"Yes, I do. You're the lady that takes snuff," said Emma.
Some of the passengers tittered, and the old lady turned red in the face.
"Well, I never did!" she exclaimed, in mortification. "You're a bad-behaved little gal."
"She didn't mean to offend you, ma'am," said Ben. "She's very young."
"She's old enough to behave. Children didn't use to sass their elders like they do now. If one of my children was to behave so, I'd shut 'em up in a dark closet for twenty-four hours, with only dry bread to eat."
The old lady shook her head vigorously, and glared at Emma over the top of her spectacles. It was just as well, perhaps, that Emma was absorbed in looking out of the window, and did not listen to what the old lady was saying. Being a high-spirited and free-spoken young woman, she would have been likely to reply, and that would have made matters worse.
The ride was not a long one, for but a narrow bridge separates Boston proper from the historic town of Charleston.
"You get out here," said the conductor. "Go up that street to the monument."
Ben could see the great stone pillar standing up against the sky in plain sight, and he ascended the hilly street toward it.
"That is the monument, Emma," he said.