68 DYER’S HOLLOW. 
‘* Here twice a day the Pamet fills, 
The salt sea-water passes by.” 
But the rising flood could make no “si- 
lence in the hills;” for the Pamet, as I saw 
it, is far too sedate a stream ever to be 
caught “babbling.” It has only some three 
miles to run, and seems to know perfectly 
well that it need not run fast. 
My room would have made an ideal study 
for a lazy man, I thought, the two windows 
facing straight into a sand-bank, above 
which rose a steep hill, or perhaps I should 
rather say the steep wall of a plateau, on 
whose treeless top, all by themselves, or 
with only a graveyard for company, stood 
the Town Hall and the two village churches. 
Perched thus upon the roof of the Cape, as 
it were, and surmounted by cupola and bel- 
fry, the hall and the “orthodox” church 
made invaluable beacons, visible from far 
and near in every direction. For three 
weeks I steered my hungry course by them 
twice a day, having all the while a pleasing 
consciousness that, however I might skip the 
Sunday sermon, I was by no means neglect- 
ing my religious privileges. The second 
and smaller meeting-house belonged to a 
