Barbara receives advice from her two brothers with the air of a young empress listening to the remarks of two prime ministers, but makes her own decisions. I have acted as her confederate and chaperon on so many occasions that I know enough to be quiet until the prime ministers have gone. "The best way," said Barbara when this had happened, "is to ask a little boy." * * * * * Doubtless any real expedition to Plymouth ought to begin with the Rock. We found our way down along the water-front, to the place where the Rock used to be, but it was nowhere in sight. "When I was here before," said I, "the Rock was exactly here, under its canopy at the foot of Cole's Hill. You couldn't miss it." Barbara looked out along the wharves. Some children were playing at the end of one of the piers. "We'll ask a little boy," said Barbara, leading the way. "They look like little foreigners," said I. "Do you think they would know?" For answer, Barbara went out slowly to the edge of the pier, and stood watching the white seagulls flying over the harbor. The boys gave her a glance, made up their minds about her, and went on with their play. "_Where's_ the Rock?" said Barbara casually, over her shoulder. "They're moving it," said one. "It's all broke up," said another. "Want us to show it to you?" said a third. "Yes," said Barbara. "Where are they moving it to?" "Down to the edge. When they get it there, we can swim right up to it," said our guide with unction. "But now it's all broke up." He was leading us rapidly back to Water Street, to a great pile of masonry by the roadside. "That's the rock," said he. "Here's some, and here's some, and here's some more. All broke up." The boys were scrambling over the arches and hopping about among the blocks of granite. "Oh, yes," said Barbara tactfully, "this is the old canopy that used to be over the Rock, isn't it? And where's the real Rock?" Our guide looked puzzled. Then light dawned. "The little one with 1620 on it? Down on the other side of the road." He waved a brown fist. "See?" And there it was, the famous boulder, waiting to be taken to its new position at the water's edge. Plymouth Rock is a very satisfactory relic; just the shape of a Rock. Its prehistoric excursions with the glacier and its historic pilgrimages since 1620 have combined to lead it a roving life. In Revolutionary days it was on Town Square, with the Liberty Pole; then it migrated to the lawn in front of Pilgrim Hall; then it rested under its canopy at the foot of Cole's Hill--and in all these positions it inspired tourists to remarks about the agility of the Fathers in using it as a stepping-stone from the harbor to dry land. And now, in 1921, it goes back to the original landing-place, where the high tides will reach it again. [Illustration: Plymouth Harbor]