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Most people go away for change of air in the month of August, but this was by no means the fashion in the remote, little old-world town of Northbury. In November people left home if they could, for it was dull, very dull at Northbury in November, but August was the prime month of the year.
It was then the real salt from the broad Atlantic came into the limpid waters of the little harbor. August was the month for bathing, for yachting, for trawling. Some denizens of the outside world even came to Northbury in August; the few lodging-houses were crammed to overflowing; people put up with any accommodation for the sake of the crisp air, and the lovely deep blue water of the bay. For in August this same water was often at night alight with phosphorescent substances, which gave it the appearance in the moonlight of liquid golden fire. It was then the girls sang their best, and the young men said soft nothings, and hearts beat a little more quickly than ordinary, and in short the mischievous, teasing, fascinating god of love was abroad.