"I be the clerk fer the auctionair, but he hain't come, yit. His baby swallered a shet safety-pin an' they had an orful time wid ippycak tryin' to git it that way. Now the doctor's thar sayin' that stuff is all wrong. He'll git the pin, all right, 'cause I swallered a quarter, onct, and he got it, but it costed me a hull dollar extra to pay him fer his docterin'. Ye's kin go in and peer aroun' to see ef you wants anything." Mrs. Fabian expressed her sympathy for the parents of the baby and said she knew just how frightened the mother must be. "Not much!" was the clerk's astonishing reply. "She's young Kit Morehouse what ain't got a grain of sense in her bean. This baby's mother died when it was a week old, and Lem had to have someone look affer it. Thar warn't no sensible woman about what would hev him, 'cause he don't make salt fer a red herrin', seein' his professhun is auctionin' an' folks ain't sellin' out like-as-much as they ust to be, years ago. But this crazy Kit was onny nineteen, with no fam'ly, er no payin' job, so she hired out to take keer of the kid. Don't it allus end like this? The gal marries the father an' gets mad cause another woman's kid is cryin' around!" The girls were intensely interested in this bit of local gossip, but Mrs. Fabian thought they had heard enough about "Kit," so she bid the clerk good-by and started for the low one-story-and-a-half house. The interior presented a different appearance from the home of Mrs. Tomlinson's. Every conceivable object ever used in the house was brought out and placed in the front rooms. Women and children sat about on various sorts of seats, waiting for the sale to begin. As most of the assembly were neighbors and acquainted with each other, the entrance of Mrs. Fabian and her girls caused quite a surprise. Audible whispers of "Who air they?" and "Where did they come from?" or "What d'ye s'pose they come to bid on?" were heard on all sides as the strangers passed through the "settin' room." The moment Mrs. Fabian's party left the clerk, outside, he hurried over to the automobile where Carl sat enjoying a quiet smoke. "Howde," began Abner Clark, the clerk. Carl removed his pipe and nodded nonchalantly. "Do you-all hail from about these parts?" asked Abner. "I should say _not_!" declared Carl, emphatically. "From whar abouts are you?" continued the clerk. "New York City--and that's some town, let me tell you." "Yeh--so I've heran say. How did yeh get to come here to this vendue?" persisted Abner. "_I_ don't know--I'm only the chauffeur. Why don't you ask the ladies if you are so anxious to know?" Carl was growing angry. "All right--no harm meant," replied Abner, soothingly, as he turned away.