"About an inch and a half apast ten! Seffy, I'm glad you ain't breaking your reputation for being fastnachtich. Chust about a quarter of an inch too late for the prize wiss flour on its hair and arms and its frock pinned up to show its new petticoat! Uhu! If I had such a nice petticoat--" he imitated the lady in question, to the tremendous delight of the gentle loafers. Seffy stared a little and rubbed some dust out of his eyes. He was pleasant but dull. "Yassir, Sef, if you'd a-got yere at a inch and a quarter apast! Now Sam's got her. Down in the cellar a-licking molasses together! Doggone if Sam don't git eferysing--except his due bills. He don't want to be no anchel tell he dies. He's got fun enough yere--but Seffy--you're like the flow of molasses in January--at courting." This oblique suasion made no impression on Seffy. It is doubtful if he understood it at all. The loafers began to smile. One laughed. The old man checked him with a threat of personal harm. "Hold on there, Jefferson Dafis Busby," he chid. "I don't allow no one to laugh at my Seffy--except chust me--account I'm his daddy. It's a fight-word the next time you do it." Mr. Busby straightened his countenance. "He don't seem to notice--nor keer--'bout gals--do he?" No one spoke. "No, durn him, he ain't no good. Say--what'll you give for him, hah? Yere he goes to the highest bidder--for richer, for poorer, for better, for worser, up and down, in and out, swing your partners--what's bid? He ken plow as crooked as a mule's hind leg, sleep hard as a 'possum in wintertime, eat like a snake, git left efery time--but he ken ketch fish. They wait on him. What's bid?" No one would hazard a bid. "Yit a minute," shouted the old fellow, pulling out his bull's-eye watch again, "what's bid? Going--going--all done--going--" "A dollar!" The bid came from behind him, and the voice was beautiful to hear. A gleam came into the old man's eyes as he heard it. He deliberately put the watch back in its pocket, put on his spectacles, and turned, as if she were a stranger. "Gone!" he announced then. "Who's the purchaser? Come forwards and take away you' property. What's the name, please?" Then he pretended to recognize her. "Oach! Sally! Well, that's lucky! He goes in good hands. He's sound and kind, but needs the whip." He held out his hand for the dollar. It was the girl of whom he had spoken accurately as a prize. Her sleeves were turned up as far as they would go, revealing some soft lace-trimmed whiteness, and there _was_ flour on her arms. Some patches of it on her face gave a petal-like effect to her otherwise aggressive color. The pretty dress was pinned far enough back to reveal the prettier petticoat--plus a pair of trimly-clad ankles.