Three Little Women Part 19

"Three. Three-fifty. Four," ran up the bids in rapid compet.i.tion until seven dollars were bid for the roll. It was bought by the discreet lady. At that moment Jean, who had been everywhere, appeared upon the scene.

"Oh, did you buy those pieces of matting?" she observed. "Mother told me to tell the auctioneer not to bother with them 'cause she didn't think there were two yards of any single pattern. I didn't get here in time though, I'm sorry, but I had to stop on my way."

"Not two yards of any one pattern? Why there's yards and yards in this roll. Do you mean to tell me 'taint all alike?"

"I guess not. It's pieces that were left from our house and all the rest was burned up."

Just then Jean spied Constance and flew toward her leaving the discreet lady to discover just what she _had_ paid seven dollars for.

On her way she ran into Jerusha Pike, who laid upon her a detaining hand. "Jean, you're exactly the child I want. Where is your sister Constance? I want to see her. Is your mother here?"

"No, Miss Pike, mother didn't come. Connie is right yonder. See her?"

Off hurried Miss Pike to the tree beneath which Constance stood watching the progress of the sale, which was now in full swing; the auctioneer feeling much elated at the returns of his initial venture, was warming up to his work. Eleanor, with her Aunt Eleanor, who was much in evidence this day, was seated behind the auctioneer's raised stand, and thus quite sheltered from observation.

"Constance Carruth, you are the very girl I must see. _You_ can and will tell me what I wish to know, I am sure," cried Miss Pike, in a stage whisper.

"If I can I will, Miss Pike," answered Constance with a mental reservation for the "can."

"I want you to tell me what your poor dear mother most values among the things she has here. There _must_ be some treasures among them which she cherishes for sweet a.s.sociations' sake. Name them, I implore you. I have never forgiven myself for the accident which befell that priceless mirror. If I can bid in something here for her let me do it, I beg of you. There is no one else to do it, and _you_ are far too young to be exposed to the idle gaze of these people."

"But Miss Pike, Eleanor and----"

"No! No! I cannot permit either of you to do this thing. Your dear mother would be shocked. _I'll_ attend to it for you, if you will only tell me."

"But," began Constance, and was interrupted by the auctioneer's voice calling:

"_Now_, ladies and gentlemen, here is a _fine_ set of garden tools in perfect order."

"Oh, they were daddy's. That is the set mother felt so bad about selling, isn't it, Connie?" broke in Jean, who had not been paying much attention to the conversation between her sister and Miss Pike.

"There! What did I say! I was confident of it! _Now_ is my opportunity to make reparation. _Nothing_ shall balk me."

"But Miss Pike; Miss Pike; you must not. Aunt Eleanor----"

But Miss Pike had rushed toward the auction stand.

Meanwhile Eleanor had been saying: "I wish we had not offered that garden set at all. It was father's and mother really felt dreadful about selling it. I fully intended to have it put aside without saying anything to mother, but there was so much to attend to that I forgot it, and now it is too late."

"Not in the least, _I'll_ bid it in," and rising from her chair, Madam Carruth prepared to do her duty by her niece. Just then Miss Pike appeared from the opposite direction.

"How much am I bid for this garden set? All in perfect condition."

"Ten cents," replied a strident voice.

"Scandalous!" cried Miss Pike. "_I'll_ bid one dollar. It is sanctified by the touch of a vanished hand."

"Indeed," murmured Madam Carruth, who could see Miss Pike, although that lady could not be seen by _her_. "Well, I guess _not_.

One-fifty."

Miss Pike was too intent upon securing the object to give heed to the speaker's voice or recognize it.

"One-seventy-five! One-seventy-five! One-seventy-five! Going, going at one-seventy-five."

"Two-seventy-five!"

"Ah! That's better. It would be a shame to sacrifice this set for a song. It is no ordinary set of garden implements, but a most superior quality of steel. Two-seventy-five; two-seventy-five--"

"Three! I must have them." The last words were spoken to a bystander, but Madam Carruth's ears were sharp.

"Must you? Indeed! We'll see."

One or two others, who began to believe that a rare article was about to slip from their possible grasp, now started in to bid, and in a few moments the price had bounded up to five dollars. The original cost of the set had been three. Then it went gayly skyward by leaps and bounds until in a reckless instant Miss Pike capped the climax with ten.

"Well if she wants to be such a fool she may," exclaimed Madam Carruth. "I could buy four sets for that money and sometimes even sentiment comes too high. I'd save 'em for your mother if I could, but sound sense tells me she can make better use of a ten-dollar bill than of a half-dozen pieces of old ironmongery. That Pike woman always _was_ a fool."

"Gone for ten dollars!" cried the auctioneer at that instant. Miss Pike's face was radiant. She was about to turn away when Jean made her way through the crowd to her side crying:

"Did you really get them, Miss Pike? mother'll be so glad. When we were talking about selling these things she almost cried when she spoke about the garden tools and the lamp----"

"_What_ lamp, child? Oh these heartrending changes! Tell me what the lamp is like. If it can be saved I'll save it for her. I can't understand _why_ your sisters permitted the objects, around which the tendrils of your mother's heart were so entwined, to be put up for sale. To me it seems a positive sacrilege."

"But mother made them do it. She wouldn't let----and, oh, there's the lamp now. That one with the bronze bird on it, see?"

"Oh, the tender memories that must cl.u.s.ter about it. I will hold them sacred for her. They shall not be desecrated. Stand beside me, child.

I shall bid that in for your dear mother."

Again the lively contest for possession was on, although the sums named did not mount by such startling bounds as in the case of the garden tools. Still, more than four dollars had been offered before Miss Pike, in flattering imitation of a large New York department store, offered $4.99, and became the triumphant owner of it. Miss Pike had a small income, but was by no means given to flinging her dollars to the winds. So it was not surprising that many who knew her marveled at the sums she was spending for her two purchases. Having paid her bill she promptly took possession of her lamp and her case of garden tools and stalked off through the throng of people in quest of Constance whom she found talking to a group of schoolmates near the ruins of the old home.

"Congratulate me! Congratulate me! I've saved the treasures from the vandals! I've rescued them from sacrilegious hands. Behold! Take them to your mother with my dearest love. I had a struggle to get them, for some woman was determined to secure that garden set But _I_ came off victorious. I had to do battle royal, but I conquered. Now, my dear, when you go home take them with you. They _did_ come rather high; I had to pay ten dollars for the garden set, but I got the lamp for less than five!--four ninety-nine. But you need not pay me until it is _perfectly_ convenient. Don't let it worry you for a moment. I am repaid for the time being in the thought that I secured them for your mother. I knew she would rather pay twice the sum than see them fall into the hands of utter strangers. Good-bye, my dear, I must hurry home, for I have been absent too long already."

As Miss Pike departed, Constance dropped upon the carriage step, which, being of stone, had survived flame and flood. Upon the ground before her lay their own garden set, and stood their own lamp for which her mother would have to return to Jerusha Pike, fourteen dollars and ninety-nine cents owing to that lady's unbridled zeal. She looked at them a moment, then glancing up at her friends whose faces were studies, the absurdity of the situation overcame her and them also, and peals of laughter echoed upon the wintry air.

"Who was it that said 'Save me from my friends!' Connie?" asked a girl friend.

Constance looked unspeakable things. Then bounding to her feet she cried:

"Well, it's lucky we can return her own money to her, but that settles it. It might have been worse anyway. I've been on the fence for several days without knowing which way to jump. _Now_ I do know, and Miss Pike has given the push. It's been a case of:

'Our doubts are traitors And make us lose the good we oft might win By fearing to attempt.'

"There, Belle, is a quotation to match yours, and bear in mind what I say: I'm going to live up to it. Now I'm going home. Come on, you people, and help me lug these treasures there," and off the laughing procession set, each girl or lad burdened with some article of the purchases, Constance leading the way with the lamp, and all singing:

'Doubt thou the stars are fire, Doubt that the sun doth move; Doubt truth to be a liar, Doubt _not_ Jerusha's love.'

"I don't think I ever shall, but perhaps she has helped in one way, since she has settled _my_ doubts, and the next thing you people hear of me may make you open your eyes. No, I won't tell you a single thing. Just wait until next week, then you'll see."