SELLING A NEW ENGLAND FARM.
All the neighboring towns-people knew that the Grath farm was to be
sold on this day. The "bills" had been "out" for over two weeks. These
were announcements, printed in large letters, on bright-colored paper,
and hung up in barber-shops, grocery stores, post-offices and even
nailed on trees. One might be driving along an almost deserted road,
several miles from any habitation, and suddenly find himself
confronted by one of these yellow and black "auction bills," which
would notify him that upon the stated date a homestead would be "sold
out," in the next county.
Therefore it was not surprising that when Leon and the Doctor reached
the farm, several "teams" were already "hitched" along the stone wall
that surrounded the orchard.
The auction was advertised to begin at eight o'clock, and by seven
over a hundred persons had already arrived, and were "rummaging" about
the premises. An auction of this kind differs greatly from an art sale
at Chickering Hall. There is no catalogue, numbering the various lots
to 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 bid
for too. Many of the prospective buyers come many miles to attend, and
as the sale usually lasts all day, it is expected that the owner will
serve dinner promptly at noon, to all who may wish to partake of his
hospitality. As these dinners, save in rare cases, usually amount to
nothing better than a luncheon, many bring viands with them, thus
reinforcing themselves against contingencies of hunger.
By the time that the auction was to begin, the Grath farm looked like
a veritable picnic-ground; teams tied to every place that offered, one
old man having "hitched" his horse to a mowing-machine, which caused
some merriment when that article was sold, the auctioneer announcing
that he would "throw in the critter leaning against the machine";
whilst here and there some of the bolder visitors had gathered
together tables and chairs, and were keeping guard over them until the
eating hour.
One old woman approached Leon and sought information, thus:
"Be you the boy that Marg'ret Grath took offen the county farm?" To
which Leon vouchsafed no reply, but turned and walked away. This at
once aroused the anger of the irascible old party, who followed him
speaking 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 civil
answer!" 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 sarched
the hull place lookin' fer them ducks, but bless me ef I kin find a
feather on 'em. I seen a fine flock o' geese in the orchard, but I
want 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," explained
Leon.
"You don't mean it!" rejoined the woman, much astounded. "So them
geese is the ducks! Land alive! And I took 'em for geese. Well, I
never! To think I couldn't tell one from t'other! I mus' git another
peak at 'em." Then she hurried away towards the orchard.
Over by the barn a man was coming out from the horse stalls, with an
old leather strap in his hand, when he was suddenly confronted by the
stern visage of Miss Matilda Grath, spinster. Before he found words of
greeting, 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't
ye?"
"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 the
barn, 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' it
for?"
"Well, you see,"--Mr. Hubbard was embarrassed by the question--"it's
this way. A bit o' my harness is a leetle weak, and I thought this'd
come handy to brace it up till I get to hum."
"Jes' so," answered Miss Grath, with gratification, "an' as 't would
come handy, you jes' took it, French leave. Well! Ef you stay till the
end 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't
belong to you."
Mr. Hubbard threw the old piece of strap back in the stall, and
pushing 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 stayed
to the end of the auction, but Miss Grath noticed with regret that he
did not bid on anything all day, and she wondered if she had not "put
her foot in it," which she undoubtedly had. But there are many, many
people, in this curious little world, who hold a penny so close to
their eyes that they lose sight of many dollars that might come their
way were they not blinded by the love of small gains. Mr. Hubbard,
too, was troubled as he rode home, that night; for, aside from the
fact that he had been accused, of stealing, and that the stolen
property had been "found on him," because of his determination not to
let "the old hag" get any of his money he had lost several good
opportunities to secure tempting "bargains"; and there is nothing that
a true New Englander loves so much as a bargain.
At last there was a commotion in the crowd. Some one had recognized
the auctioneer's team approaching, and presently he jumped out of his
light wagon, greeting the men and women alike, by their first names,
for there were few who did not know Mr. Potter, and there was none
whom Mr. Potter did not know.
Mr. Potter himself was a character of a genus so unique that he was
perhaps the only living example. If it be true that poets are ever
born, then Mr. Potter was born a poet. It was only by the veriest
irony of fate that he was an auctioneer, although undoubtedly it is
probable that he made more money by the latter calling, than he ever
would have gained by printer's ink. And as for fame, that he had, if
it please you. For be it known that no farm of consequence in New
Hampshire hath passed under the hammer these five and twenty years,
but Mr. Potter hath presided at the obsequies. I use that word
advisedly, for, truly, though they make a picnic of the event, the
selling of an old homestead is a funereal sort of pleasure.
The cause of his success lay in the fact that, with wisdom such as no
professional poet has been known to possess, Mr. Potter had combined
his business and his pleasure, so that he became known as a poetical
auctioneer. Gifted with the faculty of rhyming, and well versed in the
poets, he readily would find a couplet to fit all occasions. Sometimes
they were quoted entire, sometimes they appeared as familiar lines
with a new termination, and not infrequently the verse would be
entirely original, provoked by the existing circumstances.
As to his personality, I need but a few adjectives to give you his
picture. He was a large man, and a hearty one. Witty, genial, and
gallant to the ladies. Above all things, he possessed the rare faculty
of adapting himself to his surroundings. Add to this that he was
scrupulously honest and fair in his dealing, and you will readily
believe that he was popular. His name on a "bill" always assured a
large crowd. On this occasion more than the usual throng surrounded
him, as he climbed up into an ox-cart and opened the sale with these
words:
"My friends, we will begin the morning services by quoting a verse
from 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 upon
which he stood, reserving the right to stand upon it during the
balance of the day. The bidding was spiritless at first, and the cart
went for two dollars. Mr. Potter remarking, as he knocked it down:
"Thus passeth my understanding!"
And so the sale progressed, Mr. Potter finding many opportunities
which called forth some selection from his store of poetry. There were
many sharp sallies from the crowd, for the New Englander is keen of
wit, but the auctioneer ever had a ready rejoinder that turned the
laugh away from himself, without causing ill-feeling.
After a couple of hours, during which Leon saw many things sold which
were associated in his mind with what were now sacred memories, he
turned away from the crowd, and went off towards the barn. Lost in
thought, he did not notice that the collie followed at his heels,
until presently, walking between the bales of new hay, and finding one
upon which he could throw himself, Lossy jumped up beside him and
kissed 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, seeming
to understand that something was expected of him, sat back on his
haunches and offered his paw, tapping his master's arm again and
again, until it was taken. Then Leon turned so as to face the dog
squarely, and retaining the proffered paw, he spoke again.
"I wonder, Lossy, how you will do in a great city? Will you miss the
old place, as I suppose I shall? Will you mind being penned up in a
little yard, with strict orders not to come into the grand house? Will
you miss going after the cows, and the sheep? Will you miss your swims
in the lake?" He paused again, but Lossy was looking away much as a
human being would who tried to hide his feelings. For there is little
doubt that when a dog acts thus, in some mysterious way he comprehends
his master's trouble, and shares it. "Never you mind, old fellow,"
Leon continued, "you sha'n't be entirely forgotten. I'll look out for
you. The nights will be ours, and what fun we shall have. We'll go off
together on long walks, and if there is any country near enough, why
we'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, and
the trees, and the birds, and the bright sunlight is all the church we
need, isn't it, old doggy?" He stopped, and as his voice had grown
somewhat 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, barking
lustily. But Leon held up his finger in warning, and he ceased. "What
do you mean by all that noise?" said Leon. "Don't you understand that
this is a confidential conversation? Now, sir! Answer me again, but
softly! softly!"
"Woof! Woof! Woof!" answered Lossy, in tones as near a whisper as can
be compassed by a dog.
"Very well, sir!" said Leon. "That's better. Much better. We don't
want 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 had
seen Leon go towards the barn, and when she heard the dog's loud
barking, a sudden idea had come to her, which thrilled her cruel heart
with anticipation of pleasure. So much so indeed, that she at once
left the vicinity of the auctioneer, where her interests were, and
hurried 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 to
mollify her. A vain hope!
"Miss Grath!" she repeated sneeringly. "Don't you Miss Grath me. I
an't to be molly-coddled by the likes o' you. I wanter know what
you're doin' out here, when everybody's to the auction. You an't up to
no good, I'll warrant. Now up an' tell me! An' no lies, or it will be
the worst for you."
"I don't know what you're aiming at. I came out here to be alone, that
is all!"
"Oh! You wanted to be alone, did you? Well, that's the right way for
you 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 the
desired excuse for proceeding in the diabolical design which she was
bent upon executing, she continued in a worse temper. "You needn't
think you kin fool me with your smooth talkin'. I know you, and I know
what you're up to!"
"Well, if you know, why did you ask me?" said Leon, stung into
something like anger.
"I don't want none o' your impudence. I'll tell you mighty quick what
you're up to. You're plannin' to steal that dog, that's what you're
after!"
"Steal Lossy! Why how could I do that? He is mine!" Leon did not yet
fully grasp what was coming, but the vague suspicion conveyed by the
woman'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 be
your'n? Did you buy him?"
"Why, of course not. He was born right here on the farm, and, when he
was 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 you
onto my innocent, confidin' sister, who took you out o' charity, like
a fool. I wouldn't 'ave done it."
"I have not the least idea that you would, Miss Grath. You never did
any 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 the
p'int now. We're talkin' 'bout this dog. You say he's your'n; that my
sister gin him to you. Now kin you prove that?"
"Prove it?" repeated Leon, at last fully comprehending that his dog
might be taken from him. "Prove it! Why, how can I?"
"Jes' so. You can't. My sister's dead, and an't here to contradict
you, 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 Leon
or the dog understood her purpose, she had grabbed Lossy in her arms,
and was striding away towards the crowd around the auctioneer. Leon
jumped down and followed her, his pulses beating high.
Reaching the cart where Mr. Potter was standing, she threw the dog
towards 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 good
price. 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 except
when 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 with
you."
"Dollar!" cried a voice in the crowd succinctly.
"'n' quarter," said another.
"Stop," cried Leon, fully aroused, now that his pet was actually
offered for sale. "Mr. Potter, you shall not sell that dog. He is
mine."
"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 all
know who he is, and where he came from. My sister nussed him, and fed
him, and gin him his clothes all these years, and now arter she's
dead, he's tryin to defraud me by claimin' my property, 's if he an't
had enough outer my family a'ready."
"I've never had anything from you, and would not accept it if it was
offered and I was starving," cried Leon, white with anger. But as just
as the words were, they rather injured his cause, for most of those
present held ideas not very dissimilar from Miss Grath's, and they
accepted her version and believed him ungrateful. The prejudice
against him was not lessened by the intuitive knowledge that, poor
though he was, he was better than they. So those who heard him did not
hesitate to speak against him, and such phrases as "Nuss a serpent and
'twill sting you," and "A beggar on horseback," reached his ears, and
despite their inaptness, they wounded him.
Mr. Potter, seeing the rising storm, essayed to stem the torrent, and
exclaimed:
"Don't show temper, friends; anger and pride are both unwise; vinegar
never catches flies."
"Ther' hain't no flies on Potter," cried a voice, and a general laugh
followed. Then, in spite of his protest, Leon saw Lossy offered again
for 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 so
great, that the bidding was spirited until fifteen dollars was
reached, to which sum it had mounted by jumps of fifty cents. Then a
man said quietly but distinctly:
"Twenty dollars," and a glad cry escaped from Leon, as he recognized
Dr. Medjora's voice, and knew that his purpose was to restore his dog
to him. But at the same instant Miss Grath also comprehended the
situation, and determined that Leon should not have Lossy. She cried
out to Mr. Potter:
"The dog's wuth twice as much. You kin stop sellin' him. I'll keep him
myself."
At this Leon's hopes fell, only to be revived again by the
auctioneer's words. Mr. Potter knew Miss Grath thoroughly, and he
readily appreciated the fact that she was selling the dog to spite the
lad, and that, in withdrawing him, she was actuated by some sinister
motive. Sympathizing with Leon, against whom he had none of the
prejudices 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 to
draw back."
"It an't too late," screamed the infuriated woman; "it's my dog, and I
sha'n't sell him."
"Oh, you won't," said Mr. Potter. "'The best-laid plans of mice and
men 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 to
sell my property agin my word."
"Now, look here, Miss Grath," said Mr. Potter; "I'm here to sell, and
whatever I sell is sold. That dog's sold, and that settles it. If you
dispute it, you jes' say so, right now, and you kin sell the rest of
this farm yourself. Now decide quick! Is the sale of that dog all
straight?"
Miss Grath, despite her anger, was shrewd enough to see that her
interests would be ruined if she suspended the sale. She could never
hope to get the crowd together again, and no other auctioneer would
obtain such good prices. So she was obliged to yield, though she did
so 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 do
him. 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 following
morning the collie went with them.