CHAPTER III.
SELLING A NEW ENGLAND FARM.
All the neighboring towns-people knew that the Grath farm was to besold on this day. The "bills" had been "out" for over two weeks. Thesewere announcements, printed in large letters, on bright-colored paper,and hung up in barber-shops, grocery stores, post-offices and evennailed on trees. One might be driving along an almost deserted road,several miles from any habitation, and suddenly find himselfconfronted by one of these yellow and black "auction bills," whichwould notify him that upon the stated date a homestead would be "soldout," in the next county.
Therefore it was not surprising that when Leon and the Doctor reachedthe farm, several "teams" were already "hitched" along the stone wallthat surrounded the orchard.
The auction was advertised to begin at eight o'clock, and by sevenover a hundred persons had already arrived, and were "rummaging" aboutthe premises. An auction of this kind differs greatly from an art saleat Chickering Hall. There is no catalogue, numbering the various lotsto be offered; nevertheless there is nothing so small, so worthless,so old, so broken, or so rusty, that it will not be put up, and bidfor too. Many of the prospective buyers come many miles to attend, andas the sale usually lasts all day, it is expected that the owner willserve dinner promptly at noon, to all who may wish to partake of hishospitality. As these dinners, save in rare cases, usually amount tonothing better than a luncheon, many bring viands with them, thusreinforcing themselves against contingencies of hunger.
By the time that the auction was to begin, the Grath farm looked likea veritable picnic-ground; teams tied to every place that offered, oneold man having "hitched" his horse to a mowing-machine, which causedsome merriment when that article was sold, the auctioneer announcingthat he would "throw in the critter leaning against the machine";whilst here and there some of the bolder visitors had gatheredtogether tables and chairs, and were keeping guard over them until theeating hour.
One old woman approached Leon and sought information, thus:
"Be you the boy that Marg'ret Grath took offen the county farm?" Towhich Leon vouchsafed no reply, but turned and walked away. This atonce aroused the anger of the irascible old party, who followed himspeaking loudly.
"Hoity! Toity! What airs for a beggar's brat! I'd have you to know,young man, that when I ax a civil question, I cac'late to git a civilanswer!" Which calculation, however, miscarried.
Over near the barn he met another woman who asked:
"I say! You be the boy as lives here, be'ant you?"
"Yes, I live here," replied Leon.
"Well! I hearn as how Miss Grath hed some white ducks, so nigh as big's geese, thet a body couldn't tell one from t'other. Now I've sarchedthe hull place lookin' fer them ducks, but bless me ef I kin find afeather on 'em. I seen a fine flock o' geese in the orchard, but Iwant you to show me them ducks. I'm jest achin' to see em."
"The flock in the orchard are the ducks; we have no geese," explainedLeon.
"You don't mean it!" rejoined the woman, much astounded. "So themgeese is the ducks! Land alive! And I took 'em for geese. Well, Inever! To think I couldn't tell one from t'other! I mus' git anotherpeak at 'em." Then she hurried away towards the orchard.
Over by the barn a man was coming out from the horse stalls, with anold leather strap in his hand, when he was suddenly confronted by thestern visage of Miss Matilda Grath, spinster. Before he found words ofgreeting, she burst forth in wrathful tones:
"Jeremiah Hubbard, whatever do you mean by stealin' other folks'property, right before their very eyes?"
"Stealin', Miss Grath? Me steal? You mus' be losin your senses. Hain'tye?"
"No, I hain't!" snapped back Miss Grath. "An' ef you an't stealin'that strap, I'd like to know what you're doin', takin' it outen thebarn, before it's sold?"
"Gosh! Ye don't mean you're goin' to sell this strap?"
"An' why not, I'd like to know? It's mine, an' I kin sell it, I spose,'thout gittin' your permission?"
"Why, sartin! But 'tain't wuth nothin'."
"Ef 'tain't wuth nothin', I'd have you tell me what you're takin' itfor?"
"Well, you see,"--Mr. Hubbard was embarrassed by the question--"it'sthis way. A bit o' my harness is a leetle weak, and I thought this'dcome handy to brace it up till I get to hum."
"Jes' so," answered Miss Grath, with gratification, "an' as 't wouldcome handy, you jes' took it, French leave. Well! Ef you stay till theend o' the auction, mebbe you'll git a chance to buy it. Meanwhile,Mr. Hubbard, it might be 's well to keep your hands offen what don'tbelong to you."
Mr. Hubbard threw the old piece of strap back in the stall, andpushing his hands deep into his pockets, snarled out:
"I reckon I'll put my hands in my pockets, where my money is, an' keep'em there too!" With which he strode away, a very angry man. He stayedto the end of the auction, but Miss Grath noticed with regret that hedid not bid on anything all day, and she wondered if she had not "puther foot in it," which she undoubtedly had. But there are many, manypeople, in this curious little world, who hold a penny so close totheir eyes that they lose sight of many dollars that might come theirway were they not blinded by the love of small gains. Mr. Hubbard,too, was troubled as he rode home, that night; for, aside from thefact that he had been accused, of stealing, and that the stolenproperty had been "found on him," because of his determination not tolet "the old hag" get any of his money he had lost several goodopportunities to secure tempting "bargains"; and there is nothing thata true New Englander loves so much as a bargain.
At last there was a commotion in the crowd. Some one had recognizedthe auctioneer's team approaching, and presently he jumped out of hislight wagon, greeting the men and women alike, by their first names,for there were few who did not know Mr. Potter, and there was nonewhom Mr. Potter did not know.
Mr. Potter himself was a character of a genus so unique that he wasperhaps the only living example. If it be true that poets are everborn, then Mr. Potter was born a poet. It was only by the veriestirony of fate that he was an auctioneer, although undoubtedly it isprobable that he made more money by the latter calling, than he everwould have gained by printer's ink. And as for fame, that he had, ifit please you. For be it known that no farm of consequence in NewHampshire hath passed under the hammer these five and twenty years,but Mr. Potter hath presided at the obsequies. I use that wordadvisedly, for, truly, though they make a picnic of the event, theselling of an old homestead is a funereal sort of pleasure.
The cause of his success lay in the fact that, with wisdom such as noprofessional poet has been known to possess, Mr. Potter had combinedhis business and his pleasure, so that he became known as a poeticalauctioneer. Gifted with the faculty of rhyming, and well versed in thepoets, he readily would find a couplet to fit all occasions. Sometimesthey were quoted entire, sometimes they appeared as familiar lineswith a new termination, and not infrequently the verse would beentirely original, provoked by the existing circumstances.
As to his personality, I need but a few adjectives to give you hispicture. He was a large man, and a hearty one. Witty, genial, andgallant to the ladies. Above all things, he possessed the rare facultyof adapting himself to his surroundings. Add to this that he wasscrupulously honest and fair in his dealing, and you will readilybelieve that he was popular. His name on a "bill" always assured alarge crowd. On this occasion more than the usual throng surroundedhim, as he climbed up into an ox-cart and opened the sale with thesewords:
"My friends, we will begin the morning services by quoting a versefrom Dr. Watts, junior:
"Blest is the man who shuns the place Where other auctions be, And in his pocket saves his cash To buy his goods of me."
Then, when the laugh had died away, he offered for sale the cart uponwhich he stood, reserving the right to stand upon it during thebalance of the day. The bidding was spiritless at first, and the cartwent for two dollars. Mr. Potter remarking, as he knocked it down:
"Thus passeth my understanding!"
An
d so the sale progressed, Mr. Potter finding many opportunitieswhich called forth some selection from his store of poetry. There weremany sharp sallies from the crowd, for the New Englander is keen ofwit, but the auctioneer ever had a ready rejoinder that turned thelaugh away from himself, without causing ill-feeling.
After a couple of hours, during which Leon saw many things sold whichwere associated in his mind with what were now sacred memories, heturned away from the crowd, and went off towards the barn. Lost inthought, he did not notice that the collie followed at his heels,until presently, walking between the bales of new hay, and finding oneupon which he could throw himself, Lossy jumped up beside him andkissed him in the face.
"Poor doggy," said the lad; "you know that I'm in trouble, don't you,old boy?" He paused as though he awaited a reply, and the dog, seemingto understand that something was expected of him, sat back on hishaunches and offered his paw, tapping his master's arm again andagain, until it was taken. Then Leon turned so as to face the dogsquarely, and retaining the proffered paw, he spoke again.
"I wonder, Lossy, how you will do in a great city? Will you miss theold place, as I suppose I shall? Will you mind being penned up in alittle yard, with strict orders not to come into the grand house? Willyou miss going after the cows, and the sheep? Will you miss your swimsin the lake?" He paused again, but Lossy was looking away much as ahuman being would who tried to hide his feelings. For there is littledoubt that when a dog acts thus, in some mysterious way he comprehendshis master's trouble, and shares it. "Never you mind, old fellow,"Leon continued, "you sha'n't be entirely forgotten. I'll look out foryou. The nights will be ours, and what fun we shall have. We'll go offtogether on long walks, and if there is any country near enough, whywe'll go there sometimes on Sundays. For we don't care about church,do we, old boy? No, sir! The open fields, with the green grass, andthe trees, and the birds, and the bright sunlight is all the church weneed, isn't it, old doggy?" He stopped, and as his voice had grownsomewhat more cheerful, the dog vouchsafed to look at him timidly.Seeing encouragement, he wagged his tail a few times. "Come, sir,"said Leon, "I am talking to you. Don't you hear? Answer my question.Speak, sir! Speak!" "Whow! Whow! Whow-Whow!" answered Lossy, barkinglustily. But Leon held up his finger in warning, and he ceased. "Whatdo you mean by all that noise?" said Leon. "Don't you understand thatthis is a confidential conversation? Now, sir! Answer me again, butsoftly! softly!"
"Woof! Woof! Woof!" answered Lossy, in tones as near a whisper as canbe compassed by a dog.
"Very well, sir!" said Leon. "That's better. Much better. We don'twant to attract a crowd, so the less noise we make the better for us."
But, alas! The boy's warning came too late. Miss Matilda Grath hadseen Leon go towards the barn, and when she heard the dog's loudbarking, a sudden idea had come to her, which thrilled her cruel heartwith anticipation of pleasure. So much so indeed, that she at onceleft the vicinity of the auctioneer, where her interests were, andhurried out to the barn, surprising Leon by her unwelcome presence.
"What are you doin' out here all by yourself?" she asked.
"I am not doing anything, Miss Grath!" replied Leon mildly, hoping tomollify her. A vain hope!
"Miss Grath!" she repeated sneeringly. "Don't you Miss Grath me. Ian't to be molly-coddled by the likes o' you. I wanter know whatyou're doin' out here, when everybody's to the auction. You an't up tono good, I'll warrant. Now up an' tell me! An' no lies, or it will bethe worst for you."
"I don't know what you're aiming at. I came out here to be alone, thatis all!"
"Oh! You wanted to be alone, did you? Well, that's the right way foryou to feel, anyway. The company of decent folks an't for the likes o'you." She paused, expecting an angry retort, but failing to obtain thedesired excuse for proceeding in the diabolical design which she wasbent upon executing, she continued in a worse temper. "You needn'tthink you kin fool me with your smooth talkin'. I know you, and I knowwhat you're up to!"
"Well, if you know, why did you ask me?" said Leon, stung intosomething like anger.
"I don't want none o' your impudence. I'll tell you mighty quick whatyou're up to. You're plannin' to steal that dog, that's what you'reafter!"
"Steal Lossy! Why how could I do that? He is mine!" Leon did not yetfully grasp what was coming, but the vague suspicion conveyed by thewoman's words aroused a fear in his breast.
"Oh! He's your'n, is he. We'll see 'bout that. How did he come to beyour'n? Did you buy him?"
"Why, of course not. He was born right here on the farm, and, when hewas a puppy, mother gave him to me."
"Don't you dare to call my sister mother, you impudent young beggar.You never had no mother, and your scoundrel of a father foisted youonto my innocent, confidin' sister, who took you out o' charity, likea fool. I wouldn't 'ave done it."
"I have not the least idea that you would, Miss Grath. You never didany one a kindness in your life, if what people say is true."
"People say a deal sight more 'n their prayers. But that an't to thep'int now. We're talkin' 'bout this dog. You say he's your'n; that mysister gin him to you. Now kin you prove that?"
"Prove it?" repeated Leon, at last fully comprehending that his dogmight be taken from him. "Prove it! Why, how can I?"
"Jes' so. You can't. My sister's dead, and an't here to contradictyou, so in course you kin claim the dog. But that's all talk, an' talk's cheap. The dog's mine."
"He is not yours."
"An't he? We'll see 'bout that mighty quick." And before either Leonor the dog understood her purpose, she had grabbed Lossy in her arms,and was striding away towards the crowd around the auctioneer. Leonjumped down and followed her, his pulses beating high.
Reaching the cart where Mr. Potter was standing, she threw the dogtowards him, saying:
"Here, sell this dog next. He's named Lossy. He's a right smart beast.Goes after the cows, kin tend sheep, and run a churn. He's wuth a goodprice. Sell him for what he'll fetch."
Mr. Potter stooped and patted the dog, who was trembling with fear,for ordinarily a collie is easily alarmed, and not very brave exceptwhen guarding his sheep, when he has the courage of a lion.
"Well," began Mr. Potter, "what'll you give for the dog. Come! speak,and let the worst be known, for speaking may relieve you. If it don't,I'll relieve you of the price of the dog, and you can take him withyou."
"Dollar!" cried a voice in the crowd succinctly.
"'n' quarter," said another.
"Stop," cried Leon, fully aroused, now that his pet was actuallyoffered for sale. "Mr. Potter, you shall not sell that dog. He ismine."
"It's a lie!" cried Miss Grath. Then pointing her bony finger at Leon,she continued: "Look at that ungrateful wretch. Look at him. You allknow who he is, and where he came from. My sister nussed him, and fedhim, and gin him his clothes all these years, and now arter she'sdead, he's tryin to defraud me by claimin' my property, 's if he an'thad enough outer my family a'ready."
"I've never had anything from you, and would not accept it if it wasoffered and I was starving," cried Leon, white with anger. But as justas the words were, they rather injured his cause, for most of thosepresent held ideas not very dissimilar from Miss Grath's, and theyaccepted her version and believed him ungrateful. The prejudiceagainst him was not lessened by the intuitive knowledge that, poorthough he was, he was better than they. So those who heard him did nothesitate to speak against him, and such phrases as "Nuss a serpent and'twill sting you," and "A beggar on horseback," reached his ears, anddespite their inaptness, they wounded him.
Mr. Potter, seeing the rising storm, essayed to stem the torrent, andexclaimed:
"Don't show temper, friends; anger and pride are both unwise; vinegarnever catches flies."
"Ther' hain't no flies on Potter," cried a voice, and a general laughfollowed. Then, in spite of his protest, Leon saw Lossy offered againfor sale.
Mr. Potter lifted the dog in his arms and said:
"Now here's a dog, by name of Lossy. Just feel his fur
, so fine and glossy. I'm told that twixt his loud bow-wows He often fetches home the cows. Besides that, he can tend the sheep, And bring the butter in the churn. So buy him dear, or buy him cheap, He'll eat no more than he can earn.
"How much for the dog?"
The competition excited by the occurrences, and the verses, was now sogreat, that the bidding was spirited until fifteen dollars wasreached, to which sum it had mounted by jumps of fifty cents. Then aman said quietly but distinctly:
"Twenty dollars," and a glad cry escaped from Leon, as he recognizedDr. Medjora's voice, and knew that his purpose was to restore his dogto him. But at the same instant Miss Grath also comprehended thesituation, and determined that Leon should not have Lossy. She criedout to Mr. Potter:
"The dog's wuth twice as much. You kin stop sellin' him. I'll keep himmyself."
At this Leon's hopes fell, only to be revived again by theauctioneer's words. Mr. Potter knew Miss Grath thoroughly, and hereadily appreciated the fact that she was selling the dog to spite thelad, and that, in withdrawing him, she was actuated by some sinistermotive. Sympathizing with Leon, against whom he had none of theprejudices of the neighborhood, he turned now to Miss Grath and said:
"You told me to sell him for what he would fetch. It's too late now todraw back."
"It an't too late," screamed the infuriated woman; "it's my dog, and Isha'n't sell him."
"Oh, you won't," said Mr. Potter. "'The best-laid plans of mice andmen aft gang aglee.' Dr. Medjora gets the dog at twenty dollars."
"It's no sale! It's no sale!" cried out Miss Grath. "'T ain't legal tosell my property agin my word."
"Now, look here, Miss Grath," said Mr. Potter; "I'm here to sell, andwhatever I sell is sold. That dog's sold, and that settles it. If youdispute it, you jes' say so, right now, and you kin sell the rest ofthis farm yourself. Now decide quick! Is the sale of that dog allstraight?"
Miss Grath, despite her anger, was shrewd enough to see that herinterests would be ruined if she suspended the sale. She could neverhope to get the crowd together again, and no other auctioneer wouldobtain such good prices. So she was obliged to yield, though she didso with little grace.
"Oh! I 'spose ef you choose to be ugly 'bout it, I hain't got nothin'more to say. Dr. Medjora kin have the dog, an' much good may it dohim. I hope he'll regret buyin' it, some day."
And so, through the cleverness of Mr. Potter, the poet-auctioneer,when Dr. Medjora and Leon started for New York on the followingmorning the collie went with them.
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