rd and promised to heed, with every intention of keeping his
promise. Then he drove away joyfully. On any other occasion Ma would
have been a welcome companion. But she certainly spoiled the flavour of
an auction.

When Pa arrived at the Carmody store, he saw that the little yard of the
Garland place below the hill was already full of people. The auction had
evidently begun; so, not to miss any more of it, Pa hurried down. The
sorrel mare could wait for her shoes until afterwards.

Ma had been within bounds when she called the Garland auction a
"one-horse affair." It certainly was very paltry, especially when
compared to the big Donaldson auction of a month ago, which Pa still
lived over in happy dreams.

Horace Garland and his wife had been poor. When they died within six
weeks of each other, one of consumption and one of pneumonia, they left
nothing but debts and a little furniture. The house had been a rented
one.

The bidding on the various poor articles of household gear put up
for sale was not brisk, but had an element of resigned determination.
Carmody people knew that these things had to be sold to pay the debts,
and they could not be sold unless they were bought. Still, it was a very
tame affair.

A woman came out of the house carrying a baby of about eighteen months
in her arms, and sat down on the bench beneath the window.

"There's Marthy Blair with the Garland Baby," said Robert Lawson to Pa.
"I'd like to know what's to become of that poor young one!"

"Ain't there any of the father's or mother's folks to take him?" asked
Pa.

"No. Horace had no relatives that anybody ever heard of. Mrs. Horace had
a brother; but he went to Mantioba years ago, and nobody knows where he
is now. Somebody'll have to take the baby and nobody seems anxious to.
I've got eight myself, or I'd think about it. He's a fine little chap."

Pa, with Ma's parting admonition ringing in his ears, did not bid on
anything, although it will never be known how great was the heroic
self-restraint he put on himself, until just at the last, when he did
bid on a collection of flower-pots, thinking he might indulge himself to
that small extent. But Josiah Sloane had been commissioned by his wife
to bring those flower-pots home to her; so Pa lost them.

"There, that's all," said the auctioneer, wiping his face, for the day
was very warm for October.

"There's nothing more unless we sell the baby."

A laugh went through the crowd. The s