“Well, why don’t you do that?” Mr. Bellows inquired. He was a kind-hearted man, with sympathies somewhat blunted by his professional zeal in a calling which for the most part concerned itself with clearing away the wreckage of human hopes. “You’d make a right smart school-ma’am, I should say.” “I’m not a normal school graduate,” Barbara told him. “Besides, they have no vacancies. Then I tried to get sewing to do. I can sew neatly. But I might easily starve on what I could earn with my needle. A woman told me she knew of someone who wanted—a—servant,” Barbara’s voice shook, but she went on bravely. “She said that people sometimes paid as much as twenty-five dollars a month for such work. And that it wasn’t easy to find women who could do that kind of work well. I said I would not work in another woman’s kitchen. But I—I am willing to do it, if I can sell my work for twelve hundred dollars.” “Whew!” ejaculated Mr. Bellows. “It sounds like a lot of money, I know,” Barbara went on; “but it is four years’ service at twenty-five dollars a month. I want it all at once. Then I can pay the mortgage on our farm, and keep it.” “Huh!” commented Mr. Bellows explosively. “I could lease the farm while I was working, and it would bring in enough money to take care of Jimmy.” Her face clouded swiftly at the thought of the possible separation. “Wall, I don’t know of anybody who’d be willin’ to pay down any twelve hundred dollars spot cash for a _hired girl_,” objected Mr. Bellows. “Y’ couldn’t get nobody to bid on a proposition like that. Y’ might”—the man hesitated, then went on harshly, “y’ might up an’ die, or——” “A man on the farm next to ours paid three hundred dollars for a horse, and it died the next week,” Barbara said quietly. “Then he bought another. He had to have a horse.” “Well, he owned it for good an’ all, an’ you——” “I’ll work four years-or five for the money,” said Barbara steadily. “And I shall be worth far more than an ordinary servant.” Mr. Bellows wagged his head argumentatively. “I’d hev to charge you five per cent.,” he warned her. “An’ you couldn’t get any bidders, anyhow.” “That,” said Barbara, “would be my affair. What I want to know is, will you sell me?” The blood hammered in her temples; her hands and feet were icy cold; but she eyed the man steadily. Mr. Bellows had been making a rapid mental calculation. “W’y, I don’ know,” he said, scratching his head reflectively. “I don’t want to go int’ no fool job fer nothin’. M’ time’s valu’ble.” “I’ll pay you—ten dollars, if—if—no one buys me,” said Barbara faintly. Mr. Bellows bit his thumb-nail thoughtfully. “All right!” he burst out at length. “You name the day, git th’ bidders t’gether an’ I’ll auction ye off. Gracious! It don’t sound right, some way.” He looked at the girl carefully, real human kindness in his eyes and voice.