There were two schooners owned in town, and ’Bijah Mauley and Jo Sands owned a trawl.  There were some schooners and a small brig slowly going to pieces by the wharves, and indeed all Deephaven looked more or less out of repair.  All along shore one might see dories and wherries and whale-boats, which had been left to die a lingering death.  There is something piteous to me in the sight of an old boat.  If one I had used much and cared for were past its usefulness, I should say good by to it, and have it towed out to sea and sunk; it never should be left to fall to pieces above high-water mark.

Even the commonest fishermen felt a satisfaction, and seemed to realize their privilege, in being residents of Deephaven; but among the nobility and gentry there lingered a fierce pride in their family and town records, and a hardly concealed contempt and pity for people who were obliged to live in other parts of the world.  There were acknowledged to be a few disadvantages,—­such as living nearly a dozen miles from the railway,—­but, as Miss Honora Carew said, the tone of Deephaven society had always been very high, and it was very nice that there had never been any manufacturing element introduced.  She could not feel too grateful, herself, that there was no disagreeable foreign population.

“But,” said Kate one day, “wouldn’t you like to have some pleasant new people brought into town?”

“Certainly, my dear,” said Miss Honora, rather doubtfully; “I have always been public-spirited; but then, we always have guests in summer, and I am growing old.  I should not care to enlarge my acquaintance to any great extent.”  Miss Honora and Mrs. Dent had lived gay lives in their younger days, and were interested and connected with the outside world more than any of our Deephaven friends; but they were quite contented to stay in their own house, with their books and letters and knitting, and they carefully read Littell and “the new magazine,” as they called the Atlantic.

The Carews were very intimate with the minister and his sister, and there were one or two others who belonged to this set.  There was Mr. Joshua Dorsey, who wore his hair in a queue, was very deaf, and carried a ponderous cane which had belonged to his venerated father,—­a much taller man than he.  He was polite to Kate and me, but we never knew him much.  He went to play whist with the Carews every Monday evening, and commonly went out fishing once a week.  He had begun the practice of law, but he had lost his hearing, and at the same time his lady-love had inconsiderately fallen in love with somebody else; after which he retired from active business life.  He had a fine library, which he invited us to examine.  He had many new books, but they looked shockingly overdressed, in their fresher bindings, beside the old brown volumes of essays and sermons, and lighter works in many-volume editions.