"
Pa Sloane sighed again. It was not exhilarating to attend
an auction with Ma. She would never let him bid on anything.
But he realized that Ma's mind was made up beyond the power of
mortal man's persuasion to alter it, so he went out to hitch up.
Pa Sloane's dissipation was going to auctions and buying things
that nobody else would buy. Ma Sloane's patient endeavours of
over thirty years had been able to effect only a partial reform.
Sometimes Pa heroically refrained from going to an auction for six months
at a time; then he would break out worse than ever, go to all that took
place for miles around, and come home with a wagonful of misfits.
His last exploit had been to bid on an old dasher churn for five dollars--
the boys "ran things up" on Pa Sloane for the fun of it--and bring
it home to outraged Ma, who had made her butter for fifteen years
in the very latest, most up-to-date barrel churn. To add insult
to injury this was the second dasher churn Pa had bought at auction.
That settled it. Ma decreed that henceforth she would chaperon Pa
when he went to auctions.
But this was the day of Pa's good angel. When he drove up to the door
where Ma was waiting, a breathless, hatless imp of ten flew into the yard,
and hurled himself between Ma and the wagon-step.
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