“If I was you, ma’am, I’d put on a red ribbon or—or somethin’ cheerful-lookin’,” advised Mr. Bellows, with awkward sympathy. “I like a good bright red m’self. An’ say, don’t you worry none. You ain’t ’bliged to accept anybody’s bid, unless you feel like it. I’m goin’ t’ bid ye in m’self, if things don’t go right. Where’s the little boy?” he asked suddenly. Barbara controlled herself with an effort. “In school,” she replied briefly. “He—Jimmy isn’t to know, till—till afterward.” “Mebbe you c’n take him along,” hazarded Mr. Bellows, “to—South America, say, or——” “I shall leave him here,” Barbara told him with stony calm. “I have arranged everything.” A stamping of feet on the porch brought a defiant light to the girl’s eyes and a scarlet flush to her cheeks; Mr. Bellows surveyed her with open satisfaction. “That’s right!” he encouraged her. “Perk right up! You look wo’th th’ money now all right. I’ll open the front door and let the folks pass right in. Ye don’t need to do a thing but set right still an’ let me manage things. Biddin’ ’ll begin at ten-thirty, sharp!” And he bustled away full of importance. Barbara stood quite still in the spot where he had left her, her eyes fastened with a kind of fascinated terror upon the groups of persons coming toward the house. The day was bright and warm and the clumps of old-fashioned shrubs on either side of the driveway, lilac and bridal wreath and snowball, were in full bloom. On the other side of the fence long lines of apple trees laden with odorous pink and white bloom, lifted their gnarled limbs to the blue sky. Barbara saw a woman pointing out the trees to the man at her side. She knew the woman, and fancied she might be speaking of the great yield of fruit to be expected that year from the once famous Preston orchards. For two years past the girl had been toiling to bring the trees back to a thrifty condition; this spring for the first time they promised heavy returns for all her labors. She clenched her strong brown hands in a passion of unavailing protest against the cruel fate which flaunted the myriads of blossoms in her face to-day. More people were coming than she had expected. Her face burned with shame at sight of the two shabby hired hacks among the groups of pedestrians. A woman in one of them thrust her head out of the window and asked some questions of the driver. He nodded his head and presently drew up in front of the house. “Well, I declare,” she heard in a high-pitched feminine voice, “this seems like quite a nice place. I thought——” The buzzing of tongues in the rooms across the narrow hall increased; the people were congregating there. She could hear the occasional sound of Mr. Bellows’ creaking boots and his loud authoritative voice, as he answered questions and arranged the chairs, which two of the shabby men under his direction were bringing from various parts of the house.