“I cannot promise, Francis; we must hope and wait.” Between the beat of the oars, John Winslow called out softly, “Mary!” She moved nearer him. “What ails you? Are you sad?” “My heart is sore, John. I know it is wrong. I love my people and my religion is dear to me, but I wish I were back in England! Just think, John, it is the blessed Christmas week. They are making merry, all over England, in holly-decked halls, with great fires roaring up the chimneys. Feasts are being prepared and families are drawing together in love and communion. And look at our position; tossed on a strange coast, with no harbor to enter, no friends to welcome us, no inns to entertain us and refresh our weather-beaten bodies, no place to seek for succor.” “Anon,” said John, “but Robert Coppin, our pilot, bids us be of good cheer, that there is sure to be a creek or river to enter and escape this angry sea. And, Mary, I pray you do not plague your heart about that young scapegrace Billington. I cannot comprehend how such a profane wretch as his father came to be shuffled in with the company of Pilgrims. He was not of the Leyden church, ’tis sure. And that boy, it is providential that the whole ship was not blown up when he fired that fowling-piece almost within four feet of the gunpowder barrel.” Mary shook her head. “He did not know the danger. He has been cooped up and it is hard to keep so many little boys out of mischief. With such a father, I grieve for him; and for all these little children on board, that any joy should be cut out of their lives.” “I pray you, Mary, go to your rest, and I promise you, on my honor, that the morning light will bring comfort and joy. Already the sea is abating and Robert Coppin, our pilot, says all will be well. Your example has been a star of hope. Do not yield to despondency now.” “I will not, John. It was the storm and thinking of Christmas at home. And you, John, promise me that when you go ashore I may go too. I am like the young man in the Bible; I want to go out to see what I can see. Goodnight until to-morrow and may the Lord keep you.” * * * * * When the morning broke bright and clear, the Mayflower lay inside a good harbor wherein a hundred sail of ships might anchor. To the weary Pilgrims the first view of their new home was delightful. All around were the “trees of the Lord,” the mighty cedars, down to the very edge of the waters. There were oaks, pines, junipers, sassafras, and other sweet woods they knew not; so the first odors that greeted them were not from burning hearth fires but the balsamic odors of the forest. When the shallop was made ready, sixteen armed men, some of the women with the linen and clothing to wash on shore, Mary Chilton and John Winslow, entered it and, it being flood-tide, made a safe landing on the shallow beach.