Town Brook, now in place of the
primeval forests of pine and oak. Its waters leap one dam after
another, but cannot escape pollution till their dark tide mingles
with that of the clear sea. But for all that the contour of the
chasms in the big sand hills through which it flows to the sea is
changed but little. The low sun leaves it in shadow most of the
day and one can fancy the Pilgrim children and perhaps their
elders glancing often up its shadowy canon under black growth, a
mysterious gulch down which at any time might stride the savages
they so feared, or other, worse terrors of the unknown wilderness.
The little knowledge of their day was but a tiny oasis in the vast
desert of unknown things, and in that country to the south and
west that was so alluring under the golden glow of the sun through
its soft blue haze might dwell both gorgons and chimeras dire. For
though the children were not with the explorers when they landed
from the shallop on Forefathers' Day, they came five days later in
the Mayflower itself.

There were twenty-eight of these children, varying in age from the
babe in arms to well-grown, lusty youths and maidens. Christmas
was at hand, and one fancies that all knew much about it, and
spoke little, perhaps not at all. So far as record goes they had
broken absolutely from all that they believed the follies of the
fatherland. Yet in the hearts of many, one can but think, must
have remained warm memories of Yule logs, of the boar's head,
piping hot and decked out with holly berries, and of the
low-ceiled, oak-wainscotted dining halls of Old World houses all
alight with candles and green with Christmas decorations. It is a
pity that in repudiating the folly they had to repudiate also the
fun. For just ashore in this land of mystery to which they had
come were opportunities for Christmas greenery and Christmas
feasting which they would have done well to take. The English
holly they had left behind, yet along Town Brook grew the black
alder with its red berries that are so pretty a substitute for the
others, a holly itself, or at least an Ilex. All about Plymouth in
the low grounds may be found these cheery, bright red berries,
even over on the seaward slope of Manomet Head I found them,
snuggling in hollows where tiny rivulets trickle down to the sea,
though on the ridge above them the oaks were dwarfed and storm-beaten
till one has difficulty in recognizing them for the variety
of tree that they ar