And Martine, bending toward the little fellow, kissed him good-night. As she turned away, George reddened with delight; it was pleasant to be treated as if he were as old as Marcus; for Marcus, his elder by two years, had a brotherly habit of making him feel himself to be of the slightest consequence in the estimation of strangers. Promptly after breakfast Martine set out with George. "I know you won't mind my leaving you, Priscilla," she said. "You and your mother must have so many things to talk over." "Thank you; a little later I will go join you, but I know that George will show you just what you wish to see;" and Priscilla kissed Martine good-bye. At her first sight of the rock, the Plymouth Rock of history and poetry, Martine gave a gasp of surprise. It was so much smaller than she had expected. The little guide-book that Mrs. Danforth had put in her hands told her that from 1775 to 1880 the rock had been in two pieces, and that one piece was for a long time exhibited in Pilgrim Hall; but at last a generous son of Plymouth, feeling that the rock deserved greater honor, had had the two pieces put together on a spot that was probably very near the place that it occupied in 1620, and had had it protected by granite canopy and an iron fence. "Why, it looks as though I could almost carry it away myself; it's hardly large enough for a good-sized man to stand on." "Oh, two or three men could stand on it," said the literal George, who thereupon began to make calculations to convince Martine of her error. Martine, somewhat amused by George's earnestness, began to tease the little fellow. "Do you really believe that this rock was here in the time of the Pilgrim Fathers?" "Why, yes, where else could it have been?" To this question Martine had no answer ready, and before she had made a second attempt to puzzle George, an old gentleman who had been standing near them stepped up. "You are not skeptical, young lady, about the famous rock?" "Oh, no," replied Martine; "I don't know enough about it to be skeptical." The old gentleman glanced at her quizzically. "There is more philosophy in that remark than you perhaps realize, young lady. But this is really _the_ rock, the only one to be found the whole length of this sandy shore. So it must be the rock on which the Mayflower's passengers landed." "I wonder why they didn't just step out on the beach," persisted Martine. "I should think that would have been ever so much more comfortable than hopping down on this rock." "Others besides you have intimated the same thing," persisted the old gentleman; "but you must admit that a rock is a better foundation for the sentiment of a nation to base itself on than a sandy beach. Even our foreign-born children pin much of their patriotism to Plymouth Rock." "Do you believe--?"