s thrilled as if she were trying a gamble upon the Stock
Exchange. She asked the auctioneer's man when the contents of the
nursery would be put up, and he told her it was second on the list for
that day's sale.

"Better go and get a place outside if you want to bid," he advised.

So Lesbia dragged Kitty, who wanted to look at a hundred things by the
way, downstairs and on to the lawn, where a long table and the
auctioneer's desk were arranged. The girls waited eagerly for the fun to
begin. They were much entertained at the company in which they found
themselves, farmers and villagers from the neighbourhood, dealers from
local towns, and an odd assortment of queer-looking people such as are
never seen except at sales, some obviously out for amusement, and others
bent on bargain-hunting. There were one or two keen faces of
professional buyers which strangely repelled them, but on the whole the
crowd was jovial and good-humoured.

At two o'clock the auctioneer took his place, and his men began to carry
out the first "lots" and place them upon the table. He rapidly
described their merits and knocked down bundles of curtains or blankets
to the highest bidders. Bedroom 4, which was being sold, contained a
variety of articles. When the linen was disposed of, a number of books
were next plumped upon the table.

"Lot 205," announced a stentorian voice.

Now the bidding was an utterly unintelligible process to the
unaccustomed girls. It seemed to them as if the auctioneer glanced round
the crowd and repeated glibly "Two shillings--two and six--three
shillings--three and six", and so on until he suddenly rapped his hammer
and consigned the "lot" to somebody who wanted it. He was a talkative
red-faced man, who grew very warm with his efforts, and waved his arms
dramatically like an actor declaiming a part. Lesbia stared at him quite
fascinated. By the merest accident, in the midst of running up "lot
205", he chanced to glance her way, and, meeting her eye, promptly
knocked it down to her. Before she knew what had happened she found
herself the possessor of a pile of second-hand books for which a rusty
individual, armed with pencil and memorandum list, was writing down her
name and the sum of five and six.

"But I don't _want_ these books. I want a _paint-box_!" she protested in
agonized tones.

"You bid for this lot, miss. Sorry, but it can't be helped now if you
made a mistake. The paint-box comes later on."

"And I've n