Williams looked up in surprise. He had not suspected that sarcasm could lurk behind those wonderful eyes, but he was undeceived by her remark, and answered laughingly:—
"That is true, Miss Bays."
"Boston has much to be proud of," continued the girl, surprised and somewhat frightened at the rate she was bowling along. She had never before talked so freely to any one but Billy Little and Dic. "Yes, all good comes out of Boston. I've been told that if you hear her church bells toll, your soul is saved. There is a saving grace in their very tones. It came over in the Mayflower, as you might transport yeast. If you walk through Harvard, you will be wise; if you stand on Bunker Hill, treason flees your soul forever; and if you once gaze upon the Common, you are safe from the heresy of the Quaker and the sin of witchcraft."
"I fear you are making a jest of Boston, Miss Bays," replied Williams, who shared the sensitiveness peculiar to his people.
"No," she replied, "I jest only at your boasting. Your city is all you claim for it; but great virtue needs no herald."
Williams remained silent for a moment, and then said, "Have you ever been in Boston?"
"I? Indeed, no," she answered laughingly. "I've never been any place but to church and once to a Fourth of July picnic. I was once at a church social, but it brought me into great trouble and I shall never go to another." Williams was amused and again remained, for a time, in silent meditation. She did not interrupt him, and at length he spoke stammeringly:—
"Pardon me—where did you learn—how comes it—I am speaking abruptly, but one would suppose you had travelled and enjoyed many advantages that you certainly could not have here."
"You greatly overestimate me, Mr. Williams. I have only a poor smattering of knowledge which I absorbed from two friends who are really educated men,—Mr. Little and Dic—Mr. Bright!"
"Are they old—elderly men?" asked Williams.