“It will be quite a treat to me, going to Boston,” he said.  “I have only been there three times in my life.”

“You certainly have not been much of a traveler, Herbert,” said George Melville, smiling.  “However, you are young, and you may see a good deal of the world yet before you die.”

“I hope I will.  It must be delightful to travel.”

“Yes, when you are young and strong,” said Melville, thoughtfully.  “That makes a great deal of difference in the enjoyment.”

Herbert did not fail to put in an appearance at the hotel considerably before it was time to leave for the train.  George Melville smiled at his punctuality.

“I wish, Herbert,” he said, “that I could look forward with as much pleasure as you feel to our trip to-day.”

“I wish so, too, Mr. Melville.”

“At any rate, I shall enjoy it better for having a companion.”

The tickets were bought, and they took their places in one of the passenger cars.

Just as the train was ready to start, Herbert saw a young man with a ticket in his hand hurrying along the platform.

“Why, there’s Eben Graham!” he said, in surprise.

“Is he entering the cars?”

“Yes, he has just got into the car behind us.”

“I wonder if he is going to leave Wayneboro for good?”

“Probably he is only going to Boston for the day, perhaps to buy goods.”

Herbert thought it doubtful whether Ebenezer Graham would trust his son so far, but did not say so.  Eben, on his part, had not seen Herbert on board the train, and was not aware that he was a fellow passenger.

The journey was a tolerably long one—­forty miles—­and consumed an hour and a half.  At last they rolled into the depot, and before the train had fairly stopped the passengers began to crowd toward the doors of the car.

“Let us remain till the crowd has passed out,” said George Melville.  “It is disagreeable to me to get into the throng, and it saves very little time.”

“Very well, sir.”

Looking out of the car window, Herbert saw Eben Graham walking swiftly along the platform, and could not forbear wondering what had brought him to the city.

“My doctor’s office is on Tremont Street,” said Mr. Melville.  “I shall go there immediately, and may have to wait some time.  It will be tiresome to you, and I shall let you go where you please.  You can meet me at the Parker House, in School Street, at two o’clock.”

“Very well, sir.”

“Do you know where the hotel is?”

“No, but I can find it,” answered Herbert, confidently.

“I believe I will also get you to attend to a part of my business for me.”

“I shall be very glad to do so,” said Herbert, sincerely.  It made him feel more important to be transacting business in Boston.

“Here is a check for a hundred and fifty dollars on the Merchants’ Bank,” continued George Melville.  “It is payable to the bearer, and you will have no trouble in getting the money on it.  You may present it at the bank, and ask for fives and tens and a few small bills.”