rs. Pole, open it." Mrs. Pole obeyed, and
as she held up the rolled package it dropped into the unmistakable form
of a man's breeches.

Westways exploded into wild applause, understanding joyously this freak
of fortune. Mrs. Pole joined in their merriment, and the carpenter
punched the butcher in the ribs for emphasis, as he said, "How's that,
Pole?" The butcher made use of unpleasant language, as John relieved
said, "The sale is over. You can settle with Mr. Grace." As he spoke he
moved over to where Leila stood beside the two McGregors.

The people rose and put on their cloaks preparing to leave. Then John
heard Tom McGregor say, "Look out, father! Something is going to happen."

The Colonel moved forward unsteadily. His face flushed, grew pale, and
something like a grimace distorted his features, as he said, "The sale is
not over, sit down."

People took their places again wondering what was to come. Then with the
clear ringing voice the cavalry lines knew in far-away Indian wars, he
cried, "We will now sell the most useless article in Westways. Who'll buy
silly Billy?"

"Can't sell me," piped out Billy's thin voice as he fled in alarm, amid
laughter.

"The sale is over, uncle," said John.

"No, sir--don't interrupt. I'd like to sell Swallow."

This was much to their taste. "Guess he's sold a many of us," cried an
old farmer.

"Why, he's dead," said Mrs. Crocker.

The Colonel's gaze wandered. The little group of friends became
hopelessly uneasy; even Mrs. Ann ceased to smile. "You stand up, Polly
Somers--you are the handsomest girl in the county," which was quite true.

The girl, who was near by, sat still embarrassed. "Get up," said
Penhallow sharply.

"She's withdrawed these three months," cried a ready-witted young farmer.

"Oh, is she? Well, then, we will go on." Tom McGregor went quietly up the
two steps to the platform. All those who were near to the much-loved
master of Grey Pine stood still aware of something wrong and unable to
interfere. Rivers alone moved towards him and was put aside by an
authoritative gesture. The moment of silence was oppressive, and Leila
was hardly conscious of the movement which carried her up beside Dr.
McGregor to the level of the platform.

"Oh, do something," she whispered; "please do something."

"It is useless--this can't last."

"Uncle Jim," she exclaimed in her despair, and what more she would have
urged was unheard or unsaid as the Colonel turned towards