Plymouth, you know, is famous far and wide for being the stern and rockbound coast where the Pilgrims debarked three hundred and twenty-seven years ago. That’s Fourth Grade stuff. Also pretty well known, this historical region is first in world cranberry growing. Yes. Grows more little red berries on its pleasant, frugiferous acres than the rest of the world combined. To top this off Carver boasts first place among the cranberry towns, its 2,800 acres of bog harvesting 100,000 barrels a year--fifteen per cent of the whole world’s crop! No argument about our list of “firsts” so far, is there? While we’re firsting: ages ago, when Carver was the first iron producing corner of the New World, the very first iron teakettle made in America is said to have been cast here--from Carver iron, Carver smelter, and moulded in Carver sand. But, back to that corner of the town that’s Ellis Atwood’s own, private first--eighteen hundred acre Edaville. Edaville, 210 acres of actual bog, is the biggest privately owned cranberry business in the world. Nearly 10,000 barrels of the sour little things grow here every year. All this, with ultra-attractive buildings and equipment, is enough to set Mr. Atwood and his Thanksgiving sauce up as high as a block-signal. But wait: his Edaville Railroad! [Illustration: (_Moody Photo_) One of the first Edaville freight trains, with railroad fan John Holt at the throttle of Monson engine No. 4. ] The Edaville Railroad is maybe the most spectacular of all these interesting “firsts”. It’s even more so because it’s the last--but we’ll come to this _last_ part later. Let’s consider the _first_, first. The first of all these famous Massachusetts cranberry lands to have a real, he-man, tobacco-chewing railroad, complete to the last fishplate, resplendent to the last parlor-car, and unbelievably efficient with its excellent big-railed track, stout little engines, and wonderland cars. Its importance as a plantation utility and, finally, the holiday fun it gives you thousands of visitors who’re making it a Sunday spa and a railroad fans’ Mecca. That’s the Edaville Railroad, the Cranberry Belt: first of its kind, you see. It’s the last one, too. A cloud of nostalgia dims the brilliance of Edaville lights when we think of this side of the story. _Last of the two-foot gauges._ Final survivor of the colorful midgets that once puffed around our heterogeneous land. Want to look it over? I thought so; Mr. Atwood is busy right now, and why wouldn’t he be with the biggest one-man cranberry plantation on earth, plus a little million civic and philanthropic affairs to see to? I’ll show you around. Come on!