i6 OLD PLYMOUTH TRAILS 



through the sand hills and one mill after another 

 sits by the side of the ponds thus formed. Yet 

 the "sea" itself must be much the same in itself 

 and its surroundings as it was in Billington's 

 time. Nor do I wholly believe the legend which 

 has it that Billington thought it was a sea in very 

 truth. It is too obviously a pond to have de- 

 ceived even this unsophisticated wanderer. It 

 covers but little over three hundred acres includ- 

 ing its islands and winding coves. 



I think, rather, its name was given in good 

 natured derision of Billington and his idea of the 

 importance of his discovery, a form of quaint hu- 

 mor not unknown in the descendants to the Pil- 

 grims of this day. Yet the waters of the little 

 winding pond are as clear as those of the sea 

 which breaks on the rocks of Manomet or the 

 Gurnet, and the hilly shores, close set with de- 

 ciduous growth, are almost as wild as they were 

 then. The robins that greeted the dawn on 

 Burial Hill sang here at midday, blackbirds chor- 

 used, and song sparrows sent forth their tinkling 

 songs from the shrubby growths. Plymouth 

 woods, here at least, are a monotony of oaks. 

 Yet here and there in the low places a maple has 



