"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 embarra.s.sed 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 pa.s.sed 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 circ.u.mstances.

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 a.s.sured 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 pa.s.seth 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 a.s.sociated 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 gra.s.s, 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 l.u.s.tily. 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 compa.s.sed 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 antic.i.p.ation 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?"