“What do you tell me! Are the streets gone? Orange-tree Lane is at the head of Hanover Street, near Pemberton’s Hill.”
“There is no such lane now.”
“Madam, you cannot be serious! But you doubtless know my brother, William Rugg. He lives in Royal Exchange Lane, near King Street.”
“I know of no such lane; and I am sure there is no such street as King Street in this town.”
“No such street as King Street! Why, woman, you mock me! You may as well tell me there is no King George. However, madam, you see I am wet and weary, I must find a resting-place. I will go to Hart’s tavern, near the market.”
“Which market, sir? for you seem perplexed; we have several markets.”
“You know there is but one market near the town dock.”
“Oh, the old market; but no such person has kept there these twenty years.”
Here the stranger seemed disconcerted, and uttered to himself quite audibly: “Strange mistake; how much this looks like the town of Boston! It certainly has a great resemblance to it; but I perceive my mistake now. Some other Mrs. Rugg, some other Middle Street.—Then,” said he, “madam, can you direct me to Boston?”
“Why, this is Boston, the city of Boston; I know of no other Boston.”