“Stranger, how familiar you seem to be with this old place, the swallows in the chimney and all! You say you used to know our folks. Any relation?” “I used to work for your father.” “Did ye?” The two looked at each other—after fifty years. “Somehow I almost feel related,” said old Susan. * * * * * The shining hour of noon was now passed. The auctioneer rang his bell. “Are you ready for the sale of the farm? Thirty acres and the house and buildings. Clear deed. How much am I offered? Some one start the farm. Been in the same family one hundred and thirty years. How much am I offered?” “Five hundred dollars,” said a well-to-do-looking farmer named Pool. “Five hundred dollars. Do I hear the six? Five hundred dollars am I offered. Do I hear the six? Five hundred dollars.” “Six,” bid another. “Seven,” another. “Eight.” “Nine.” “Nine hundred dollars I am offered. Do I hear the thousand? Nine hundred dollars. Nine, nine, nine. Going, going, nine hundred dollars. One thousand—do I hear it? Nine hundred dollars. Are you all done? Going, going—” “One thousand dollars.” The voice came from the old man on the step. Old Susan rocked violently, and appeared greatly agitated. The people gathered in a close mass around the door-step, all eyes fixed upon the venerable stranger. “One thousand dollars. Do I hear eleven hundred? One thousand dollars am I offered. Going, going, going. Once, twice, third and last call, going, going, going, for one thousand dollars. The hammer is about to fall. One th-o-u-s-a-n-d dollars. Sold.” There was a deep silence that followed the fall of the hammer. “Gone,” said the old woman, and she threw her apron over her white head and bent over, adding: “I am homeless now. I never thought to see a day like this.” “What is to be done with these things?” asked the auctioneer. The old man rises. His girl stands up beside him. “Susan,” said he. Old Susan uncovered her pitiful face. “Susan, what will you have done with these things? I have bought them for _you_.” Susan stops her rocking. She looks dazed. Her face is upturned, and her blue eye looks piercingly into the eye of the tall old man. “I would have you have them. You do pity me, don’t you? It will do me good to think that _you_ have them. You have spoken to me kindly.” “The furniture shall all be brought back into the house again,” says the quiet old man. “The cradle, clock, and looking-glass shall all be placed where they were before.” “To whom are the papers to be made out?” asks the auctioneer. “My good friend, we shall need no new deeds. The old ones will do. I used to know the family when I was a boy, and Susan’s father and mother did much for me. To-morrow is Thanksgiving, and I shall spend it here. I’m going to be good to Susan for the old folks’ sake.”