“You are very kind,” said Herbert.  “If you are quite sure that you are not inconveniencing yourself, I shall be very glad to go with you—­that is, if you think I can get back to the Parker House by one o’clock.”

“I will guarantee that you do,” said the stranger, confidently.  “My young friend, I am glad to see that you are particular to keep your business engagements.  In a varied business experience, I have observed that it is precisely that class who are destined to win the favor of their employer and attain solid success.”

“He seems a very sensible man,” thought Herbert; “and his advice is certainly good.”

“Come this way,” said the stranger, crossing Washington Street.  “Scollay’s Square is close at hand, and there we shall find a Charlestown horse car.”

Of course Herbert yielded himself to the guidance of his new friend, and they walked up Court Street together.

“That,” said the stranger, pointing out a large, somber building to the left, “is the courthouse.  The last time I entered it was to be present at the trial of a young man of my acquaintance who had fallen into evil courses, and, yielding to temptation, had stolen from his employer.  It was a sad sight,” said the stranger, shaking his head.

“I should think it must have been,” said Herbert.

“Oh, why, why will young men yield to the seductions of pleasure?” exclaimed the stranger, feelingly.

“Was he convicted?” asked Herbert.

“Yes, and sentenced to a three years term in the State prison,” answered his companion.  “It always makes me feel sad when I think of the fate of that young man.”

“I should think it would, sir.”

“I have mentioned it as a warning to one who is just beginning life,” continued the stranger.  “But here is our car.”

A Charlestown car, with an outside sign, Bunker Hill, in large letters, came by, and the two got on board.

They rode down Cornhill, and presently the stranger pointed out Faneuil Hall.

“Behold the Cradle of Liberty,” he said.  “Of course, you have heard of Faneuil Hall?”

“Yes, sir,” and Herbert gazed with interest at the building of which he had heard so much.

It was but a short ride to Charlestown.  They got out at the foot of a steep street, at the head of which the tall, granite column which crowns the summit of Bunker Hill stood like a giant sentinel ever on guard.

CHAPTER XVI.

A new Battle of Bunker Hill.

Just opposite the monument is a small, one-story structure, where views of the shaft may be purchased and tickets obtained.

“There is a small admission fee,” said Herbert’s companion.

“How much is it?” asked our hero.

“Twenty cents.”

As Herbert thrust his hand into his pocket for the necessary money, his companion said: