We had not the least feeling of irreverence in taking the
edge of the grave-yard for our playground. It was known as "the
old burying-ground"; and we children regarded it with a sort of
affectionate freedom, as we would a grandmother, because it was
old.
That, indeed, was one peculiar attraction of the town itself; it
was old, and it seemed old, much older than it does now. There
was only one main street, said to have been the first settlers'
cowpath to Wenham, which might account for its zigzag
picturesqueness. All the rest were courts or lanes.
The town used to wear a delightful air of drowsiness, as if she
had stretched herself out for an afternoon nap, with her head
towards her old mother, Salem, and her whole length reclining
towards the sea, till she felt at her feet, through her green
robes, the clip of the deep water at the Farms. All her elder
children recognized in her quiet steady-going ways a maternal
unity and strength of character, as of a town that understood her
own plans, and had settled down to peaceful, permanent habits.
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