and
stayed all day, for auctions do not occur very often in the country,
and are great events when they do. Eyebright, who did not know exactly
how to dispose of herself, sat on the stairs, high up, where no one
could see her, and listened to the auctioneer's loud voice calling off
the numbers and bids. "No. 17, one clock,--who bids two dollars for
the clock? No. 18, lounge covered with calliker. I am offered
seven-fifty for the lounge covered with calliker. I am offered
seven-fifty for the lounge covered with calliker. Who bids eight?
Thank you, Mr. Brown--going at eight--gone." And No. 17 was the
kitchen clock, which had told her the hour so many, many times; the
lounge covered with "calliker" was mother's lounge, on which she had
so often lain. It seemed very sad, somehow, that they should be
"going--gone."

Later in the day she saw, from the window, people driving away in
their wagons with their bargains piled in behind them, or set between
their knees,--papa's shaving-glass, Wealthy's wash-tubs, the bedstead
from the best room. She could hardly keep from crying. It seemed as if
the pleasant past life in the old house were all broken up into little
bits, and going off in different directions in those wagons.

She was still at the window when Wealthy came up to search for her.
Eyebright's face was very sober, and there were traces of tears on her
cheeks.

"Eyebright, where are you? Don't stay mopin' up here, 'tain't no use.
Come down and help me get tea. I've made a good fire in the
sittin'-room, and we'll all be the better for supper, I reckon.
Auctions is wearin' things, and always will be to the end of time.
Your Pa looks clean tuckered out."

"Are all the people gone?" asked Eyebright.

"Yes, they have, and good riddance to them. It made me madder than
hops to hear 'em a-boastin' of the bargains they'd got. Mrs.
Doolittle, up to the corner, bid in that bureau from the keepin'-room
chamber for seven dollars. It was worth fifteen; the auction-man said
so himself. But to kind of match that, her daughter-in-law, she giv'
thirty cents a yard for that rag-carpet in your room, and it didn't
cost but fifty when it was new, and that was twelve years ago next
November! So I guess we come out pretty even with the Doolittle
family, after all!" added Wealthy, with a dry chuckle.

Eyebright followed downstairs. The rooms looked bare and unhomelike
with only the few pieces of furniture left which Wealthy had bid in
for