yoke of oxen were hitched on and a big 

 procession followed the stone. That 

 was a Fourth of July worth seeing!" 



"When was the stone taken back to its 

 original site?" Alice asked. 



"Not many years ago. The Plym- 

 outh Association feared it might be de- 

 stroyed in some way, and so it was 

 brought back and enclosed with a strong 

 iron fence and the canopy erected over 

 it." 



"Dear me," sighed Alice, "how sorry 

 I am to know that no cold waves dash 

 over Plymouth Rock." 



"You wouldn't expect water to stay in 

 the same place for hundreds of years to 

 accommodate you, and what if the rock 

 has traveled about a little, that doesn't 

 hurt it one bit. Can't you just imagine 

 Mary Chilton or John Alden stepping 

 on the rock? For my part, I think it 

 was Mary Chilton that landed first. It's 



just like a girl to want to and a boy to 

 let her do it." 



"Bravo !" said Aunt Jane. "I'm glad 

 your sense of chivalry helps you decide 

 the much-argued question. You know 

 the descendents of both Mary Chilton 

 and John Alden claim the honor. But 

 sit still a while, children, dear, and let 

 us try to picture the landing in our 

 minds. The bleak December day, the 

 barren rocks, the somber leafless trees, 

 the cold, biting winds, and an earnest, 

 but cold and worn, boat load of people 

 seeking new homes, thankful that they 

 had escaped the dangers of the- ocean, 

 courageous to meet the rough experi- 

 ences that were sure to come. Never 

 before did a nation spring from such a 

 disheartening beginning, and from such 

 God-like patience and faith of a little 

 handful of men and women. 



Belle Paxson Drury. 



AN INTERRUPTED SERMON. 



(Written on hearing a yellow-hird sing during a church service.) 



Twittering, fluttering, lilting on high. 



Dipping and tipping wee head with each measure. 

 Preening and cooing and crooning near by. 



Yellow-bird ! Whence comes such rapturous pleasure ? 

 What does he know of the Preacher's oration. 



Flooding through archway and stained glass ajar. 

 Swinging and flinging and bringing elation, 



Isn't he spreading bird-gospel afar? 



Spilling and thrilling and trilling his carol, 



Shaking soft feathers of olive and gold. 

 Where gray boughs and green leaves set oft* such apparel. 



Hid in the elm-tree so stately and old. 

 Warble and treble and ripple, sweet singer ! 



Love is tlic theme which such anthems inspire. 

 Our Father keeps watch o'er the tiny joy-bringcr, 



Surely lie cares for His small feathered ciioir. 



— FtiU'.i. Willi rii-:R I^Iovnton. 



\7(] 



