Even Alexander rose to this. We followed our leader down past the old Junk Shop, in among the old houses at the water-front, and as we picked our way around the corner, the artist threw up his hands in despair. "Oh, ye gods," we heard him say, "it's gone!" We followed his tragic gaze out toward the harbor, expecting to find that an ancient landmark had been razed to the ground. "What was it?" said Barbara anxiously. "Have they moved it somewhere else?" "Yes," said the artist bitterly, "they've moved it somewhere else. It was the washing that was out on that line--the colors--all the accents--Portuguese as you can imagine--and they've _taken it in!_" Alexander turned on his heel and left us to make our way back to Burial Hill. He sympathizes with his brother's sorrows when fishermen go down to their boats and change all the rigging the moment a marine sketch is half done; but he is not quite advanced enough to grieve because Portuguese laundry no longer flaps against the American blue. "By the way," said the artist when we reached the Hill, "the lettering on these stones is something remarkably fine. Pemberton identifies it with Caslon lettering, Caslon the Elder, English typefounder in the sixteen hundreds. I '11 show you the article when we get home." Barbara was examining a very old stone. "Listen," said she,-- "The spider's most attenuated thread Is cord, is cable to man's tender tie." As we made our way along the paths beside the family lots of the Bradfords, Cottons, Harlows, LeBarons, and Howlands, we began to notice how the wording varied with the relative age of the stones. For example, "Edward Gray, Gent." is older style than "Josiah Cotton, Esq." And "That Virtuous Woman, Mrs. Rebecca Turner" is of an earlier period than "Mary, Relict of Deac. Lot Harlow." We found one very stately epitaph to a young wife, the simplest expression of the language of bereavement: "By this event a husband was deprived of his best friend." Far more elaborate is the tribute to Mrs. Lucy Hammatt, Relict of the late Capt. Abraham Hammatt. Still clear and definite, the inscription, deeply lettered on the face of the worn slab, records the ideals of an exemplary life:-- Composed in suffering, in joy sedate, Good without show, for just discernment great. But Barbara's favorite among the epitaphs was one on the stone of a young Southern bride:-- Phebe J. Bramhall a Native of Virginia and Wife of Benj. Bramhall Possess'd of an Amiable Disposition It suggests that our early ancestors were not impervious to Southern charm. On our way down the Hill, we went around to see the harbor at sunset. Clark's Island in the distance, Captain's Hill, Manomet--we had begun to think of these as our own landmarks. [Illustration: Burial Hill] "Since this is our last night at Plymouth," said Alexander that evening, "don't you want to see the country by moonlight?"