“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.