cost my father twenty-five dollars.”
“Oh, come, now, that’s too thin! You don’t expect a feller to believe such a story as that?”
“I expect to be believed, for I never tell anything but the truth.”
“Oh, well, I don’t expect you do, generally, but when it comes to tradin’, most everybody lies,” observed Nick candidly.
“I have no object in misrepresenting, for I don’t want to sell the violin.”
“You can’t afford to keep it! The town won’t let you!”
“The town won’t let me?” echoed Philip, now thoroughly mystified.
“Of course they won’t. The idea of a pauper bein’ allowed a fiddle to play on! Why, it’s ridiculous!”
“What do you mean?” demanded Philip, who now began to comprehend the meaning of this thick-witted visitor. “What have I got to do with the town, or with paupers?”
“Why, you’re goin’ to the poorhouse, ain’t you?”
“Certainly not!” answered Philip, with flashing eyes.
“I guess you’re mistaken,” said Nick coolly. “Squire Pope was over to our shop this mornin’, and he told dad that the seleckmen were goin’ to send you there after the auction.”
Philip’s eyes flashed angrily. He felt insulted and outraged. Never for a moment had he conceived the idea that any one would regard him as a candidate for the poorhouse.
He had an honorable pride in maintaining himself, and would rather get along on one meal a day, earned by himself in honest independence, than be indebted to public charity even for a luxurious support.
“Squire Pope doesn’t know what he’s talking about,” retorted Philip, who had to exercise some self-restraint not to express himself more forcibly “and you can tell him so when you see him. I am no more likely to go to the poorhouse than you are!”
“Come, that’s a good one,” chuckled Nick. “Talk of me goin’ to the poorhouse, when my father pays one of the biggest taxes in town! Of course, it’s different with you.”
“You’ll have to excuse me now,” said Philip, determined to get rid of his disagreeable companion. “I have something to do.”
“Then you won’t sell me the fiddle, Phil?”
“No, I won’t,” answered our hero, with scant ceremony.
“Then I’ll have to bid it off at the auction. Maybe I’ll get it cheaper.”
And Mr. Nicholas Holden at length relieved Philip of his company.
CHAPTER IV. THE AUCTION
It so happened that Nick Holden met Squire Pope on the village street, and, being rather disappointed at the result of his negotiations with Philip, thought it might be a good idea to broach the subject to the squire, who, as he knew, had taken it upon himself to superintend the sale of Mr. Gray’s goods.
“I say, squire, I’ve just been over to see Phil Gray.”
“Ahem! Well, how does he seem to feel?”
“Kinder stuck up, I reckon. He said he wouldn’t go to the poorhouse, and I might tell you so.”
“I apprehend,” said the squire, in his stately way, “he will be under the necessity of going, whether he likes it or not.”
“Just so; that’s what I told him!” interjected Nick.
“And he should be grateful for so comfortable a home,” continued the public man.
“Well, I dunno,” said Nick. “They do say that old Tucker most starves the paupers. Why his bills with dad are awful small.”
“The town cannot afford to pamper the appetites of its beneficiaries,” said the squire. “Where is Philip now?”
“I guess he’s at home. I offered to buy his fiddle, but he said he was going to keep it. I offered him a dollar and sixty-four cents—the same as dad’s bill against his father, but he wouldn’t take it.”
“Really, Nicholas, your offer was very irregular—extremely irregular. It should have been made to me, as the administrator of the late Mr. Gray, and not to a boy like Philip.”
“Will you sell me the fiddle for dad’s bill, squire?” asked Nicholas eagerly.
“You are premature, Nicholas—”
“What’s that?”
“I mean you must wait till the auction. Then you will have a chance to bid on the instrument, if you want to secure it.”
“Phil says it’s his, and won’t be for sale at the auction.”
“Then Philip is mistaken. He is only a boy. The estate will be settled by those who are older and wiser than he.”
“I guess you’ll find him hard to manage, squire,” said Nick, laughing.
“We shall see—we shall see,” returned the squire.
And, with a dignified wave of the hand, he continued on his walk.
After the visit of Nicholas, Philip thought it most prudent to convey the violin which he prized so much to the house of his friend, Frank Dunbar, where he had been invited to take his meals.
He was willing to have the furniture sold to defray his father’s small debts, but the violin was his own. It had not even been given him by his father. Though the latter purchased it, the money which it cost had been given to Philip by a friend of the family. He rightly thought that he had no call to sell it now.
“Frank,” said he to his boy-friend, “I want you to put away my violin safely, and keep it until after the auction.”
“Of course I will, Phil; but won’t you want to play on it!”
“Not at present. I’ll tell you why I want it put away.”
And Philip told his friend about Nick’s application to purchase it, and the liberal offer he had made.
“Nick’s generosity never will hurt him much,” said Frank, laughing. “What in the world did he want of your violin?”
“He wants to make himself popular with the girls.”
“He’ll never do that, even if he learns to play like an angel!” said Frank. “You ought to hear the girls talk about him. He couldn’t get a single one of them to go home with from singing-school last winter. He teased my sister to go, but she told him every time she was engaged to some one else.”
The two days that intervened between the funeral and the auction passed, and the last scene connecting Philip with the little cottage which had been his home was to take place.
In a country town, an auction-however inconsiderable-draws together an interested company of
