AN OLD-FASHIONED COUNTRY SALE
A WEEK later Phares and Phoebe drove into the barnyard of a farm six
miles from Greenwald, where the old-fashioned sale was scheduled to be
held.
"We are not the first, after all," said the preacher as he saw the
number of conveyances in and about the barnyard. He smiled
good-humoredly as he led the way--he could afford to smile when he was
with Phoebe.
All about the big yard of the farm were placed articles to be sold at
public auction. It was a miscellaneous collection. A cradle with
miniature puffy feather pillows, straw tick and an old patchwork quilt
of pink and white calico stood near an old wood-stove which bore the
inscription, CONOWINGO FURNACE. Corn-husk shoe-mats, a quilting frame,
rocking-chairs, two spinning-wheels, copper kettles, rolls of hand-woven
rag carpet, old oval hat-boxes and an old chest stood about a huge table
which was laden with jars of jellies. Chests, filled with linens and
antique woolen coverlets, afforded a resting place for the fortunate
ones who had arrived earliest. A few antique chairs and tables, a
mahogany highboy in excellent condition and an antique corner-cupboard
of wild-cherry wood occupied prominent places among the collection.
Truly, the sale warranted the attention it was receiving.
"I'd like to bid on something--I'm going to do it!" Phoebe said as they
looked about. "When I was a little girl and went to sales with Aunt
Maria I coaxed to bid, just for the excitement of bidding. But she
always made me tell what I wanted and then she bid on it."
"What do you want to buy?" asked the preacher.
"Oh, I don't know. I don't want any apple-butter in crocks, or any
chairs. Oh, I'll have some fun, Phares! I'll bid on the third article
they put up for sale! I heard a man say the dishes are going to be sold
first, so I'll probably get a cracked plate or a saucer without a cup,
but whatever it is, the third article is going to be mine."
"That is rather rash," warned Phares. "It may be a bed or a chest."
"You can't scare me. I'm going to have some real thrills at this sale."
The preacher entered into the spirit of the girl and smiled at her
promise to bid on the third thing put up for sale.
"Oh, look at the highboy," she exclaimed to him.
"Do you like it?" he asked.
"Yes. See how it's inlaid with hollywood and cherry and how fine the
lines of it are! I wonder how much it will bring. But Aunt Maria'd scold
if I brought any furniture home, so I can't buy it."
"The price will depend upon the number of bidders and the size of their
pocketbooks. If any dealers in antiques are here it may run way up. We
used to buy homespun linen and fine old furniture very cheap at sales,
but the antique dealers changed that."
By that time the number of people was steadily increasing. They came
singly and in groups, in carriages, farm wagons, automobiles and afoot.
Some of the curious went about examining each article in the motley
collection in the yard.
Phoebe watched it all with an amused smile; finally she broke into merry
laughter.
Phares looked up inquiringly: "What is it?"
"This is great sport! I haven't been to a good sale for several years.
That old man has knocked his fist upon every chair and table, has tested
every piece of furniture, has opened all the bureau drawers, even the
case of the old clock, and just a moment ago he rocked the cradle
furiously to convince himself that it is in good working condition. Here
he comes with a pewter plate in his hand--let's hear what he has to say
about it."
The old man's cracked harsh voice rose above the confusion of other
sounds as he leaned against a table near Phoebe and Phares and spoke to
another man:
"Here now, Eph, is one of them pewter plates that folks fuss so about
just now, and I hear they put them in their dinin'-rooms along the wall!
Why, when I was a boy my granny had a lot of 'em and we'd knock 'em
around any way. Ha, ha," he laughed loudly, "I can tell you a good one,
Eph, about one of them pewter dishes."
He slapped the plate against his knee, but the thud was instantly
drowned by his quick, "Ach, Jimminy, I hit myself pretty hard that time!
But I'll tell you about it, Eph. You heard of the fellows from the city
who go around the country hunting up old relics, all old truck, and sell
it again in the city? Well, one of them fellows come to my house the
other week and asked if I had anything old-fashioned I would sell. Now
if Lizzie'd been home we might got rid of some of the old things we have
on the garret, but I was alone and I didn't know what I dared sell--you
know how the women is. So I said, 'What kind of old things do you want?'
"'Oh,' he said, 'I buy old furniture, dishes, linen, pewter----'
"'Pewter?' I said. 'Who wants that?'
"'There is a great demand for it,' he said, 'and I will give you a good
price for any you have.'
"'Well,' I laughed, 'I have just one piece of pewter.'
"'Where is it?'
"'Why, the cats have been eating out of it for a few years.'
"'May I see it?' he asks.
"So I took him out to the barn and showed him the big pewter bowl the
cats eat out of and he said, 'I'll give you fifty cents for that dish.'
"Gosh, I said to him, 'Mister, I was just fooling with you. I know you
don't want a cat-dish.'
"But he said again, 'I'll give you fifty cents for that dish.'
"So when I saw that he really meant it and wanted the dish I wrapped
the old pewter dish in a paper and he gave me half a dollar for it. When
I told Lizzie about it she laughed good and said the city folks must be
dumb if they want pewter dishes when you can buy such nice ones for ten
cents. Yes, Eph, that's the fellow's going to auctioneer. He's a good
one, you bet; he keeps things lively all the time. All his folks is good
talkers. Lizzie says his mom can talk the legs off an iron pot. But then
he needs a good tongue in this business; it takes a lot of wind to be an
auctioneer, specially at a big sale like this. He says it's going to be
a wonderful sale, that he ain't had one like it for years. There's
things here belonged to the family for three generations, been handed
down and handed down and now to-day it'll get scattered all over
Lancaster County, mebbe further. This saving up things and not using 'em
is all nonsense. I tell Lizzie we'll use what we got and get new when
it's worn out and not let a lot back for the young ones to fight over or
other people to buy."
Here the auctioneer climbed upon a big box, clapped his hands and called
loudly, "Attention, attention! This sale is about to begin. We have here
a collection of fine things, all in good condition. The terms of the
sale are cash. Now, folks, bid up fast and talk loud when you bid so I
can hear you. We have here some of the finest antique dishes in the
country, also some furniture that can't be duplicated in any store
to-day. We'll begin on this cherry table."
He lifted a spindle-legged table in the air and went on talking.
"Now that's a fine table to begin with! All solid cherry, no screws
loose--and that's more than you can say about some people--now what's
bid for this table? Fine and good as the day it came out of a good
workman's shop; no scratches on it--the Brubaker people knew how to take
care of furniture. Who bids? How much for it do you bid? Fifty
cents--fifty, all right--make it sixty--sixty cents I'm bid. Sixty,
sixty, sixty--seventy--go ahead, eighty--go on--ninety, one dollar, one
dollar ten, twenty, thirty--keep on--one dollar thirty, make it forty,
forty, forty, forty, I have a dollar forty for this table--all done?
Going--all done--all done?"
All was said in one breathless succession of words. He paused an instant
to gather fresh impetus, then resumed, "All done--any more? Gone at a
dollar forty to----"
"Lizzie Brubaker."
"Sold to Lizzie Brubaker."
"There," whispered the preacher to Phoebe, "that's one."
She smiled and nodded her head.
"Here now," called the auctioneer, "here's a fine set of chairs. Bid on
them; wink to me if you don't want to call out. My wife said she don't
care how many ladies wink to me this afternoon at this sale, but after
that she won't have it--now then; go ahead! Give me one of the chairs,
Sam, so the people can see it--ah, ain't that a beauty! Six in all, all
solid wood, too, none of your cane seats that you have to be afraid to
sit in. All solid wood, and every one alike, all painted green and
every one with fine hand-painted flowers on the back. Where can you beat
such chairs? Don't make them any more these days, real antiques they
are! Bid up now, friends; how much a piece? The six go together, it
would be a shame to part them. Fifteen cents did I hear?--Say, I'm
ashamed to take a bid like that! Twenty, that's a little better--thirty,
thirty, forty over here? Forty cents I have, fifty, sixty, seventy,
seventy-five, eighty, eighty, eighty cents I'm bid; I'm bid eighty
cents--make it ninety--ninety I'm bid, make it a dollar--ninety,
ninety--all done at ninety? Guess we'll let Jonas Erb have them at
ninety cents a piece, and real bargains they are!"
"Here's where I bid," said Phoebe, her cheeks rosy from excitement.
"Shall I release you from your promise?" offered the preacher.
"No, I'll bid."
"Attention," called the auctioneer. "Attention, everybody! Here we have
a real antique, something worth bidding on!"
Phoebe held her breath.
"Here now, Sam, give it a lift so everybody can see--ah, there you are!"
He shouted the last words as two men held above the crowd--the old
wooden cradle!
Phoebe groaned and looked at Phares--he was smiling. The old aversion to
ridicule swelled in her; he should not have reason to laugh at her; she
would show him that she was equal to the occasion--she would bid on the
cradle!
"Start it, hurry up, somebody. How much is bid for the cradle? Sam here
says it's been in the Brubaker family for years and years. Think of all
the babies that were rocked to sleep in it--it's a real relic."
Phoebe, unacquainted with the value of cradles, was silently endeavoring
to determine the proper amount for a first bid. She was relieved to hear
a woman's voice call, "Twenty-five cents."
"Twenty-five I have, twenty-five," called the auctioneer. "Make it
thirty."
"Thirty," said Phoebe.
"Forty," came from the other woman.
"Make it fifty, Miss." He pointed a fat finger at Phoebe.
"Fifty," she responded.
"Fifty, fifty, anybody make it sixty? Fifty cents--all done at fifty?
Then it goes at fifty cents to"--Phoebe repeated her name--"to Phoebe
Metz."
He proceeded with the sale. Phoebe turned triumphantly to the
preacher--"I kept my promise."
"You did," he said. "The cradle is yours--what are you going to do with
it?"
"Gracious! Why, I never thought of that! I don't want it. I just wanted
the fun of bidding. Can't I pay it and leave it and they can sell it
over again?"
"You bid rashly," the preacher said, though his eyes were smiling and
his usual tone of admonition was absent from his voice. "I think you may
be able to sell it to the woman who was bidding against you."
"I'll find her and give it to her."
She elbowed her way through the crowd until she reached the place from
which the opposing voice had come. She looked about a moment, then
addressed a woman near her. "Do you know who was bidding on the cradle?"
"Yes, it was Hetty here, the one with the white waist. Here, Hetty, this
lady wants to talk to you."
"To me?" echoed the rival bidder for the cradle.
"Did you bid on the cradle?" asked Phoebe.
"Yes, but I didn't get it. I only wanted it because it was in the family
so long. I'm a Brubaker. I said I wouldn't give more than fifty cents
for it, for it would just stand up in the garret anyway, and be one more
thing to move around at housecleaning time. Yet I'd liked to have it. I
don't know who got it."
"I did, but I don't want it. I'd like to give it to you."
"Why"--the woman was amazed--"what did you bid on it for?"
"Just for the fun of bidding," said Phoebe, laughing. "Will you let me
give it to you?"
"I'll give you half a dollar for it," offered the woman.
"No, I mean it. I want to give it to you. I'll consider it a favor if
you'll take it from me."
"Well, if you want it that way. But don't you want the quilt and the
feather pillows?"
"No, take it just as it is."
"Why, thanks," said the woman as she went to the spot where the cradle
stood. She soon walked away with the clumsy gift in her arm. "Now don't
it beat all," she said as she set it down near her friends. "I just knew
that I'd get a present to-day. This morning I put my stocking on wrong
side out and I just left it for they say still that it means you'll get
a present before the day is over, and here I get this cradle!"
With a bright smile illumining her face, Phoebe rejoined the preacher.
"I see you disposed of the cradle," he greeted her.
"Yes. But I felt like a hypocrite when she thanked me, for I was giving
her what I didn't want."
Here the busy auctioneer called again, "Attention, everybody! This piece
of furniture we are going to sell now dates back to ante-bellum days."
"Ach, it don't," Phoebe heard a voice exclaim. "That never belonged to
any person called Bellem; that was old Amanda Brubaker's for years and
she used to tell me that it belonged to her grandmother once. That man
don't know what he's saying, but that's the way these auctioneers do;
you can't believe half they say at a sale half the time."
Phoebe looked up at Phares; both smiled, but the loquacious auctioneer,
not knowing the comments he was causing, went on serenely:
"Yes, sir, this is a real old piece of furniture, a real antique. Look
at this, everybody--a chest of drawers, a highboy, some people call it,
but it's pretty by any name. All of it is genuine mahogany trimmed with
inlaid pieces of white wood. Start it up, somebody. What will you give
for the finest thing we have here at this sale to-day? What's bid? Good!
I'm bid five dollars to begin; shows you know a good thing when you see
it. Five dollars--make it ten?"
"Ten," answered Phares Eby.
Phoebe gave a start of surprise as the preacher's voice came in answer
to the entreaty of the auctioneer.
"Phares," she whispered, "I didn't mean that I want to buy it."
"I am buying it," he said calmly, an inscrutable smile in his eyes. "You
like it, don't you?"
She felt a vague uneasiness at his words, at the new sound of tenderness
in his voice.
"Yes, I like it, but----"
"Then we'll talk about that some other day soon," he returned, and
looked again at the busy auctioneer.
"Ten dollars, ten, ten," came the eager call of the man on the
box. "Who makes it fifteen? That's it--fifteen I have--sixteen,
eighteen--twenty--twenty-five, thirty--thirty, thirty, come on, who
makes it more? Not done yet? Not going for that little bit? Who makes
it thirty-five?"
"Thirty-five," said Phares.
"Thirty-five," the auctioneer caught at the words. "That's the way to
bid."
"Thirty-eight," came a voice from the crowd.
"Thirty-eight," the auctioneer smiled broadly at the bid. "Some person
is going to get a fine antique--keep it up, the highest bidder gets
it--thirty-eight----"
"Forty," offered Phares.
"Forty, forty dollars--I have forty dollars offered for the highboy--all
done at forty----"
There was a tense silence.
"Forty dollars--all done at forty--last call--going--going--gone. Gone
at forty dollars to Phares Eby."
Phoebe turned to the preacher. "Did you bid just for the fun of
bidding?" she asked.
"Well," he replied slowly, "the cases are not exactly alike. You like
the highboy, don't you?"
"Yes--but what has that to do with it?" She looked up, but turned her
head away quickly. What did he mean? Surely Phares was not given to
foolishness or love-making to her!
She was glad that he suggested moving to the edge of the crowd after his
successful bidding was completed. There a welcome diversion came in the
form of the old man who had previously amused them by his talk about the
pewter plate.
"There now, Eph," he was saying, "what do you think of paying forty
dollars for that old chest of drawers? To be sure it's good and all the
drawers work yet--I tried 'em before the sale commenced. But forty
dollars--whew!"
The stupidity and extravagance of some people silenced him for a moment,
then he continued: "My Lizzie, now, she knows better how to spend money.
She bought ten dollars' worth of flavors and soap and things like that
and she got in the bargain a big chest of drawers bigger than this old
one, and it was polished up finer and had a looking-glass on the top
yet. That man must have a lot of money to give forty dollars for one
piece of furniture! Ach"--in answer to a remonstrance from his
companion--"they can't hear me. I don't talk loud, and anyhow, they're
listening to the auctioneer. That girl with him has a funny streak too.
She bought the old cradle and then I heard her tell Hetty that she just
bought it for fun and she gave it to Hetty. So, is that man Phares Eby
from near Greenwald? Well, I thought he'd have too much sense to buy
such a thing for forty dollars, but some people gets crazy when they get
to a sale. Who ever heard of a person buying a cradle for fun and giving
it away? But I guess that cradles went out of style some time ago. My
girl Lizzie wasn't raised with funny notions like some girls have
nowadays, but when she was married and had her first baby and we told
her she could borrow the old cradle she was rocked in to put her baby
in, she said she didn't want it, for cradles ain't healthy for babies,
it is bad to rock babies! I guess that was her man's dumb notion, for
he's a professor in the High School where they live, but he's just Jake
Forney's John. They get along fine, but they do some dumb things. They
let that baby yell till he found out that he wouldn't get rocked. It
made her mom quite sick when we were up to visit them, and sometimes
we'd sneak rocking it a little, just so the little fellow'd know there
is such a thing as getting rocked. They don't want any person to kiss
that baby, neither. Course I ain't in favor of everybody kissing a baby,
but I can't see the hurt of its own people kissing it. We used to take
it behind the door and kiss it good, and it's living yet. Ain't, Eph,
it's a wonder we ever growed up, the way we were bounced and rocked and
joggled and kissed! I say it ain't right to go back on cradles; they
belong to babies. But look, Eph, there she's buying them old copper
sheep bells! Wonder if she keeps sheep."
Phoebe, triumphant bidder for a pair of hand-beaten copper sheep bells,
turned and looked at the farmer. The tenderness of a bright smile still
played about her lips and the old man, interpreting the smile as a
personal greeting to him, drew near and spoke to her.
"I can tell you what to take to clean them bells."
"Thank you," she answered cordially, "but I do not want to clean them."
"But you can make them shiny if you take----"
"You are very kind, but I really want to keep them just as they are."
The old man looked at her for a moment, then shook his head as though in
perplexity and turned away.
Several more hours of vigorous work on the part of the noisy auctioneer
resulted in the sale of the miscellaneous collection of articles.
The loquacious old farmer was often moved to whistle or to emit a low
"Gosh" as the sale progressed and seemingly valueless articles were sold
for high prices. A linen homespun table-cloth, woven in geometrical
design, occasioned spirited bidding, but the man on the box was equal to
the task and closed the bids at twenty dollars. Homespun linen towels
were bought eagerly for seven, eight, nine dollars. A genuine buffalo
robe was knocked down to a bidder at the price of eighty dollars. Cups
and saucers and plates sold for from two to four dollars each. But it
was an old blue glass bottle that provoked the greatest sensation.
"Gosh, who wants that?" said the old man as the bottle was brought
forth. "If he throws a cup or plate in with it mebbe somebody will give
a penny for it."
But a moment later, as an antique dealer started the bid at a dollar the
old man spluttered, "Jimminy pats! Why, it's just an old glass bottle!"
Some person enlightened him--it was Stiegel glass! After the first bid
on the bottle every one became attentive. The two rival bidders were
alert to every move of the auctioneer, the bids leapt up and up--ten
dollars--eleven dollars--twelve dollars--thirteen dollars--gone at
thirteen dollars!
It was late afternoon when Phoebe and the preacher turned homeward. The
preacher's purchase had to be left at the farm until he could return for
it in the big farm wagon, but Phoebe thought of the highboy as they rode
along the pleasant country roads. She remembered the expression she had
caught on the face of Phares and the remembrance troubled her. She
sought desperately for some topic of conversation that would lead the
man's thoughts from the highboy and prevent the return of the mood she
had discovered at the sale.
"You--Phares," she began confusedly, "you are going to baptize this next
time, Aunt Maria thought."
"Yes."
The preacher looked at the girl. The exhilarating influence of the early
June outdoors was visible in her countenance. Her eyes sparkled, her
cheeks glowed--she seemed the epitome of innocent, happy girlhood. The
vision charmed the preacher and caused the blood to course more swiftly
through his veins, but he bit his lip and steadied his voice to speak
naturally. "Yes, Phoebe, I want to speak to you about that."
"Oh, dear," she thought, "now I _have_ done it! Why did I start him on
that subject!" Some of the excessive color faded from her face and she
looked ahead as he spoke.
"Phoebe, the second Sunday in June I am going to baptize a number of
converts in the Chicques near your home. Are you ready to come with the
rest, and give up the vanities of the world?"
"Oh, Phares, why do you ask me? I can't wear plain clothes while I love
pretty ones. I can't be a hypocrite."
"But surely, Phoebe, you see that a simple life is more conducive to
happiness than a complex, artificial life can possibly be. It is my duty
to strive for the saving of souls and we have been friends so long that
I take a special interest in you and desire to see you safe in the
shelter of the Church."
"Phares, I'll tell you frankly, if I ever wear plain garb it will be
because I _feel_ that it is the right thing for me to do, not because
some person persuades me to."
"Of course, that is the only way to come. But can't you come now?"
"I can't. I hurt you when I say that, but I want you to be my good
friend, as always, in spite of my worldliness. Will you, Phares?"
He opened his lips to speak, but she went on quickly: "Because I am
learning every day how much I need the help and friendship of all my
friends."
He longed to throw down the reins he was holding and tell her what was
in his heart, but something in her manner, her peculiar stress on the
word "friendship" restrained him. She was, after all, only a child. Only
eighteen--too young to think of marriage. He could wait a while longer
before he told her of his love and his desire to marry her.
"I will, Phoebe," he promised. "I'll be your friend, always."
"I thought so," she breathed deeply in relief. "I knew you wouldn't fail
me. Look at that field, Phares--oh, this is a perfect day! There should
be a superlative form of perfect for a day like this! Those fields have
as many colors as the shades reflected on a copper plate: lilac, tan,
purple, rose, green and brown."
The preacher answered a mere "Yes." She turned again and looked at the
fields they were passing. "Perhaps," she thought, "before that corn is
ripe I'll be in Philadelphia!" But she did not utter the thought, for
she knew the preacher would not approve of her going to the city. He
should know nothing about it until it was definitely settled.
The thought of studying music in Philadelphia left her restless. If only
the preacher would be more talkative!
"It's just perfect to-day, isn't it, Phares?" she asked radiantly,
resolved to make him talk. But his answers were so perfunctory that she
turned her head, made a little grimace through the open side of the
carriage and mentally dubbed him "Bump-on-log." Very well, if he felt
indisposed to talk to her, she could enjoy the drive without his voice!
Suddenly she laughed outright.
"What----" he looked at her, puzzled.
"What's funny?" she finished. "You."
"I?"
"Yes, you. If sales affect you like this you must be careful to avoid
them. You've been half asleep for the last half hour. I think the horse
knows the way home; you haven't been driving at all."
"I have not been asleep," he contradicted gravely, "just thinking."
"Must be deep thoughts."
"They were--shall I tell them to you?"
"Oh, no, not to-day!" she cried. "I've had enough excitement for one
day. Some other time. Besides, we are almost home."
After that he threw off his lethargic manner and entered the girl's mood
of appreciation of the lavish loveliness of the June. Yet, as Phoebe
alighted from the carriage at the little gate of the Metz farm, and
after she had thanked him and started through the yard to the house, she
said softly to herself, "If Phares Eby isn't the queerest person I know!
Just like a clam one minute and just lovely the next!"
Maria Metz was dishing a panful of fried potatoes as Phoebe entered the
kitchen.
"Hello, daddy, Aunt Maria," exclaimed the girl.
"So you come once?" said her aunt.
"Have a good time?" asked her father.
"Yes, it was a fine sale, a real old-fashioned one."
But Aunt Maria was impatient for her supper. "Hurry," she said, "and get
washed to eat. I have everything out and it'll get cold, then it ain't
good. Did Phares like the sale? What did he have to say?"
"Um, guess he liked it," said the girl with a shrug of her shoulders.
"It's hard to tell what he likes--he's such a queer person. He said he's
going to baptize the second Sunday of June and asked me if I want to
come with the others."
"He did!" Aunt Maria could not keep the eagerness out of her voice.
"Well, let's sit down and eat."
After a short grace she turned to the girl. "Now then," she said as she
helped herself generously to sausage and potatoes and handed the dishes
across the table to Phoebe, "tell us about it."
"There isn't much to tell. I just told him that I can't renounce the
pleasures of the world before I had a chance to take hold of them. I'm
not ready yet to dress plain."
"Why aren't you ready?" asked the woman.
"Ach, don't ask me," Phoebe replied, speaking lightly in an effort to
conceal her real feeling. "I just didn't come to that state yet. I want
some more fun and pleasure before I think only of serious things."
"You're just like a big baby," her aunt said impatiently. "You can hurt
a good man like Phares Eby and come home and laugh about it."
"Now, Maria," interposed the father, "let her laugh; she'll meet with
crying soon enough, I guess."
But the woman could not be easily silenced. "Some day, Phoebe, you'll
wish you'd been nicer to Phares."
"Why, I am nice to him."
"Well, anyhow, I think it's soon time you give up the world and its
vanities," said Aunt Maria.
The girl's teasing mood fled. "I think," she said slowly, "that the
plain dress should not be worn by any one who does not realize all that
the dress stands for. If I ever turn plain I'll do so because I feel it
is the right thing to do, but just now vanity and the love of pretty
clothes are still in my heart."
After the meal was over the women washed the dishes while Jacob went out
to attend to the evening milking. Later, when the poultry houses and
stables were locked he returned to the kitchen and read the weekly
paper. After a while he turned to Phoebe.
"Will you sing for me this evening?" he asked.
"Yes," came the ready response.
"Then make the door shut," Aunt Maria directed as they went to the
sitting-room. "I want to mark my rug yet this evening and your noise
bothers me."