full, the boarding-house keepers were in their annual state of wonder
over the singular taste of these people from 'below,' who actually
preferred a miserable white-fish to the best of beef brought up on ice
all the way from Buffalo! There were picnics and walks, and much
confusion of historical dates respecting Father Marquette and the
irrepressible, omnipresent Pontiac. The officers did much escort
duty; their buttons gilded every scene. Our quiet surgeon was foremost
in everything.

'I am surprised! I had no idea Dr. Prescott was so gay,' said the
major's wife.

'I should not think of calling him gay,' I answered.

'Why, my dear Mrs. Corlyne! He is going all the time. Just ask
Augusta.'

Augusta thereupon remarked that society, to a certain extent, was
beneficial; that she considered Dr. Prescott much improved; really, he
was now very 'nice.'

I silently protested against the word. But then I was not a Bostonian.

One bright afternoon I went through the village, round the point into
the French quarter, in search of a laundress. The fishermen's cottages
faced the west; they were low and wide, not unlike scows drifted
ashore and moored on the beach for houses. The little windows had gay
curtains fluttering in the breeze, and the room within looked clean
and cheery; the rough walls were adorned with the spoils of the
fresh-water seas, shells, green stones, agates, spar, and curiously