Those fish-houses were curious places, so different from any other kind of workshop.  In this there was a seine, or part of one, festooned among the cross-beams overhead, and there were snarled fishing-lines, and barrows to carry fish in, like wheelbarrows without wheels; there were the queer round lobster-nets, and “kits” of salt mackerel, tubs of bait, and piles of clams; and some queer bones, and parts of remarkable fish, and lobster-claws of surprising size fastened on the walls for ornament.  There was a pile of rubbish down at the end; I dare say it was all useful, however,—­there is such mystery about the business.

Kate and I were never tired of hearing of the fish that come at different times of the year, and go away again, like the birds; or of the actions of the dog-fish, which the ’longshore-men hate so bitterly; and then there are such curious legends and traditions, of which almost all fishermen have a store.

“I think mackerel are the prettiest fish that swim,” said I presently.

“So do I, miss,” said the man, “not to say but I’ve seen more fancy-looking fish down in southern waters, bright as any flower you ever see; but a mackerel,” holding up one admiringly, “why, they’re so clean-built and trig-looking!  Put a cod alongside, and he looks as lumbering as an old-fashioned Dutch brig aside a yacht.

“Those are good-looking fish, but they an’t made much account of,” continued our friend, as he pushed aside the mackerel and took another tub.  “They’re hake, I s’pose you know.  But I forgot,—­I can’t stop to bother with them now.”  And he pulled forward a barrow full of small fish, flat and hard, with pointed, bony heads.

“Those are porgies, aren’t they?” asked Kate.

“Yes,” said the man, “an’ I’m going to sliver them for the trawls.”

We knew what the trawls were, and supposed that the porgies were to be used for bait; and we soon found out what “slivering” meant, by seeing him take them by the head and cut a slice from first one side and then the other in such a way that the pieces looked not unlike smaller fish.

“It seems to me,” said I, “that fishermen always have sharper knives than other people.”

“Yes, we do like a sharp knife in our trade; and then we are mostly strong-handed.”

He was throwing the porgies’ heads and backbones—­all that was left of them after slivering—­in a heap, and now several cats walked in as if they felt at home, and began a hearty lunch.  “What a troop of pussies there is round here,” said I; “I wonder what will become of them in the winter,—­though, to be sure, the fishing goes on just the same.”

“The better part of them don’t get through the cold weather,” said Danny.  “Two or three of the old ones have been here for years, and are as much belonging to Deephaven as the meetin’-house; but the rest of them an’t to be depended on.  You’ll miss the young ones by the dozen, come spring.  I don’t know myself but they move inland in the fall of the year; they’re knowing enough, if that’s all!”