"Oh, Mrs. Sloane, won't you come over to our house at once?" he gasped.
"The baby, he's got colic, and ma's just wild, and he's all black
in the face."
Ma went, feeling that the stars in their courses fought
against a woman who was trying to do her duty by her husband.
But first she admonished Pa.
"I shall have to let you go alone. But I charge you, Pa, not to bid
on anything--on ANYTHING, do you hear?"
Pa heard and promised to heed, with every intention
of keeping his promise. Then he drove away joyfully.
On any other occasion Ma would have been a welcome companion.
But she certainly spoiled the flavour of an auction.
When Pa arrived at the Carmody store, he saw that the little yard of
the Garland place below the hill was already full of people. The auction
had evidently begun; so, not to miss any more of it, Pa hurried down.
The sorrel mare could wait for her shoes until afterwards.
Ma had been within bounds when she called the Garland
auction a "one-horse affair." It certainly was very paltry,
especially when compared to the big Donaldson auction of a month ago,
which Pa still lived over in happy dreams.
Horace Garland and his wife had been poor. When they died
within six weeks of each other, one of consumption and one
of pneumonia, they left nothing but debts and a little furniture.
Pages:
220
221
222
223
224
225
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244