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.

A prominent link in society was Widow Tully, who had been the
much-respected housekeeper of old Captain Manning for forty years. When
he died he left her the use of his house and family pew, besides an
annuity. The existence of Mr. Tully seemed to be a myth. During the
first of his widow's residence in town she had been much affected when
obliged to speak of him, and always represented herself as having seen
better days and as being highly connected. But she was apt to be
ungrammatical when excited, and there was a whispered tradition that
she used to keep a toll-bridge in a town in Connecticut; though the
mystery of her previous state of existence will probably never be
solved. She wore mourning for the captain which would have befitted his
widow, and patronized the townspeople conspicuously, while she herself
was treated with much condescension by the Carews and Lorimers. She
occupied, on the whole, much the same position that Mrs. Betty Barker
did in Cranford. And, indeed, Kate and I were often reminded of that
estimable town. We heard that Kate's aunt, Miss Brandon, had never been
appreciative of Mrs. Tully's merits, and that since her death the others
had received Mrs. Tully into their society rather more.

It seemed as if all the clocks in Deephaven, and all the people with
them, had stopped years ago, and the people had been doing over and over
what they had been busy about during the last week of their unambitious
progress. Their clothes had lasted wonderfully well, and they had no
need to earn money when there was so little chance to spend it; indeed,
there were several families who seemed to have no more visible means of