ke a parable of this for Pat, who is eating hers,
though she certainly has _not_ got it. She has given it to some one
else, though I fancy she _thinks_ she has merely mislaid it.) In apropos
of hearts, they make dories in Swampscott; and it's _not_ swampy one
bit!

Of course I quoted Whittier's "Skipper Ireson's Ride" to Jack, coming
toward Marblehead. It was "up to me" to show my British husband that I,
too, had learned things at people's knees.

_"Old Flood Ireson for his hard heart,
Tarred and feathered, and carried in a cart
By the women of Marblehead."_

I wasn't certain I got it just right, but did my best to put a confident
ring into my voice, which is half the battle when you're not sure of
yourself. What a blow, therefore, to be told that in truth and in deed
the women of Marblehead had nothing to do with the job! Jack says the
_men_ did it. And worse still, Captain Ireson was supposed to have been
a victim rather than a villain, because his sailors mutinied and refused
to let him go to the rescue of the sinking ship. I hate having my
childish beliefs disturbed! It tears me all up by the roots, and gives
me a pain in my spirit's toes. But never mind, there's plenty more
romance, which no one can take away from New England, though the very
man who wrote about Ireson complained that it had gone:

_"Gone like the Indian wizard's yell
And fire dance round the magic rock.
Forgotten like the Druid's spell
At moonrise by his holy oak."_

No, no, Whittier, surely you wouldn't say so now if you could see
steamboats and trains pouring forth multitudes, and thousands and tens
of thousands of motor cars stuffed full of people from all over the
world drawn to New England because of its never, never lost halo of
romance!

Did I tell you just now that we were coming toward Marblehead? Well, one
can do that, and not get to Marblehead. You can keep on seeing
Marblehead and expecting to arrive, while in reality you are going all
around "Robin Hood's barn." By the way, I never saw a barn exciting
enough to belong to Robin Hood till I came with Jack on this tour
through New England. Here, barns are as grand as churches, and very much
like them, steeples and all.

A lot of things happened to us on the way to will o' the wisp
Marblehead--_old_ Marblehead, I mean, for _new_ Marblehead is just a
very gay and jolly summer resort, such as I fancy little Susan would,
in her pink sugar heart