"There!" exulted Livingstone aloud. "Here we--" He stopped short. From his left came a deep-toned, reverent voice invoking the divine blessing upon the place, the food, and the new friends who were so kind to strangers in a strange land. "By Jove!" muttered Livingstone under his breath, as his eyes met those of Jim across the table. The waiter coughed and turned his back. Then, the blessing concluded, Hezekiah raised his head and smiled. "Well, well, Abby, why don't ye say somethin'?" he asked, breaking the silence. "Ye hain't said a word. Mr. Livin'stone'll be thinkin' ye don't like it." Mrs. Warden drew a long breath of delight. "I can't say anythin', Hezekiah," she faltered. "It's all so beautiful." Livingstone waited until the dazed old eyes had become in a measure accustomed to the surroundings, then he turned a smiling face on Hezekiah. "And now, my friend, what do you propose to do after luncheon?" he asked. "Well, we cal'late ter take in Bunker Hill an' Faneuil Hall sure," returned the old man with a confidence that told of new courage imbibed with his tea. "Then we thought mebbe we'd ride in the subway an' hear one of the big preachers if they happened ter be holdin' meetin's anywheres this week. Mebbe you can tell us, eh?" Across the table the man called Harding choked over his food and Livingstone frowned. "Well," began Livingstone slowly. "I think," interrupted Harding, taking a newspaper from his pocket, "I think there are services there," he finished gravely, pointing to the glaring advertisement of a ten-cent show, as he handed the paper across to Livingstone. "But what time do the exercises begin?" demanded Hezekiah in a troubled voice. "Ye see, there's Bunker Hill an'--sugar! Abby, ain't that pretty?" he broke off delightedly. Before him stood a slender glass into which the waiter was pouring something red and sparkling. The old lady opposite grew white, then pink. "Of course that ain't wine, Mr. Livingstone?" she asked anxiously. "Give yourself no uneasiness, my dear Mrs. Warden," interposed Harding. "It's lemonade--pink lemonade." "Oh," she returned with a relieved sigh. "I ask yer pardon, I'm sure. You wouldn't have it, 'course, no more'n I would. But, ye see, bein' pledged so, I didn't want ter make a mistake." There was an awkward silence, then Harding raised his glass. "Here's to your health, Mrs. Warden!" he cried gayly. "May your trip----" "Wait!" she interrupted excitedly, her old eyes alight and her cheeks flushed. "Let me tell ye first what this trip is ter us, then ye'll have a right ter wish us good luck." Harding lowered his glass and turned upon her a gravely attentive face.