Finally, on the fourth day of their stay, under the guidance of Mr. Stacy, the two went up to Burial Hill.
"You won't care if I do not pretend to be awfully interested in the epitaphs," said Martine, frankly. "I wish that Amy were here. She loves old graveyards and inscriptions and everything that has a scrap of history. Now I am fond of funny epitaphs, and I love—oh, what a beautiful view!"
"I am glad that Burial Hill has something of interest to offer you. Even in Plymouth we call this a fine view. Generally, we try to be modest about our possessions, but this really is worth praising."
"It is wonderful!" and Martine gazed in admiration at the expanse of blue water that stretched far, far to the East, with only the tiny Clark's Island to break its continuity.
"It looks almost like a toy town," she added, gazing down at the houses and spires of the old town seeming to nestle at the foot of the hill.
"Those woods toward the West are where the Indians used to lurk, and you can see how wise our forefathers were in placing their fort here near the summit of the hill. You remember, probably, that it was a wooden building made of sawed planks, but the six cannon mounted for its defence made it really formidable to the Indians. From this point the defenders of the town could quickly discover the approach of the enemy. For a time, too, the fort was used as a church."
"That is why they used the hill as a burying-place, I suppose."
"Well, oddly enough, the founders of Plymouth were not buried here. Undoubtedly, the first settlers buried their dead near their dwellings. No stones mark the resting-place of most of the Mayflower passengers. There are memorials to many of them put up in later generations here on Burial Hill by their descendants, and two or three who lived to an advanced age, like John Howland, are buried here. But the earliest gravestone on the hill is that of Edward Gray, who died in 1681."
Priscilla, browsing among the stones, returned to Martine with a shade of disappointment on her face.
"I am really sorry, but I cannot find a single absurd stone. Some are rather quaint, but there are no amusing epitaphs, at least, of the kind you like, Martine. Often as I've been here, I have never looked for that special kind of thing before, but now that I have made you a true report, we might as well turn down toward Memorial Hall."