"Please, sir, I don't think I've got any friends to go to," I said; "I thought I was going to stay at home--at least, I hoped so," I added despondently. "It's a rum go," muttered Mr Rowle, as he raised his hat with one hand and re-arranged his hair with the stem of his pipe. "Ah, well, I s'pose I've no call to be putting things into your head, only I should like to see you not quite so innocent, and better able to look after yourself." Mr Rowle and I had many such conversations during the interval before the sale, in all of which he was so much troubled by what he called my innocence, that I began to look upon my ignorance of the world as something approaching a crime. I saw no more of Mr Blakeford or my uncle, and the days glided slowly by till just before the sale, when the servants came upon me one evening in the dining-room, to announce that they were going, and to say "good-bye." "Going?" I said; "what, all?" "Yes," said cook sharply, and I think there was a twinkle of moisture in her eyes; "yes, Master Antony, we're all going, and we've come to say good-bye." I believe that cook would have taken me in her arms and hugged me in good motherly fashion, but for the third person. As it was, she shook hands very warmly and looked tenderly at me for a moment--not more--for her soul seemed to be aroused within her at the presence of Mr Rowle, at whom she darted the most furious of glances, an example followed by the other two maids; and then we were alone. "Bless 'em!" said Mr Rowle, taking his pipe for a moment from his lips, and then going on smoking. CHAPTER THREE. MR BLAKEFORD SHOWS HIS TEETH. The morning of the sale arrived, and still no one took any notice of me. I had stood by in a melancholy fashion, and seen little tickets pasted or tied upon the various articles of furniture; the stair rods done up in bundles and the carpets in rolls. The chimney ornaments seemed to be holding a meeting in a corner of the sideboard recess, presided over by a bronze Neptune; and apparently deceived by the reflection of the sunshine, the steel fender had settled itself calmly on a table before the tall pier-glass as if it were a fire; the pictures looked down in the most melancholy way from the walls at the doleful chaos of furniture, all except one of her Majesty the Queen, and that seemed to follow me in a sorrowful, pitying fashion that made me gaze up at it again and again. Wearied with wandering from room to room--all dust and confusion now--I turned to go upstairs. As I did so I passed the study, whose door was wide open, with Mr Rowle in the easy-chair smoking away, his hat on, and the wretchedness of the place with its piled-up bundles of books seeming to have no effect upon him whatever.