irs, the
reading-club and the childrens' hospital. We should think the people
uncongenial and behind the times, and that the Ridge road was stupid and
the long sands desolate; while we remembered what delightful walks we
had taken out Beacon Street to the three roads, and over the Cambridge
Bridge. Perhaps we should even be ashamed of the dear old church for
being so out of fashion. We should have the blues dreadfully, and think
there was no society here, and wonder why we had to live in such a
town."

"What a gloomy picture!" said Kate, laughing. "Do you know that I have
understood something lately better than I ever did before,--it is that
success and happiness are not things of chance with us, but of choice. I
can see how we might so easily have had a dull summer here. Of course
it is our own fault if the events of our lives are hindrances; it is we
who make them bad or good. Sometimes it is a conscious choice, but
oftener unconscious. I suppose we educate ourselves for taking the best
of life or the worst, do not you?"

"Dear old Deephaven!" said Kate, gently, after we had been silent a
little while. "It makes me think of one of its own old ladies, with its
clinging to the old fashions and its respect for what used to be
respectable when it was young. I cannot make fun of what was once dear
to somebody, and which realized somebody's ideas of beauty or fitness. I
don't dispute the usefulness of a new, bustling, manufacturing town with
its progressive ideas; but there is a simple dignity in a town like
Deephaven, as if it tried to be loyal to the traditions of its
ancestors. It quietly accepts its altered circumstances, if it has seen
better days, and has no harsh feelings toward the places which have
drawn away its business, but it lives on, making its old houses and
boats and clothes last as long as possible."

"I think one cannot help," said I, "having a different affection for an
old place like Deephaven from that which one may have for a newer town.
Here--though there are no exciting historical associations and none of
the veneration which one has for the very old cities and towns
abroad--it is impossible not to remember how many people have walked the
streets and lived in the houses. I was thinking to-day how many girls
might have grown up in this house, and that their places have been ours;
we have inherited their pleasures, and perhaps have carried on work
which they began. We sit in somebody's favorite cha