"Come, come, Abby," he said, "this ain't no way ter do. Only think how we wanted ter git here an' now we're here an' don't dare ter stir. There ain't any less folks than there was--growin' worse, if anythin'--but I'm gittin' used ter 'em now, an' I'm goin' ter make a break. Come, what would Mr. Livin'stone say if he could see us now? Where'd he think our boastin' was about our bein' able ter enj'y ourselves? Come!" And once more he rose to his feet. This time he was not held back. The little woman at his side adjusted her bonnet, tilted up her chin, and in her turn rose to her feet. "Sure enough!" she quavered bravely. "Come, Hezekiah, we'll ask the way ter Bunker Hill." And, holding fast to her husband's coat sleeve, she tripped across the floor to one of the outer doors. On the sidewalk Mr. and Mrs. Hezekiah Warden came once more to a halt. Before them swept an endless stream of cars, carriages, and people. Above thundered the elevated railway cars. "Oh-h," shuddered Abigail and tightened her grasp on her husband's coat. It was some minutes before Hezekiah's dry tongue and lips could frame his question, and then his words were so low-spoken and indistinct that the first two men he asked did not hear. The third man frowned and pointed to a policeman. The fourth snapped: "Take the elevated for Charlestown or the trolley-cars, either;" all of which served but to puzzle Hezekiah the more. Little by little the dazed old man and his wife fell back before the jostling crowds. They were quite against the side of the building when Livingstone spoke to them. "Well, well, if here aren't my friends again!" he exclaimed cordially. There was something of the fierceness of a drowning man in the way Hezekiah took hold of that hand. _"Mr. Livin'stone!"_ he cried; then he recollected himself. "We was jest goin' ter Bunker Hill," he said jauntily. "Yes?" smiled Livingstone. "But your luncheon--aren't you hungry? Come with me; I was just going to get mine." "But you--I--" Hezekiah paused and looked doubtingly at his wife. "Indeed, my dear Mrs. Warden, you'll say 'Yes,' I know," urged Livingstone suavely. "Only think how good a nice cup of tea would taste now." "I know, but--" She glanced at her husband. "Nonsense! Of course you'll come," insisted Livingstone, laying a gently compelling hand on the arm of each. Fifteen minutes later Hezekiah stood looking about him with wondering eyes. "Well, well, Abby, ain't this slick?" he cried. His wife did not reply. The mirrors, the lights, the gleaming silver and glass had filled her with a delight too great for words. She was vaguely conscious of her husband, of Mr. Livingstone, and of a smooth-shaven little man in gray who was presented as "Mr. Harding." Then she found herself seated at that wonderful table, while beside her chair stood an awesome being who laid a printed card before her. With a little ecstatic sigh she gave Hezekiah her customary signal for the blessing and bowed her head.