66 OLD PLYMOUTH TRAILS 



Within lies the old town, more sedately and 

 unconsciously its very self in April than at any 

 other time of year. The scalloping is done, pro- 

 hibited by law after the first and the dredges no 

 longer vex the sandy shallows of the land-locked 

 harbor behind gray Coatue. The summer 

 visitor has not yet come and the town is its very, 

 peaceful, indeed slumbrous self. The bustle of 

 the day comes with the arrival of the steamer at 

 four o'clock. From then until darkness falls 

 Main street is busy. The curfew, falling in 

 sweet tones from the old watch tower, voiced by 

 the silver-tongued "Lisbon bell," lulls all to sleep, 

 and indeed long before that only an occasional 

 footfall resounds from the flagging. At seven 

 the same bell rouses all to the morning's leisurely 

 bustle, and again at twelve it rings a noon somno- 

 lence in upon Main street that is even more 

 startling to the stranger than the evening quiet. 



For the full length of the noon hour one may 

 stand at the door of the Pacific Bank and look 

 down the broad cobblepaved, elm-shaded stretch 

 of Main street to the door of the Pacific Club 

 and be quite deafened by a step on the brick 

 sidewalk and fairly shy at the shadow of a passer, 



