"Say, Martine, let's go up to the Monument," whispered George. "I'm afraid Mr. Stacy will want to take us up on Burial Hill."
Mr. Stacy heard the loud whisper, and Martine herself was amused at George's entreaty.
"Why, that was what Marcus didn't want to do, and you said you would go anywhere with me."
"I want to show you something myself. You can go with Mr. Stacy to the hill some other day."
"There, George, you have suggested just what I had in mind. Please tell your mother that I hope to come over to see Priscilla and her friend this evening. Then we can arrange about our visit to Burial Hill."
After Mr. Stacy had said good-bye Martine and George retraced their steps, and climbed the hill to the monument to the Forefathers.
"There's nine acres in the park," explained George, "and the monument is eighty-one feet high. That's the figure of Faith on top, and I think the whole thing is fine, don't you?"
"It certainly _is_ fine," responded Martine, amused at George's eagerness.
"You know down at Provincetown they say the Pilgrims landed there first, and they're going to build a monument that will beat this all to pieces. But I don't believe they can, do you, Miss Martine?"
Whereupon, after she had sufficiently admired the historic bas-reliefs depicting scenes in the lives of the Forefathers, George led his guest down the hill, well pleased with her appreciation of his favorite work of art.
True to his promise Mr. Stacy called on Priscilla and Martine the second evening of their stay in Plymouth. He proved even more entertaining as a story-teller than as a guide.
"What he doesn't know about old-colony life isn't worth knowing," Priscilla had said, and Mr. Stacy certainly proved the truth of these words. Of Bradford and Carver and Winslow and Brewster he spoke as familiarly as if they were brothers. He made them live again as he talked, bringing out little facts that he said every schoolgirl and boy ought to know, though Martine had to admit that if she had ever known these things, they were now half forgotten. Priscilla modestly concealed her own store of information, but Martine, remembering how eagerly her friend had drunk in all that Amy and Balfour had had to tell the summer before about the English and the Acadians in Nova Scotia, knew that Priscilla was probably hardly second to Mr. Stacy in her knowledge of Puritan history.