"Here now," called the auctioneer, "here's a fine set of chairs. Bid on them; wink to me if you don't want to call out. My wife said she don't care how many ladies wink to me this afternoon at this sale, but after that she won't have it--now then; go ahead! Give me one of the chairs, Sam, so the people can see it--ah, ain't that a beauty! Six in all, all solid wood, too, none of your cane seats that you have to be afraid to sit in. All solid wood, and every one alike, all painted green and every one with fine hand-painted flowers on the back. Where can you beat such chairs? Don't make them any more these days, real antiques they are! Bid up now, friends; how much a piece? The six go together, it would be a shame to part them. Fifteen cents did I hear?--Say, I'm ashamed to take a bid like that! Twenty, that's a little better--thirty, thirty, forty over here? Forty cents I have, fifty, sixty, seventy, seventy-five, eighty, eighty, eighty cents I'm bid; I'm bid eighty cents--make it ninety--ninety I'm bid, make it a dollar--ninety, ninety--all done at ninety? Guess we'll let Jonas Erb have them at ninety cents a piece, and real bargains they are!" "Here's where I bid," said Phœbe, her cheeks rosy from excitement. "Shall I release you from your promise?" offered the preacher. "No, I'll bid." "Attention," called the auctioneer. "Attention, everybody! Here we have a real antique, something worth bidding on!" Phœbe held her breath. "Here now, Sam, give it a lift so everybody can see--ah, there you are!" He shouted the last words as two men held above the crowd--the old wooden cradle! Phœbe groaned and looked at Phares--he was smiling. The old aversion to ridicule swelled in her; he should not have reason to laugh at her; she would show him that she was equal to the occasion--she would bid on the cradle! "Start it, hurry up, somebody. How much is bid for the cradle? Sam here says it's been in the Brubaker family for years and years. Think of all the babies that were rocked to sleep in it--it's a real relic." Phœbe, unacquainted with the value of cradles, was silently endeavoring to determine the proper amount for a first bid. She was relieved to hear a woman's voice call, "Twenty-five cents." "Twenty-five I have, twenty-five," called the auctioneer. "Make it thirty." "Thirty," said Phœbe. "Forty," came from the other woman. "Make it fifty, Miss." He pointed a fat finger at Phœbe. "Fifty," she responded. "Fifty, fifty, anybody make it sixty? Fifty cents--all done at fifty? Then it goes at fifty cents to"--Phœbe repeated her name--"to Phœbe Metz." He proceeded with the sale. Phœbe turned triumphantly to the preacher--"I kept my promise." "You did," he said. "The cradle is yours--what are you going to do with it?" "Gracious! Why, I never thought of that! I don't want it. I just wanted the fun of bidding. Can't I pay it and leave it and they can sell it over again?"