The driver cracked his whip. The coach rolled by a thin grove of trees that partly hid the yard from the way, and a strange scene was brought to view. A crowd of people, young and old, were gathered around an old gray farmhouse with an open door. There were vehicles of almost all kinds about the place, with the horses hitched to the trees. In the yard in front of the door was the furniture of the house, and on a high chair stood the tall form of a country auctioneer, crying the articles for sale in the singsong tone of the old travelling preachers,—a tone that must be first heard to be imitated. In the doorway, close by a great stone step, sat an old woman in a white cap and calico dress, and a handkerchief crossed over her breast. She was watching the sale. Her face was beautiful in its serenity, hope, and trust. Faith was written in it. She seemed to have a soul that had a life above all changes. “Is that aunt?” said Susan. “My girl, I do not know. It looks like her. Does she look like me?” The stage stopped. The driver called to the auctioneer: “Hold on! Here’s a man that wants to bid on that cradle.” The auctioneer ceased his singsong, and all eyes were turned on the old man and the girl alighting from the stage. No one knew them. “Now we are all ready,” began the auctioneer again. “The old oak cradle. How much am I offered for the old oak cradle? Fifty cents am I offered for the oak cradle? Some good people have been rocked in this old cradle, and it is good enough yet. Fifty cents. Seventy-five? Yes, the old gentleman who has just arrived bids seventy-five. Eighty—do I hear it? Eighty now for the old oak cradle? There were many prayers made over that old oak cradle. S-e-v-e-n-t-ee-five! Eighty—do I hear it? Are you all done? S-e-v-e-n-t-ee-five! Going, going, going! _Once_, do I hear the eighty? _Twice_, do I hear the eighty? Three times—third and last call—do I hear the eighty? Gone—to—What is your name, stranger?” “Cash,” said the old man, with a quivering lip, as he passed through the crowd, followed by the wondering girl. “Sold to Cash,” said the auctioneer. “What have we here? The little oak chair for the child at the table. Are you all ready to bid for the little oak chair for the child at the table? It is as old as the family, and as good as new. Look at it,—the little oak chair for the child at the table,—how much am I offered? Here is another—two of them. How much am I offered for them both?” [Illustration: THE FORESTRY BUILDING.] The old man Marlowe and Susan take a seat on the great stone step, close to the feet of the serene old woman. Marlowe looks into her face. Her lip quivered. “You bought that cradle,” said she. “Were you ever here before?” “Yes, many years ago. I used to know your father.” “You did!—and my mother, too?” “Yes; they were good people.”