“Yes, and he bought it with the money Mr. Mortland supplied him,” Larry cried. “I saw through the whole game. It was a trick of Mr. Mortland’s to get the farm, and he’ll have it in a few weeks. Oh, how I wish I was a man! I’d show them something!” “Larry, dear,” said his mother reprovingly, and then the boy noticed, for the first time, that others were in the room. “Of course I haven’t any proof,” Larry continued, “for I only saw Mr. Mortland hand Mr. Morrison some money and heard him tell him to make the last bid. But I have my suspicions, just the same. Why, mother, there will be nothing left for us.” “That’s what I was telling Mrs. Olney and Mrs. Peterkins,” said Mrs. Dexter with a sigh. “I don’t know how we can get to New York, when railroad fares are so high.” “I’ll tell you what we must do, mother!” exclaimed Larry. “What, son?” “We must sell the furniture.” “Oh, I could never do that.” “But we must,” the boy went on. “We cannot take it with us to New York, and we may get money enough from it to help us out. It is the best thing to do.” CHAPTER II BAD NEWS “I believe Larry is right,” said Mrs. Olney. “The furniture would only be a trouble to you, Mrs. Dexter. Now would be a good chance to sell it, while the crowd is here. You ought to get pretty good prices, as much of the stuff is new.” “Perhaps you are right,” assented the widow, “though I hate to part with the things. Suppose you tell Mr. Rollinson, Larry.” The boy hurried from the room to inform the auctioneer there was more work for him, and Mrs. Dexter, with her two friends, came from the parlor, for they knew the place would soon be overrun by curious persons looking for bargains. Mr. Rollinson, anxious to make more commissions, readily undertook to put the furniture up for auction. With the exception of a few articles that she prized very highly, and laying aside only the clothes of herself and children, Mrs. Dexter permitted all the contents of the house to be offered for sale. Then, having reached this decision, she went off in a bedroom and cried softly, for she could not bear to think of her home being broken up, and strangers using the chairs and tables which, with the other things, had made such a nice place while Mr. Dexter was alive. Larry had hard work to keep back the tears when he saw some article of furniture, with which were associated happy memories, bid for by some farmer. When, at length, Mr. Rollinson reached the old armchair, in which Mr. Dexter used to sit and tell his children stories, and where, during the last days of his life he had rested with his little family gathered about him, Larry could stand it no longer. He felt the hot scalding tears come to his eyes, and ran out behind the big red barn, where he sobbed out his grief all alone. He covered his face with his hands and, as he thought of the happy days that seemed to be gone forever, his grief grew more intense. All at once he heard a voice calling: “Hello, cry-baby!”