en
shined up complete an' the fire snappin' behind 'em. What am I
offered--"

Miss Letty was standing.

"Oh," she cried, "I never meant to put that fire-set in. Why, don't you
remember--"

She was facing the cap'n, and the appeal of her voice and look ran
straight to him over the heads of the others, like a message. It bade
him recall how he and she had sat together and talked of sad things and
happy ones, night after night, for many years. The talks had been mostly
cheerful, for the cap'n would have it so, and whenever she felt poorly
she had taken pains to put on a lively front, because she reasoned that
menfolks hated squally weather. Now, with the passing of the andirons
and all they stood for, it looked to her as if a door had shut on that
pleasant seclusion where they two had communed together, and there would
be no more laughter in the world. "Oliver!" she said, and stopped,
because the coming words had choked her.

The cap'n was looking at her over his glasses with extreme benevolence.

"Letty," said he, "I guess you better go upstairs an' sort out some o'
the bed-linen an' coverlets. I understood they wa'n't quite ready, an'
we shall get to 'em before long. If I come to anything down here I think
you set by particularly an' that you can pack up as well as not, I'll
bid it in for ye."

The neighbors were nodding in a kindly confirmation, and Miss Letty also
understood it to be for the best. She made her way through the friendly
aisle cleared for her, and Cap'n Oliver waited until he heard her on
the stairs above. He drew a heavy breath.

"Now," said he, "I guess we can poke along. It ain't to be wondered at
anybody should want to bid in their own things, but it's kind of
distressin' to an auctioneer that wants to earn his money. Now here's
this high-boy. I'll rattle it off before Miss Letty gets time to have a
change of heart an' come down again. What am I offered for old Parson
Lamson's high-boy, bonnet-top an' old brasses all complete?"

Timothy Fry, a bright-eyed youth in the background, started it at
fifteen dollars. Timothy had hitherto, in his twenty years, shown no
sign of enthusiasm more sophisticated than that of shooting birds in
their season and roaming the woods in a happy vagabondage while the law
was on. When he made his bid there was a great turning of heads. Some
looked at him, but others fixed the cap'n with a challenging glance,
because he and the cap'n were great cronies, and it had