had a letter from Master Ramses recently?”

As I had often told Gargery, our son had reached an age at which that childish title was inappropriate. The name was equally inappropriate, but Ramses had been given that appellation in infancy because of his imperious manner and the fact that his swarthy complexion and dark eyes and hair appeared more Egyptian than English. (I have sometimes been asked to account for this resemblance. I see no reason why I should.)

I replied with a rather curt negative, and Emerson, who had finished his ham and salad, asked, “What do you know about the Old Testament, Gargery?”

“It’s been a while since I dipped into the Good Book, sir,” Gargery admitted. “I remember David and Goliath, and the parting of the Red Sea, and a few other stories.”

“Stories is the word,” said Emerson. “There is not a jot of historical evidence for any of them.”

This was aimed at me, not at Gargery, so of course I responded. “If it is history you want, you had better skip on to the books of Kings and Chronicles. The historical validity of the Exodus has been much debated-no, Emerson, I do not care to debate it now-but the lives of the kings of Israel and Judah are based on solid historical evidence.”