"That's right! I tole my man to put a sign out on the letter-box fer passers-by to see how I had aigs to sell; but he is that procrastinatin'—he puts off anythun' 'til it's too late."

The woman was scraping the bits of dough from her hands as she spoke, and this done, she sprinkled flour over the top of the soft lump in the pan and covered it with a piece of old linen cloth. As she took it to a warm corner behind the stove, she added: "Do you'se know! Abe was late fer our weddin'. But I knew him for procrastinatin', even in them days, so I made everyone wait. He come in an 'nour behind time, sayin' he had to walk from his place 'cause his horse was too lame to ride. That's Abe all over, in everythun."

The house-keeper finished her task and turned to her callers. "Now then! Do yuh like white er brown aigs?"

"White ones, please," returned Mrs. Fabian.

The woman went to the large storeroom off the kitchen and counted out a dozen eggs in a box. When she came back she held them in one hand while waiting for payment, with outstretched other hand.

"That's a fine sofa you've got in the next room," remarked Mrs. Fabian, pretending not to notice the open palm.

"Yeh, d'ye know, I paid fifteen dollars jus' fer that red plush alone?" declared she, going to the door and turning to invite her visitors to come in. The box of eggs was forgotten for the time.

The girls followed Mrs. Fabian to the best room that opened from the large kitchen, and to their horror they saw that the sofa referred to was a hideous Victorian affair of walnut frame upholstered in awful red mohair plush.

But Mrs. Fabian made the most of her optics the moment she got inside the room. Thus it happened that she spied a few little ornaments on the old mantel-shelf.

"What old-fashioned glass candle-sticks," said she, going over to look at the white-glass holders with pewter sockets.

"Ain't they awful! I've told Abe, many a time, that I'd throw them out, some day, and get a real nice bankit lamp fer the center table," returned the hostess.

"And won't he throw them away?" asked Mrs. Fabian, guilelessly.

"He says, why should we waste 'em, when they comes in so handy, in winter, to carry down cellar fer apples. He likes 'em cuz he onny paid a quarter fer 'em an' a glass pitcher, at an auction, some miles up the road. But that wuz so long ago we've got our money's wuth outen them. Now I wants a brass lamp an' he says I'm gettin' scandalous in my old age—awastin' money on flim-flams fer the settin' room. He says lamps is fer parlor use."

Her repressed aspirations in furnishings made the woman pity herself, but Mrs. Fabian took advantage of the situation.

"I've needed a pair of candle-sticks for some time, and I'll exchange a lamp for your auction bargain which you say has paid for itself, by this time."

"What! Don't you want your lamp?" exclaimed the lady, aghast at such a statement.

"Well, I have no further use for one, and it would look lovely on your marble-top table," returned Mrs. Fabian.

"Well, well! How long will it take you to get it from home?" asked the woman, anxiously.

"If you really wish to get rid of the candle-sticks and jug, I'll leave the quarter you paid originally for them and go for the lamp at once. Maybe I can be back in an hour's time. I'll pay for the eggs, too, and leave them until I come back," explained Mrs. Fabian, graciously.

Without wasting an extra word or any precious time, the owner of the rare old candle-sticks wrapped them in a bit of newspaper and went for the glass pitcher. Mrs. Fabian had no idea of the extra item being worth anything, but she included it, more for fun, than anything else. But once they saw the tiny glass jug with Sheffield grape-design on its sides, they all realized that here was a wonderful "find."

Mrs. Fabian seemed uneasy until she had the paper package in her hand and had paid the twenty-five cents for the three pieces of glassware. Then Eleanor made a suggestion.

"Why couldn't we wait here, Mrs. Fabian, and look at some of the old china the lady has in this cupboard, while you go for the lamp. There's no sense in all of us going with you."

"That's a good plan, if Mrs.——" Nancy waited for the lady to mention her name.

"I'm Mrs. Tomlinson," said she, politely.

"If Mrs. Tomlinson is not too busy to show us her dear old house," added Nancy.

"All right, girls. Is that satisfactory?" asked Mrs. Fabian. "How does it appeal to you, Mrs. Tomlinson?"

"Oh, now that that bread is risin', I've got time to burn," declared the lady, independently.

"All right. We'll visit here while you get the lamp," agreed the girls, deeply concerned to know where their chaperone would find a lamp such as Mrs. Tomlinson craved.

Mrs. Fabian left, and invited the child swinging on the gate to drive with her as far as Stamford. The little girl, pleased at the opportunity, ran for her bonnet and told her ma of the wonderful invitation.

Mrs. Tomlinson signified her consent to Sarah's going, and then gave her full attention to showing her company the house. "You musn't look at the dirt everywhere, ladies," began she, waving a hand at the immaculate corners and primly-ordered furniture.

"Now come and see my parlor, girls. I'm proud of that room, but we onny use it Sundays, when Sarah plays the melodian and we sings hymns. Now an' then some neighbors come in evenin's, fer a quiltin'-bee in winter; and I uses it fer a minister's call, but there ain't no way to het the room an' it's all-fired cold fer visitin'."

Polly thought of the ranch-house at Pebbly Pit as Mrs. Tomlinson described the cold winter evenings, and she smiled at the remembrance of how she used to undress in the kitchen beside the roaring range-fire, and then rush breathlessly into her cold little room to jump between the blankets and roll up in them to sleep.

Eleanor laughed outright at the picture of a visiting dominie sitting on the edge of a chair with his toes slowly freezing, while his parishioners tried in quaking tones and with teeth chattering to entertain him.

But Mrs. Tomlinson paid no heed to their laughter, for she was in her glory. "Ain't this some room?" demanded she, pulling the shades up to give enough light to admire the place.

A stained cherry parlor suite of five pieces upholstered in cheap satin damask, with a what-not in one corner, and an easel holding a crayon portrait of Abe and his bride at the time of their wedding, in the other corner, graced this best room. A few cheap chromos flared against the gorgeous-patterned wall-paper, and a mantel-shelf was crowded with all sorts of nick-nacks and ornaments. Polly seemed drawn to this shelf, the first thing, while the other girls glanced around the parlor and felt like laughing.

"Won't you sit down, a minute?" invited the hostess, but her tone suggested fear lest they soil the damask with their dust-coats.

Polly had made a discovery in that moment she had to look over the motley collection on the shelf.

"This is a nice tray you have standing against the wall," said she, using Mrs. Fabian's tactics to interest the hostess.

"Yes, that's another auction bargain. When Abe fust got it, the day I went fer that oak side-board, I got mad. But I've used it a lot sence then, fer lemonade and cookies, when comp'ny comes to visit all afternoon. And I feels made up, I kin tell you, when I brings that tray in like all society does." Mrs. Tomlinson chuckled to herself.

Polly examined the tray and believed it a rare one. It was oval in shape, and had a stencilled rim in a conventional design. The coloring was exquisite, and the central design was a wonderful basket over-flowing with gorgeous fruit. The touches of gold on the decorations was the beauty-point of the unusual object.

"I've always wanted just such a tray, too. I wonder if you know anyone who has one and will sell it to me. I'd drive a long ways to go to an auction such as you say you attended, when you bought this tray," said Polly, trying to act indifferent.

"Laws-ee, Miss! I see'd trays sold at mos' every country auction I goes to. I'd jes' as soon sell that one to you, if you like it, but maybe you'd think I was askin' too much if I was to tack on the cost of time I lost that day. I never got a chanst to bid on the oak side-board, 'cause a city man felt so mad at Abe fer buyin' the tray, that he run up the side-board out of spite, when he found we wanted it. Ef he'd onny a said he wanted the old tray he'd cud have had it an' welcome. But he never told us. The neighbor who finally got the side-board laffed an' told Abe why the man did the trick. The man told him he'd double-crossed us that way."

Polly would have offered the woman the full value of the fine stencilled tray, but Eleanor hurriedly spoke for her.

"How much was the tray with the cost of time tacked on?"

"Well, it won't be fair to charge all afternoon, 'cuz I had a good time with my neighbors what met at that vendue. But Abe lost three hours' work on the corn that day and that is wuth sixty cents an 'nour, anyway. Tack that on to thirty-five cents fer the tray, an' you've got it."

Mrs. Tomlinson started counting laboriously on her fingers and ultimately reached the same total as the girls had found five minutes before. So Polly paid over the munificent sum to the lady's delight, and took possession of the tray.

"Ef I onny had some other old things you'd like to get, I would almost have enough money to buy a swell glass lemonade set I saw down to Stamford one day. It had a glass tray under it and a dozen painted glasses and a fine glass pitcher—all fer two ninety-eight."

Almost before the lady had ended her words of her secret ambition, the four girls had pounced upon various things found on the shelf. Eleanor had an old glass toddy-mug with a lid, which was used for a match-holder in the parlor.

Nancy selected a small oil lamp with a brass base and stem, and a lovely-shaped glass shade. Mrs. Tomlinson informed her it was another auction bargain that cost fifty cents. Being so expensive they put it on the parlor mantel instead of using it.

Dodo yearned to possess an old afghan she saw on the settee of the suite of furniture, but she feared to say so. Finally she summoned courage enough to offer the lady a price for it that caused Mrs. Tomlinson a failure about the heart.

"My goodness' sakes alive! That's ten times more'n the wool ever cost when the thing was new. Take it! Take it, quick, ef you really mean it!"

The girls laughed wildly, for Dodo took it quickly and paid the price offered to the consternation of the sales-woman. "Well," gasped she, at last, "you must have some family-past what has to do with knitted covers, is all I can say to explain you!"

By the time the inspection of the house was over, Mrs. Fabian returned with just such a brass pedestal banquet lamp as Mrs. Tomlinson had secretly envied and long hoped for. Such joy and pleasure as she took in selecting a clean crocheted mat to spread on the cold marble slab of the center table, and then place thereon her vision come true, was worth all the trouble Mrs. Fabian had had in finding the lamp at a second-hand shop at Stamford; but later when that wise collector examined her old candle-sticks and pitcher, she felt a hundred times repaid for the lamp—as she truly was.

The merry collectors started home that afternoon, after enjoying the picnic luncheon beside a brook in the woods back of Stamford, with their hopes pitched high for future successes in collecting.

Mr. Dalken heard from Carl about the successful quest that day, and telephoned to the Fabians, that evening. The Ashbys had hurried over when they heard of the pieces secured at the farm-house, and were present when Mr. Dalken questioned the girls all about their "find."

"Now we're dying to start again, Mr. Dalken, and hunt up other trophies," said Polly, in conclusion.



CHAPTER VII

A REVOLUTIONARY RELIC HUNT

So delighted were the amateur collectors with the result of their first search for antiques, that they planned another trip a few days later. Carl could not drive the car for them, as Mr. Dalken had invited a number of business friends who were in New York for a few days to go out on Long Island with him, for the day. He took the seven-passenger car and Carl for the drive, so the girls had to be contented with the smaller car. But neither Mr. Dalken nor Carl knew that the girls proposed going alone. They believed Mr. Fabian or Mr. Ashby's chauffeur would drive the car.

Eleanor bragged about her ability to drive an automobile and the girls knew from experience how well Dodo could drive, so the outing was planned without any grown-up being consulted about the driving or chaperoning.

"Did not Carl have a road-map in the side-pocket of the car, the day he drove us to Stamford?" asked Polly.

"Yes, but the car is in the garage, and the map with it," returned Eleanor.

"Daddy has a road-map. I'll get his," remarked Ruth Ashby, who had been invited to be one of the party this trip.

"Then bring it around tonight, Ruth, when you come to plan about the route we ought to choose for this outing," said Polly.

Ruth hurried home and immediately after dinner, that evening, she found the map in the library desk-drawer and tucked it in her pocket. As she ran through the front hall she called to her mother:

"I'm going over to the Fabians for a little talk, Mummy."

"But, Ruth, you just came from there a few moments before dinner," came from Mrs. Ashby.

"Oh, I didn't visit that time! I only stopped in with the girls to wait and see if Nancy had a map they all need. Now I'm going to visit," explained Ruth.

Mrs. Ashby laughed at a girl's interpretations of a call and Ruth ran out.

Their pretty heads were closely bending over the map, when Mr. Fabian passed the living-room door and stopped a moment to consider the picture they made under the soft-shaded light. He went on to his private den without saying a word to distract their attention from (as he thought) their books of learning.

"Now listen here, girls!" exclaimed Nancy, tracing a line on the map. "Polly doesn't know much about this end of the United States, and Eleanor doesn't know much more than Polly does but I am supposed to be well informed about Westchester County, having lived there when I was a little girl. So I can tell you something about this road I've traced."

The four girls lifted their heads and listened eagerly.

"You know Dobb's Ferry and its vicinity was there in the days of the Revolution, and Washington camped at that town. Even the Headquarters he occupied is to be seen as it was at that time. This road, running easterly from Dobb's Ferry, is the old turnpike road used by the army as it marched towards the Hudson.

"Now this is what I say! Why shouldn't there be lots of old houses along that road, or in that locality, that were there during Washington's time? And if standing still, why shouldn't there be old furniture, or odd bits, to be found in them?"

Eleanor instantly caught Nancy up on one of her phrases. "Naturally the houses would be standing still—you wouldn't want them to be dancing a tango, would you?"

"Oh, pshaw, Nolla!" scorned Nancy, in disgust at such a poor attempt to joke, "you know, well enough, what I mean."

The other girls laughed at Nancy, and Polly added: "Well, what is your plan?"

"I say, let's drive along the River Road as far as Dobb's Ferry, and then turn off to this road and venture on any country road we find, that has old-fashioned houses which look as if they were built in 1776."

"That sounds thrilling!" laughed Eleanor.

Her companions refused to smile this time, so she sat grinning at Nancy, as if waiting to attack her again.

"I think that plan will answer as well as anything Nolla has proposed, don't you?" asked Nancy.

"Yes, we'll try your scheme out, Nan. But you'll have to be the guide through the country, as we haven't the least idea of the lay of the land," said Dodo.

"We'll succeed splendidly, as long as we have this map," promised Nancy.

The girls pictured many rare treasures added to their collection after this proposed trip, and when it was time for Ruth to go home, each girl had chosen rare and wonderful objects to be found in these imaginary Colonial home-steads they expected to visit on the morrow.

Classes had to be attended to before excursions could be enjoyed and then it was lunch-time; but after that they finally started on this trip.

Mrs. Fabian was out with Mrs. Ashby, so the girls met no one who would question them, when they were ready to leave. Ruth and Dodo called at the Fabians and they all went to the large garage where Mr. Dalken kept his automobiles; and the man, having had instructions to give the car to these young friends of the owner, whenever they wanted it, said nothing but backed the car out to the street for them.

The five girls drove away in high spirits, for they were eager to harvest all the marvelous antiques they had ever read or heard of, that might be scattered throughout the country-sides wherever General Washington had made a camp for his army.

Dodo was an excellent driver but she had no New York license, and the girls had forgotten all about that necessity. So the car was speeding along the boulevarde at about twenty-five miles an hour, when a traffic policeman in Yonkers held up his hand to stop the northward-bound travelers.

Dodo had just turned her head momentarily to send a quizzical look at Polly who sat in the back seat, and so failed to see the raised hand. The car therefore ran across the street and at the same time, a low-built racer shot along the right of way and the two noses rammed each other, although both drivers used the emergency brakes.

The girls screamed with fright at the unexpected shock and the dreadful jolt they received when the cars collided. And two young college students cursed politely and scowled fearfully at the "crazy girl-drivers" who never knew which way they were going. But the poor cars suffered the most from this conflict. Headlights were smashed, fenders and mud guards were so dented in as to look pitiful, while the front wheels of both cars were interlocked in such a way that they could not be separated.

This cause held up all traffic on both streets and annoyed the officer so that he threatened a wholesale arrest. He asked the names of both drivers. The young man gave his as "John Baxter, New York." His license number was taken, and he was asked for his permit. He showed it without hesitation, and the girls gazed at each other in dismay. They had forgotten about such a need!

The officer came over to Dodo's side.

"What's your name?"

"Dodo Alexander," stammered she, forgetting her full name.

"Humph! Baptized that name?"

"Yes—no, oh NO. I never was baptized, I reckon."

"Humph—a heathen, I see!" snarled the policeman. "Well, where do you live, or where'd you hail from?"

Eleanor had been grinning at the officer's reply, and now she could not withstand the temptation to answer: "From the Cannibal Isles."

The crowd standing about the two cars, laughed—all but the policeman. He scowled at Eleanor and said: "Be careful, young lady, or I'll take you along for contempt of court."

"But you are not arresting me, and this is not Court," argued Eleanor.

"Oh, goodness me! Is he going to arrest me?" cried Dodo.

"If you don't answer my questions promptly, I'll arrest you," returned the officer, severely.

"Well, I am from Denver, Colorado, where folks don't fuss like you do in the East, just because you cross a street to get to the other side!" declared Dodo, in self-justification.

"From Denver! Got a New York license to drive?" said he.

"No, I haven't, but I've driven all over England and the Continent this Summer—as these girls will tell you. They were in the party."

"It's nothing to me whether you drove up the Matterhorn and down the other side; as long as you can't show me a plain old American license, you'll have to pay the costs."

"How much is it?" quickly asked Dodo, taking her purse out to settle the bill.

"I don't know. You'd better follow me to the police station and we'll see."

Dodo was handed a little paper which she read aloud to her horrified companions, and thus, finding themselves arrested, they meekly tried to follow the blue-jacket. But the cars had not been disentangled, although both boys from the racer were doing their utmost to clear the way.

As the storm raised in the hearts of the two students by the carelessness of Dodo abated, both boys realized how pretty and helpless the five girls were, so they began to feel sorry for them. Besides this, the front wheels were now divorced and the two cars backed away from each other to give room for the congested traffic to pass.

"Dear me," wailed Dodo, "what will Mr. Dalken say when he hears about his car! I don't mind going to jail or being made to pay a hundred dollars fine, but to break up his automobile the first time I drove it, and get his license tag into trouble—that is terrible!"

Polly laughed. "Not Dalken's license tag, but his name—in the papers. That's what comes of being so well-known in New York."

"And the newspaper men will be sure to say that a party of joy-riders stole his car to have a little jaunt in the country, I suppose," added Eleanor, teasingly.

One of the good-looking young students now came over to the girls and lifted his cap. "Did I understand you to say this is Mr. Dalken's car?"

Five girls glowered at him. Polly snapped out: "Are you a reporter from a city paper?"

John Baxter laughed. "No, I am his protege. Mr. Dalken is the executor of my father's estate and I was just on my way to the city, to visit him, this evening."

"Oh how nice! We know Mr. Dalken very well, too. He is one of our best friends," returned Polly, eagerly.

Nancy Fabian would have been more reticent had she been spokeswoman for the girls; but both boys were so pleasant, now, that they were introducing themselves to the girls, hence she said nothing.

"We'll go with you to the station house and see that the sergeant behaves himself," suggested John.

The girls felt very grateful to this needed friend, and the boys started their car after the policeman, the girls following in their damaged car that bumped and jolted on one side.

When the inspector learned that not one of the five girls had a license to drive a car in New York State, and that the car belonged to someone else, he fined Dodo and gave her a good scolding to boot.

"This time I'll let you off easy, as you are green in the East. But don't let it happen again, or you'll be sorry. Apply for a permit to drive, as soon as you get home, young lady, and then get a book of rules on traffic, and learn it by heart."

Dodo meekly paid the fine, and the young people left the room with lighter hearts than they had entered it. Both cars had to be taken to a garage and put into running shape again. Meantime there would be two hours of waiting on their hands, and seven young folks with impatient blood in their veins to kill that time.

"I'm sorry you ladies have been deprived of your pleasure drive, but I might suggest a little consolation if you ever deign to go to the Movies," said John Baxter, politely.

"There's a good show up the street in that large Picture Theatre," added his friend Andrews.

"We love movies—when they are good," ventured Eleanor.

"What do you think, Nan? Shall we go?" asked Polly.

"Oh yes! it will be awful—waiting about this place with nowhere to go other than the Movies, as you say," returned Nancy.

So the two young men escorted the five girls to the show where they forgot their recent troubles in watching Harold Lloyd do his best to break his neck.

Dodo paid the bill at the garage for both cars, even though the boys insisted that they pay for their own damages. But she replied: "No, the insurance company will have to settle eventually."

The good-natured way in which Dodo accepted the situation more than convinced the boys that these girls were "bricks" all right! It was now past five, and the cars were ready to go again, but the "collectors" found they had to go back to the city for that time, without having seen as much as a shadow of an antique.

"What will you girls do about getting home?" asked Andrews.

"Why, drive, of course!" returned Dodo.

"But you can't—you haven't a license. Neither has any one of the other girls," explained Jack.

"Oh, we never thought of that!" exclaimed Polly, perplexed.

"I have one," suggested Andrews. "I can get in your car, and one of you girls can drive with Baxter, if you will. That will solve the problem."

"All right," assented Dodo, getting out of her seat to allow Andrews to get in.

"Which one wants to drive with Jack?" asked Andrews.

Neither girl answered, and not as much as by a tremor of the eye-lid did either show how delighted she would have been to sit beside the handsome young man and skim along the road to New York.

Baxter laughed heartily, and Andrews added: "I never dreamed that no one would care to drive with him. I'm sorry, Jack, but you'll have to go alone."

"Not if I know it!" retorted Baxter, quickly. "I can't choose when all are so desirable, but we can cast lots to see who will be my companion."

The girls thought this most exciting, and when Andrews had shown the slip of paper that would be the lucky draw, and then had folded and shaken the slips well in his cap, the girls drew. As each girl opened her scrap of paper to find it was blank, and then watched the others try, there was great laughter and anxious waiting. Finally Polly opened her slip and found she had drawn the lucky one.

"Ha! Isn't Jack Baxter lucky, though!" laughed Eleanor. "Not only gets the cleverest girl in the crowd, but the prettiest one, too!"

"Stop your nonsense, Nolla! How many times do I have to tell you to allow me to live in peace, without so much of your chaffing!" exclaimed Polly, impatiently.

Everyone laughed merrily at Polly's retort, and Baxter looked admiringly at the flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes. He was most gallant in assisting Polly into the "boat" as he called it, and then he jumped in beside her.

Eleanor sat beside Andrews in the other car, and entertained him with a highly colored story of Polly and her home in Pebbly Pit. Before they reached the Fabian home in New York, young Andrews pictured the enormous wealth of "Choko's Find" gold mine, and the marvellous beauty of the lava jewels found in Rainbow Cliffs on the ranch. To think that one girl should be lucky enough to own both such money-producers!

Shortly after dinner that evening, Mr. Dalken telephoned the girls and told them to come over to his apartment for a party. He explained that he had two nice little boys visiting him, and he was at a loss to know how to entertain them so that they would care to come again, another day. Remembering how well Polly and her friends managed other boys, he felt sure that they could help him now.

Polly laughed in reply, and said: "Oh yes! If one of those boys now visiting you, is anything like Jack Baxter who drove me home, this afternoon, we won't have any trouble in amusing them."

But Polly never told Mr. Dalken that Jack declared himself so deeply in love with her, before she had been in his car ten minutes, that she had all she could do to keep him at the wheel instead of placing an arm about her, and thus stalling the engine in the ditch alongside the main road to the city.

That evening, after the girls returned from Mr. Dalken's party, Eleanor remarked: "My goodness! Polly has another scalp to hang to her belt of trophies. If she keeps on piercing hearts, as she has done this past year, she'll have to discard some of her old scalps and loan them to us, to make room for her new ones."

But Polly sniffed loftily at such foolishness, and made no reply.



CHAPTER VIII

ANOTHER ATTEMPT AT COLLECTING

Although the trip planned for the Dobb's Ferry territory had ended so disastrously, the girls were not discouraged. Dodo secured a license without any difficulty, and was equipped to drive Mr. Dalken's car without being fined a second time. But the wise owner of the car considered it wiser to send Carl out on these excursions, instead of trusting to Fate to bring the girls back home again without broken bones or a damage suit.

Mr. Fabian had had a brilliant idea, too, after he heard his wife's story of the country auction where the old antiques had been secured by Mrs. Tomlinson. He suggested that they subscribe to several country papers, both daily and weekly, and in that way they would learn of any vendue advertised in its columns.

Eagerly following his advice, the four girls—Nancy was not interested in antiques but was willing to go around with her friends when they hunted for them—subscribed for the Yonkers papers, the White Plains papers, several weeklies in New Jersey, and others, in order to learn of any country auctions advertised for the following week.

Through this medium, they read of a country sale advertised for the following Thursday, to take place at an old farm home-stead way back in the hills of Westchester. The items mentioned included a mahogany four-poster bed, and other old bits.

Polly and Eleanor had not attended an auction since the days in Paris, and neither of them had ever heard of, or witnessed a back-farm country auction, so they were not prepared for what they really experienced.

Carl was detailed to drive them, that day, and Mrs. Fabian escorted them, in the seven-passenger car. They took the turnpike road as far as White Plains and then turned to the left to follow a country road that would lead past the farm.

The sale was advertised for eleven o'clock, but the girls did not arrive on the premises until twelve. Still no auctioneer was to be seen or heard. Groups of farmers stood around, gossiping about their crops that season, and their wives sat indoors exchanging notes on canning, new neighbors, or babies.

Polly gazed curiously at the types assembled for that sale, and whispered to Eleanor: "Wouldn't you say these farmers had been picked up from Oak Creek ranches and dropped down here in this front door-yard?"

Eleanor smiled and nodded. Then she said in a low voice: "They don't look as if they were here to buy. We seem to be the only folks here with a pocket-book."

A young farmer who had been leaning against the old well now came forward to welcome the strangers who stood looking about.

"I be the clerk fer the auctionair, but he hain't come, yit. His baby swallered a shet safety-pin an' they had an orful time wid ippycak tryin' to git it that way. Now the doctor's thar sayin' that stuff is all wrong. He'll git the pin, all right, 'cause I swallered a quarter, onct, and he got it, but it costed me a hull dollar extra to pay him fer his docterin'. Ye's kin go in and peer aroun' to see ef you wants anything."

Mrs. Fabian expressed her sympathy for the parents of the baby and said she knew just how frightened the mother must be.

"Not much!" was the clerk's astonishing reply. "She's young Kit Morehouse what ain't got a grain of sense in her bean. This baby's mother died when it was a week old, and Lem had to have someone look affer it. Thar warn't no sensible woman about what would hev him, 'cause he don't make salt fer a red herrin', seein' his professhun is auctionin' an' folks ain't sellin' out like-as-much as they ust to be, years ago. But this crazy Kit was onny nineteen, with no fam'ly, er no payin' job, so she hired out to take keer of the kid. Don't it allus end like this? The gal marries the father an' gets mad cause another woman's kid is cryin' around!"

The girls were intensely interested in this bit of local gossip, but Mrs. Fabian thought they had heard enough about "Kit," so she bid the clerk good-by and started for the low one-story-and-a-half house.

The interior presented a different appearance from the home of Mrs. Tomlinson's. Every conceivable object ever used in the house was brought out and placed in the front rooms. Women and children sat about on various sorts of seats, waiting for the sale to begin. As most of the assembly were neighbors and acquainted with each other, the entrance of Mrs. Fabian and her girls caused quite a surprise.

Audible whispers of "Who air they?" and "Where did they come from?" or "What d'ye s'pose they come to bid on?" were heard on all sides as the strangers passed through the "settin' room."

The moment Mrs. Fabian's party left the clerk, outside, he hurried over to the automobile where Carl sat enjoying a quiet smoke.

"Howde," began Abner Clark, the clerk.

Carl removed his pipe and nodded nonchalantly.

"Do you-all hail from about these parts?" asked Abner.

"I should say not!" declared Carl, emphatically.

"From whar abouts are you?" continued the clerk.

"New York City—and that's some town, let me tell you."

"Yeh—so I've heran say. How did yeh get to come here to this vendue?" persisted Abner.

"I don't know—I'm only the chauffeur. Why don't you ask the ladies if you are so anxious to know?" Carl was growing angry.

"All right—no harm meant," replied Abner, soothingly, as he turned away.

Carl resumed his pipe, and Abner strolled over to the group of men sitting on wheel-barrows, ploughs, chicken-coops, etc. With a furtive look over his shoulder, to make sure the city driver was not listening, Abner began to explain to his interested friends who the strangers were.

But he had not quite ended his tale before an old buggy drove up and the auctioneer got out. He glanced over the assembled farmers with an appraising eye, and then carefully hitched the old nag to a tree. This done, he broke off a great chunk of tobacco from a cake kept in a blue paper, and popped it into his mouth.

Abner walked over to the white-washed fence to greet his superior. "How's the kid?" were his first words.

"All right, now. He diden' swaller the pin, after all. The doctor found it down inside his shirt, an' it cost me a dollar besides all that good mustard and eppicac, fer nuthin'!"

"Well, well!" sympathized Abner, not knowing what would be best to say in such a delicate case.

"Did yuh keep all the folks about when I sent word over?" continued the auctioneer.

"Shure! An' we've got some swell city buyers, this time."

"City! You don't mean anyone from the city'd want to buy old Morrisey's trash?" exclaimed Lemuel, in disbelief.

"I dunno what they want, but thar's their man what steers the autermobile," and Abner directed a thumb over his left shoulder.

"Wall, wall! Come along; we'll hurry up to get some of their coin afore they git tired awaitin'!" declared the wise man, as he made haste to reach the house.

Mrs. Fabian and the girls had made a cursory visit to the rooms on the ground floor, and while they stood in the small kitchen examining various old dishes and glassware in the cupboard, Polly spied a very narrow staircase leading to the attic.

"I'm going up to see if there's anything up there," said she. So without another word, she ran up the creaky steps.

The girls heard her walking overhead, and then heard her pull a heavy object across the floor. In another minute she came racing down the steps at a break-neck speed, her face all streaked with dirt and her dress covered with cob-webs and the dust of ages.

"Oh, folks! Do come up and see what I found in an old box under the eaves!"

They needed no second invitation, and soon all were up beside the box. There were many other empty boxes standing about and in some way this particular box had escaped the attention of Abner, who had taken the inventory of the contents of the house and barns.

Polly had removed the first object on top of the box which was an old woven coverlet in rare colorings of blue and white. In one corner was the name of the weaver and the date it was completed. Polly was not aware that old woven coverlets were considered very desirable by collectors, but she had read the date which showed the spread was more than a hundred years old, so she judged it was worth bidding on at the coming sale.

Directly under this woven coverlet was a white spread. It was very old and torn at the corners, but the rest of it was in good condition. Mrs. Fabian saw at once that it was a spread of the finest candle-wicking style she had ever seen. It must have dated back to the early part of the eighteenth century.

Under this white bed-spread were small bundles of hand-spun linen towels, yellow with age but in perfect condition as to wear. But the greatest find of all, in this box, were the old brasses in the bottom.

Wrapped in papers to keep them clean, Polly found a long-handled warming-pan; a set of fire-irons—the tongs, shovel, and andirons of the famous "acorn-top" design; and a funny old foot-warmer. A pair of ancient bellows was the last article found in the box, but the leather was so dry and old that pieces fell out when Polly tried to make the bellows work.

"I must go right down and tell that clerk about these wonderful things. They must have overlooked them when they listed all the other articles in the house," said Mrs. Fabian.

Eleanor held her back and said: "You'd better not tell him the news in that excited manner. He'll understand at once, that these things are desirable, and then we'll have to pay well for them."

"You're right, Nolla!" laughed Nancy, and her mother admitted as much.

"Why couldn't we just take them down to the kitchen and pile them on the table. No one will know that we want them, and should anyone ask what we were doing up here and by what right we carried them down from the attic, we can honestly say that Abner said we could go over the house and see if there was anything we liked to buy," said Polly, with a collector's instinct for not paying extortionate prices for what she wanted.

The girls laughed, but each one caught up some object, and having gathered all safely in their arms, they started down. The kitchen, being the least desirable room to visit in the farmer's wife's judgment, no one was there when Mrs. Fabian and the girls returned to it. Their discoveries were piled on the old drop-leaf table, and they grouped themselves at the doorways to keep guard over the prizes.

A loud voice was shouting at the open front door, saying: "This are the terms of the sale: Everything bid on 's got to be paid fer the same day and removed from the premises in twenty-four hours—all but th' barn-stock. You'se kin take forty-eight hours fer them. I expecks everyone to pay cash fer anything they buy, 'cause I got enough trouble at that last sale at Hubbells' when a lot of you folks bid on stuff an' then went home an' left it on my hands. Hubbell's son had to give 'em away at last, and I lost all that commission. So, none of that, at this vendue!"

Some of the assembled people looked guilty, and the auctioneer rode rough-shod over their feelings. "Anudder thing: Don't haggle on a cent! When I call out a decent bid on a thing, raise it a nickel, at least, if you wants it. This cent business—and at Hubbell's vendue, some of you'se even bid half a cent at a time—makes me tired! If a thing ain't wuth a cent more to yeh, then let it go to the other feller what wants it!"

The girls laughed at this frank statement of sense, and Lemuel turned to see who had appreciated his speech. When he saw the city people Abner had mentioned, he felt warmed all through, for he felt sure he would earn some commissions that day.

"Our first number is in th' kitchen. Ab, kin we get in thar, er had we better hold the stuff out here?" asked Lemuel.

"I can't hold up the kitchen stove, kin I?" asked Abner, in an injured tone.

The people laughed heartily, Mrs. Fabian's party joining more appreciatively than anyone.

"All right," answered the auctioneer, in a matter-of-fact voice. "We'll try to crowd in. But don't anyone what don't want to bid on kitchen stuff, come and use the room from others!"

It seemed that his very warning acted contrariwise for, to the girls, it looked as if everyone on the premises tried to crowd into that small room. Being first on the ground, they fared best for place. Mrs. Fabian mounted the steps leading to the attic and advised the girls to get up on the table, chairs, or other solid objects, to be able to look over the heads of the crowd.

"Now, Ab, what you got first?" asked the auctioneer.

Abner had his little book of items, and finding the table the first number inventoried, he called out: "Deal table and contents!"

Now Polly stood on the table, and all the covers had been thrown upon it, also, so when Abner shouted out "table and contents" Lemuel laughed loudly.

"Say, one of them contents is a mighty pooty gal, I kin tell yuh! I'll begin bidding myself, on such a bargain!"

The country-folks laughed wildly at such a fine joke, and Polly, eager to own the other valuable contents, smiled with them and nodded her head at the salesman. He was not aware that she meant she would bid, for his customers always shouted forth their bids. Then a man asked: "What sort of contents is thar?"

Abner pushed his way through the crowd to open the drawer in the table and enumerate the small ware mentioned as "contents," when he saw, to his surprise, that there was a heap of covers on the table.

He picked them up and stared at them in dumbfounded amazement, then said: "Say, Lem, here's them old bed-quilts we had sech a job huntin' up. Whar the heck'd they come from, I'm sure I dunno!"

"You got 'em, eh? Well, they ain't listed, so sell 'em fust. I'll mark them an 'A' lot. Who wants to bid on a ole bed-spread?" called Lemuel.

Had the women-folk known of bedding to be sold in the kitchen, there would have been a mad rush for it. But most of them were waiting for the blankets and comfortables found in the two small bed-rooms annexed to the parlor. So but few were in the kitchen when the old candle-wicking spread was bid on by Polly, and knocked down to her for a dollar-ninety.

Eleanor got the blue and white woven coverlet for a dollar and a half, and Mrs. Fabian bought the linen towels "in a lot" for two dollars. The old brasses that were also listed as an "A" lot were knocked down as follows: Polly bought the ancient foot-warmer for sixty cents; Eleanor secured the warming-pan for a dollar, and Dodo, the set of fire-irons with acorn tops, for three dollars. These undreamed-of bargains elated the girls so that they lost all discretion for a time.

"Now that we've cleared them things out of our way, we'll sell the table," said Lemuel, and forthwith he gave the table to a farmer for fifty cents.

"What 'che got next, Ab?" asked he.

"Some kitchen dishes," replied Abner, as he opened the cupboard and displayed several samples of blue ware.

Eleanor saw the familiar pattern of the pagodas and willows that are found on old willow-ware, and instantly decided that these must be rare antiques because they were found in the same house as the ancient objects just acquired by her and her friends. So she raised the first bid of ten cents for eight odd pieces, to a dollar.

The auctioneer gasped. He gazed at Eleanor and said faintly: "Did you bid a dollar?"

"Of course!"

"All right, Miss, you kin have them, but pay me now fer them, and don't come back naggin' me to say I stuck you wid cracked plates, and nicked saucers. You saw'd them afore you bid!"

Eleanor laughed, and handed over a dollar bill, but Mrs. Fabian tried to catch her eye to warn her not to bid recklessly on other things. Polly stood up on the table wondering why Eleanor got the old kitchen dishes.

The moment Lemuel had the dollar safely in his pocket, he remarked: "Gee! I'm goin' out of this second-hand sellin' and lay in a stock of ten-cent blue dishes to sell!"

One of the farmers haw-hawed and said: "That's how Coolworth made so much money! Gettin' so much cheap stuff and findin' a pack of silly women to buy 'em."

Eleanor tossed her head, but had she kept quiet she would not have been the object of pity she found herself, afterward. In self-justification of her purchase, she called out: "You people don't know genuine old Wedgewood when you see it. I've got a big bargain in those eight plates!"

At that statement, a quiet young fellow, who had been standing about watching progress and noting the bids on a paper, laughed. "I don't want anyone to say they was taken in at my folk's sale; but I got'ta tell that young lady that I bought them blue dishes myself, last year, at the tea-store in White Plains fer ten cents each."

Even Polly had to join in the laugh at Eleanor's expense now, and poor Nolla felt like selling herself for a nickel. But the auctioneer had scant time for jokes or reckless buyers as he was there for business. So he finished the kitchen and called them into the parlor. Here Polly secured a china dog such as were common sixty to eighty years ago; Eleanor got a real bargain, this time, in buying two century old flower-vases for fifty cents. Mrs. Fabian saw an old engraving of "Washington Crossing the Delaware," as it was taken from the wall behind the door, and offered for a quarter. On the spur of the moment she raised the bid five cents and got the picture which later proved to be one of the rare old originals, worth several hundred dollars.

Dodo ran up a pair of girandoles that stood on the narrow mantel-shelf in the front room, and finally got them for three dollars. Such an unheard-of price made the buyers look at her in pity, and Lemuel remarked:

"Well, some folks has more money than sense!"

Dodo's friends laughed heartily at this criticism, but she cared little for them all, because she knew what she had obtained for her money.

The two bed-rooms were so small that few people could get in, so the auctioneer ordered Abner to carry the articles for sale, out on the lawn where everyone could see them. Had it not been for this sensible advice, Polly would never have seen or secured the fine old set of Staffordshire toilet-ware that was knocked down to her for four dollars.

It consisted of ewer in quaint shape, basin deep enough to be a huge punch-bowl, a soap-plate, a mug, and a commode. The rich deep coloring of the design on the china was lovely, and every piece was in good order.

The young man who had told the truth about the eight dishes from the tea-store, congratulated Polly and said: "That set has been in our family for more'n a hundred years. My grandmother used to keep it fer show, er when we had fine comp'ny comin' to see us. That's how it kept so good."

"Oh, don't you want to keep it, then?" asked Polly, regretfully.

"Nah, I'm goin' west on the money I git outen this sale, an' I'd ruther see someone what likes it own it, than any old clod-hopper about these parts!"

Polly felt sure the owner had not been lovingly treated by the people he glanced at as he spoke. But she learned, just before leaving the place that afternoon, that he felt so antagonistic against his neighbors because of their frank criticism of his habit of spending his inheritance.

Because of this unwise recklessness, he had had to mortgage the old farm, and when the proceeds of that had been spent, he had to sell out. "Perhaps his going west, where he would have to work hard for his living, would be his salvation, after this," thought Polly.

Mrs. Fabian allowed the girls to watch the sale until the contents of the house were sold out and then she suggested that they start back home. The bargains were carefully placed between the coverlets purchased, and then the buyers got in the car.

The country-people were all crowding to the barns to bid on stock and farm-utensils when Carl started the engine. With a last look at the little house where they had found their interesting antiques, the collectors left.



CHAPTER IX

POLLY'S HUNT IN 'JERSEY

The collectors took several long trips, after the vendue in Westchester County, but found nothing of value at any place.

Still they lived in hopes, and towards the last of October, Polly suggested that they try New Jersey for a change. A girl who attended Art Classes told Polly of several very old places within the vicinity of Springfield and Morristown—both old Revolutionary towns of historic fame.

So Carl drove up to the Fabian home early one Saturday morning, and Mrs. Fabian with her party, hurried out with luncheon and wraps, and were soon speeding away for the ferry-boat that would take them across the North River.

The girls had never been in New Jersey, and found much to admire in the picturesque, rolling land of the Jersey Hills. They left Newark behind, and drove along the Union Turnpike road until they reached the Forks. Here they turned to the left and in a short time, were going through the ancient town of Springfield.

They were already past it, before Mrs. Fabian found what place it was. Then they laughed, and turned back again to visit a shop on the main street. Mrs. Fabian got out of the car and went in to question the proprietor.

"Do you know of any old houses, near here, where one can secure old bits of furniture, or antique objects?"

The man chuckled. "Say, Madam, if I have one person ask me that same question, I have dozens stop to question me. I tells them all, the same as I tells you now—the only antique I can send them to anywhere about Springfield, is that old church on the corner, where you can see the hole blown in the side by a cannon ball, when the British were here. And over yonder, you will find a burial ground where many old Indians are buried, with their stone arrow-heads and other trophies with them. The crumbling grey-stone slabs and the ancient tombs found there, will give you the dates. Some go as far back as two hundred, or two hundred and fifty years."

Mrs. Fabian thanked him and returned to the girls to repeat the conversation she had had with the shop-keeper. They all declared for a visit to the old church, and then to the cemetery, so Carl drove back and they visited both places.

In the ancient burial ground, they read many queer epitaphs on the head stones, and some of these the girls copied down. Then they got back in the automobile and Carl was told to drive on to Morristown.

This place was found to be so dreadfully modern, that no hope of discovering antiques was left alive in their hearts. But it was noon and they were hungry, so they discussed the advisability of going to a lunch-room, or driving into the country and having the picnic lunch.

"As long as we brought such a nice luncheon with us, why stop at a hotel or restaurant to eat?" asked Polly.

"There really isn't any sense in doing that, but there certainly isn't any picnic place in this town," declared Eleanor.

"Well, then let's start out and find one away from here," suggested Polly.

"I'll make another proposition, girls," said Mrs. Fabian. "Why not stop at that Public Library we just passed, and find out if there are any notable spots in the vicinity of this town, where we might find old houses or old objects?"

"Well, the idea is good, but really, Mrs. Fabian, this town impresses me most emphatically with this fact: that the residents have as much desire for antiques as we have; and most likely, they started in years before we ever were born, to rake over the country-side, which must have been rich with old furniture and other things from Washington's days here, so as to collect all those things for themselves," was Dodo's sensible remark.

The others smiled at her practical words, and Mrs. Fabian agreed with her. "But it will do no harm to stop just a moment to ask the attendant at the Library if she knows of any place in New Jersey where we might indulge our craze of collecting."

Carl then turned around and they were soon back at the Library. The girls remained in the car while Mrs. Fabian went indoors to ask questions of the agreeable lady at the desk.

"I'm sure you will find a few old bits, here and there, about the country-side," said the lady, in reply to Mrs. Fabian's questions. "In fact, my friend furnished her old-fashioned house that she recently bought of an old 1776 family, by driving about through the Mendham country, down through New Vernon and Baskingridge—all famous Revolutionary places, you know—and by visiting places as far away as Bound Brook, Plainfield, and the country about Trenton. I was amazed at the number of old things she managed to secure."

Being given a pencil sketch of what roads to follow to reach Mendham, or Baskingridge, Mrs. Fabian thanked her informer most graciously. Suddenly the lady said:

"Now that you are in town, why not drive down to a little auction room I've heard of, just off Washington Street, and see if you can find anything in that Paradise for old stuff?"

"We will! Where is it, and how do we get there?"

"The man's name is Van Styne, and he used to be a magnet for attracting the oldest pieces to his store-rooms! People used to commission him when they wanted anything in particular, and in some super-natural manner, he used to have it for them in a few days' time. It would have taken ordinary individuals years, with plenty of money and energy, to accomplish the same result."

Again Mrs. Fabian thanked her interested informer, and left the library. The girls were told of the conversation and they all voted to go to Van Styne's old auction rooms first, and then try to locate an old farm-house along the road to Mendham, or in the opposite direction, towards Baskingridge.

The building where "Van Styne—Auctioneer and Appraiser" had his sign displayed, for the public's guidance, was a long low place that had been used as the carriage house of "Liberty Stable" years before. The tiny windows, high up in a row along the front, were stall-marks that told what it had been in the past. Now it was an "Emporium" for all who needed second-hand furniture at a bargain; or for those who sought antiques of any kind, to add to their amateur collections.

Mr. Van Styne was a white-haired, long-whiskered, thin man who sat tilted back in a broken-through rush-bottom chair that had never had a bid at his weekly auctions, hence it was put to some use in his office to pay for storage. His feet were resting on the flat-table-desk in front of him, and he was sweetly snoring when the girls opened the door of the room.

Such an unheard of thing as customers in the early part of the afternoon, caused him to jump up and remove his aged straw hat that had been tilted over his eyes to keep out the sun-light.

"We came to see if we could find anything in your salesroom," began Mrs. Fabian, noting the dust that lay thick on everything, and the heaped up motley collection of family possessions displayed in the long adjoining stable-room.

"What kind of furniture do you need?" asked he, stifling a yawn.

"Why, anything old enough to be interesting. We heard that you were a wizard in finding antiques for people."

The proprietor disclaimed such power, and said with a grin that displayed several gaps in his yellowed teeth, "You can mosey about, out there, to your heart's content. If you find anything likely, call me an' I'll tell you what it's wuth."

He waved his arm to the long stacked-up storeroom, and then sat down again. In another moment his feet were up on the desk and his hat tipped down over his eyes. His hands were calmly folded over his waist-coat and he settled down to snooze, once more.

The girls giggled aloud and hurried after Mrs. Fabian to keep from laughing outright at the ambitious salesman. They prowled about and pulled out lots of things and examined many other old articles, soiling their gloves and dresses, without finding a thing that was of any value.

Finally Polly dragged out an old walnut chest of drawers to see what was stored back of it, that kept it so far away from the wall. She discovered a group of large, framed pictures standing against the wall, evidently forgotten by the auctioneer, as they were covered with a thick coating of dust.

"Come and help me lift these out, will you, Nolla?" called Polly, as Eleanor stood waiting for something new to look at.

In another moment, both girls were hauling out the mass of pictures, whose wires and screw-eyes were so entangled that to get at one, you had to drag all out at the same time.

"My goodness! Just look at our hands!" exclaimed Eleanor, holding up such dirty hands that Polly laughed.

"The result of digging!" said she, managing to separate one smaller frame from the others.

As she turned it over to study the picture, she was greatly disappointed to find it had an old, cheap, stained frame. The picture seemed nondescript to her. It was a scene of an old bridge with fine old trees on both banks of the river. Quaintly costumed people strolled along both sides of the stream, and a funny tower rose at the further end of the bridge. The colors were crude and primary—no fine shading or artistic handling to be seen. A title under the picture, and several inscriptions in French at the left side of the bottom, were so stained and blurred as to be totally unreadable with the naked eye.

Meantime, Eleanor had managed to free the next frame, which was a huge affair of old mahogany. The glass was so dreadfully dusty that not a bit of the picture underneath could be seen. She looked about for something to use as a duster, and saw an old end of chenille curtain on the walnut dresser. This she used and wiped away as much of the dirt as would come off with hard work—the rest must have hot water and soap.

"Well, I declare! Look at this old engraving!" called she to the others. Polly was at hand, and saw that Eleanor had actually found a treasure.

Mrs. Fabian hurried across the room and took her magnifying glass from her handbag being always prepared with it in case of need to study signatures and other nearly effaced trade-marks.

The large engraving represented the Independence Hall at Philadelphia, and under that was the famous Declaration of Independence, with all the original signatures following. The picture of the Hall was engraved on a smaller bit of paper and had been mounted at the top of the printed matter. The engraving was signed by the engraver, and dated. Affidavits at the bottom of the parchment paper stated that this was one of the original documents made by Order of Congress for use in the Government Buildings so that the first original paper and signatures could be preserved as a relic, by the United States.

"Why, this wonderful old paper is more than a hundred and thirty years old!" exclaimed Mrs. Fabian amazed.

"My goodness me! How much do you suppose I shall have to pay to get it?" gasped Eleanor.

"I don't know, but you really ought to shake that dirty rag thoroughly over the glass again, to hide what is under it," advised Dodo, with astuteness.

The others laughed. But Polly had another suggestion to make. "Let's see what else we can find in this stack of pictures. We will choose a number of them and then make an offer on the lot, as much as to say we need bargain-frames for other uses. This rare find of Nolla's will be hidden in with the rest."

"Polly's idea is best. Because the old man will know that we wouldn't buy a picture with all the dust covering the glass," said Nancy Fabian.



"What's the little old one you've got in your hands, Polly?" now asked Mrs. Fabian.

"Oh, nothing much. It looks like an ugly little chromo printed before people knew how to use colors on printing-presses."

Mrs. Fabian leaned over Polly's shoulder to take a look, and puckered her forehead when she saw the yellowed paper and old stained edges of the picture.

"Polly, I verily believe that here you have something that Mr. Fabian has lectured on several times. Let me examine it."

While the girls crowded about her, Mrs. Fabian placed the picture, face downwards, on the table near by and tried to draw out the old headless tacks driven in to hold the backboard snugly in its place.

"Well, whoever framed this picture did it for all time!" exclaimed she, breaking several fingernails and tearing the skin on her hands in the attempt to loosen the fine steel nails.

"Here! I've found an old pair of broken scissors in this desk—let's use them to clinch the nails and force them out," said Nancy, handing her mother the shears.

With this assistance, Mrs. Fabian soon had the nails out and then carefully removed the old sections of thin boards. Under the boards was a yellowed newspaper, folded neatly, and so wedged in at the edges of the frame that no dust could work a way through to the picture. Without a thought of the paper, Mrs. Fabian took it out and expected to see the back of the picture. Instead, she found a yellow-stained letter written to Paul Revere Esq. and signed by one of the famous men of the Revolution. It was a personal letter of that time, and had been used to paste over a crack in the back of the picture.

"Why—why! How very wonderful!" breathed Mrs. Fabian, as she stared at the old letter.

"What is it—anything valuable?" asked the girls.

"A genuine letter written to Paul Revere! Now that I think of it, girls, Paul Revere lived in Morristown and his home is still intact on De Hart Street, I believe. This old picture must have come from his house; or in some way, this letter found its way into someone else's hands and was used at that time for scrap paper to mend this picture. Now let's see what the picture is."

But a cry from Polly, who had picked up the old newspaper and now had opened it wide, caught their fullest attention.

"Oh, oh! Isn't this too funny for anything! Listen and I will read it." Then Polly read aloud an advertisement in the tiny old newspaper, of a Squire at Baskingridge who wished to sell a healthy, young negro wench of unquestionable pedigree. Price and particulars would be given any interested buyer.

"Polly!" chorused her audience, in surprise. "That paper must be as old as the letter!"

"And see, girls!" added Mrs. Fabian. "It has great heavy black borders on the outside. What for, Polly?"

Polly turned over the sheet with utmost care, as it was so dry and brittle, and to the speechless astonishment of them all, it showed that the mourning bands were used for the death of George Washington. The entire front page was devoted to the news of his demise which had occurred the day before going to press. His fame, and value to the United States, were spoken of, and other features of his life were touched upon. His picture, printed from an old wood-cut, headed the page. All the spelling was such as was common at that time with the letter "e" tacked on when possible and the old English "f's" were used for "s's" and long-stemmed "p's," and high-browed "a's" and "i's," were formed to show readers that the writer and editor was a well-educated man.

"Oh my! Must we fold it up and put it back of that board again?" sighed Polly, finally.

"If you want a bargain, that is what you'd better do," returned Mrs. Fabian.

"Maybe the picture is as old as the paper," ventured Polly.

The thought of the picture had completely vanished from the mind of Mrs. Fabian when she saw the rare old newspaper; but now she quickly picked up the article and turned it over. The magnifying glass was once more brought to bear upon the subject, and after several minutes of inspection,—minutes of impatient hesitation on the part of the girls,—she looked up bewildered with her discovery.

"Polly, this is really the missing picture that will complete the set that is on exhibition at the Metropolitan Museum, in New York. It is one of the famous color-prints made in France about the sixteenth century, and the subject is the famous Bridge at Avignon. This is worth thousands of dollars, dear, and I hesitate to tell you what to offer for it."

Polly would have taken the rare picture out to the still sleeping man and offered him a sum that would have made him sit up and investigate the matter for himself. But clever Dodo advised another method.

"If you offer more than the old frame is actually worth, when you say you will pay so much for the frames—he will see right off that there's a 'nigger in the woodpile.' Let's tangle up a few of these old black-walnut frames with the two valuable pictures, and I'll bargain for you."

"Better let Mrs. Fabian bargain—you know how she got the candle-sticks in exchange for a two-dollar 'bankit' lamp," Eleanor reminded them.

"I'll do it, while you girls keep on poking about as if to find other things," declared Mrs. Fabian. "Here, Polly, let us fix this frame up exactly as it was before, and I'll take four out of the pile and place them, one on top of the other, upon this dresser, and then call the man out to quote me a price on the lot."

This was carefully done, dust being shaken out of the old curtain so that the glass was again coated, and then dust was shaken over the back where the board had been removed and cleaned.

A dreadful lithograph showing a string of fish, framed in a wide gilt affair, was one that was chosen for the group. An oval frame with a woman's photograph in it, was another selected. Then the four were arranged: The large engraving at the bottom, the fish next, then the little old relic, and on top, the oval frame. All four appeared dirty and insignificant as they lay on the top of the dresser; and to finish the work, Polly used the chenille rag to gather up as much dust as possible from the filthy floor, and shook it vigorously over all the frames. Such a choking and coughing as ensued made them separate in haste, for fear the noise would make the auctioneer come out to enquire.

But he was too deeply concerned with some pleasant dream to awake to business, before his usual time for the afternoon siesta had ended, so Mrs. Fabian went out to rouse him.

"Eh, what did you say?" exclaimed he, jumping up.

"I want you to tell me how much are a few picture-frames which we found in a corner."

"Oh, anything you like. How much do you think they are wuth?" was his reply.

Mrs. Fabian smiled pleasantly. "That is not what I said. You are the salesman and I the buyer. You should state a price."

"Um—ah!" yawned Mr. Van Styne at this, and stretched his arms out over his head. "I s'pose that ends my nap, eh?"

He shuffled out of the office after Mrs. Fabian and went into the store-house. When he saw the girls poking about amongst the old chairs, bureaus, and motley collection of furniture, he laughed, and said: "That's right! Find all the old bargains you can. I'm your man to sell them cheap to you."

Had he but known what he was about to do!

Mrs. Fabian led him down to the corner where the pile of four pictures were waiting on the dresser, and said: "These are the four I want a price on. The frames are all in good order and the glasses are not cracked at all."

Mr. Van Styne took a pair of old steel-rimmed specs from the vest-pocket over his heart, and pushed them upon his thin nose. He picked up the top oval frame, blew off the dust and laughed at the homely face that stared out at him. He turned to Mrs. Fabian with a twinkle in his eyes and said, jokingly:

"Now, if that gal was your relation and you wanted her ugly photograph that bad, I'd say the hull thing was wuth a dollar to you. But seein' it's fifty year old, and you ain't near that, yet, I will sell her fer a quarter. The glass is wuth that, I reckon."

He placed it face down beside the other three pictures. "Now this one," taking up the rare old print with the newspaper packed in the back, "Ain't wuth a darn, so why do you pick it out?"

"But the glass is the right size and will cost me more to order, than I can get it for of you," remarked Mrs. Fabian, anxiously, while the girls held their breath.

The old auctioneer heard the note of anxiety in her tone and peered over his specs to study her guileless expression. She instantly guarded herself, when she saw his look, and so he saw only a nice lady who was now picking up the fish-picture.

"And this dining-room picture; how much will you take for it. Why not give me a job-lot price and I'll see. I may as well pack four as two in the automobile."

But Mr. Van Styne had not known there was an automobile; and he was wondering now, why people with a car should come in and pick out a few picture glasses to save money. He glanced over the last picture which was the large engraving, and then turned it over to look at its back.

"That's a mighty big sheet of glass in that one. That glass alone, cost about a dollar-forty. Then the frame's a good hard-wood frame, too. I'll look up my books and see who sent them pictures in for sale. Then I can see if they put a figger on them."

He made notes of the chalk numbers marked on the backs of the picture-boards and then started for his office. Mrs. Fabian, with sinking heart, followed at his heels.

"If he looks up his records and finds they came from the old house of Paul Revere and his descendants, he will never sell them at a decent price," thought she, impatiently.

She sat opposite the old man while he fumbled the pages of his book and slowly glanced down the entries, his bent fore-finger pointing to each item carefully as he read.

"Um! Here it is: Number 329, came from Sarah Dolan, who moved to a smaller flat last Spring. From this entry I see that all them seven pictures came from her. Do you happen to know her?"

Mr. Van Styne glanced up at his companion.

She shook her head, and he said, closing the book, "Why, Sally Dolan was cook fer the Revere boys, and when they broke up, she started a bordin' house down on Morris Street. Then she took rheumatiz and was that crippled, she couldn't get about the kitchen no more, so she gave up. Her boys manage to keep her now, and she takes things easy. But she sure was a good cook!"

Much as Mrs. Fabian would have liked to question the old man about the Revere boys she feared he might remember that the cook was given a lot of old pictures when the boys "broke up", so she turned the subject adroitly.

"Well, I'll go and see what the girls have found out there, I guess. But I wish you'd fix a price on those four frames."

"Lem'me see, now. Sal Dolan didn't set no price, and if I say five dollars for the four, would you take 'em?"

"Dear me!" objected Mrs. Fabian, craftily. "The large one you said was worth about a dollar-thirty, and the fish-picture a dollar. That leaves two dollars and seventy cents for the other two. Isn't that pretty high for them?"

"But that fish picture makes a fine dinin' room piece, especially if you could get the mate what is a brace of quails."

"Oh well, rather than jew you down, I'll take them, if you will take the trouble to make me out a receipt for the four."

"Ain't this a cash sale?" queried the man, wonderingly.

"Of course, but two of them are for friends. I only intend keeping the other two. I want them, to have the bill to show, you see."

Thereupon Mr. Van Styne wrote out the bill on a scrap of paper and receipted it, and then counted the five one dollar bills Mrs. Fabian had paid him. "Ten per cent fer me and the rest for Sally," he added as he rolled fifty cents inside four one dollar bills and pocketed the other fifty cents.

Mrs. Fabian was about to go for the pictures, when Polly came out. "I want to ask the auctioneer how much this little box and mirror are?" and she showed a lovely little Empire dressing-mirror to him. It was scratched and had been varnished, but its former beauty could be quickly restored, for the form and material were good as ever.

"I'm told that is a real antique. That piece come from the old Revere place, too. Mrs. Dolan says she heard it was used by the boy's grandmother. But I don't know what to charge."

"I'll give you ten dollars for it," eagerly said Polly.

"Ten dollars!" gasped the man, sinking back in his desk-chair.

Mrs. Fabian tried to signal Polly, but the girl was too intent on securing the gem. Then Mrs. Fabian said to the man:

"Dear me! The child has more money than brains, eh?" and laughed heartily.

"I ain't so sure about that. She certainly knows a good thing," returned Mr. Van Styne. Then he said to Polly: "Will you carry it right along with you, if I sell it for ten?"

"Of course!" declared she, and the sale was made.

"I guess we'd better be going, Polly," suggested Mrs. Fabian, now. This told the girl that the deal over the pictures had been consummated, but she did not ask questions then.

Mrs. Fabian went back to gather up her four precious pictures, and had the other girls help her carry them away. Then they bid the good old man good-by and started off.

"Come again, when you have more time to poke around," said he, as he stood on the doorstep watching them walk towards the car which was waiting a short distance down the street.

"We certainly will, and if you get anything really antique in the place at any time, drop me word, or telephone to the address I left on your desk, just now," said Mrs. Fabian.

Once the hunters were safely on the way to New York, the girls importuned Mrs. Fabian to tell them the story of the pictures, but she laughingly remarked:

"Do you know, we forgot all about our luncheon! Poor Carl must be famished!"

"Not much," retorted Carl. "I went to that quick lunch-room across from the old junk-shop, and got the best dinner for forty cents that I ever tasted. But we will stop for a picnic, when we reach the country, if you say so."

"No, indeed! We'll eat as we drive along, Carl," said Mrs. Fabian, then turning to the girls, she told the tale[A] of the old pictures and what she paid for them.

"Why!" gasped the wondering girls. "It can't be possible!"

At that, Mrs. Fabian produced the bill of sale and said: "I got this in case there ever should be any dispute over the legality of this negotiation. The two awful pictures we can give to some family along the road, but the two precious ones we will cherish as if they were the Koh-i-noor Diamond."

When the Ashbys and Mr. Fabian heard the story, and saw the validity of the two pictures, they sat astounded. Mr. Fabian then said:

"Polly really ought to immortalize her name by presenting this missing scroll to the Metropolitan Museum, but she can keep the letter and newspaper. That ought to be worth the price she paid for the 'glass'."

"That's just what I'll do, Mr. Fabian. I would never feel happy if I kept a thing that is considered so rare, and has been sought for by the Museum's collectors."

So Polly Brewster's name is to be found ticketed as the donor of the twelfth valuable picture in that set.

——- [Footnote A: True incident in author's experience.]



CHAPTER X

UNEXPECTED NEWS FROM PEBBLY PIT

The young collectors experienced the usual "red-tape" in offering the rare picture to the Museum, and after the customary delays, it was accepted with letters of thanks. Individual letters from several officials were written to Polly and her friends, voicing the appreciation of the men at being able to complete the series.

Shortly after this pleasing incident, the girls went out on another excursion just across the Hudson, in New Jersey. They took the ferry at One Hundred and Thirtieth Street, and after reaching Edgewater, drove through the small towns nestling on the Hackensack, until they came to the village of Hasbrouck Heights. All about this section are old, old houses, and if you hunt keenly enough, you will find delightful odd bits from Revolutionary days.

That evening, upon their return, the girls were eager to compare their trophies of the day, but the maid came in with a day letter for Polly. The others waited for her to read it, and as she read, her expression changed perceptibly.

"Oh, oh! It's happened again!" cried she fearfully, as she finished the letter.

"What! What has happened?" anxiously asked her companions, crowding about her.

"Another slide on Grizzly. This time it has destroyed everything so that mining the gold is out of the question," and Polly gave the message to Mrs. Fabian to read aloud.

"Bad land-slide on Grizzly. Demolished all machinery and wiped out the entire surface of mountain-top. No lives lost, but cave and vein of ore lost. Topography completely changed. Wait for summer to start new search and locate gold. Letter sent to Latimer and Dalken. Ask them for particulars. John Brewster."

"Oh, Polly! That means that our gold mine has vanished, and all our income from it will be stopped!" cried Eleanor.

"We haven't had any income to stop," replied Polly, cynically. "About all the good we've ever had from Choko's Find Mine has been violent physical exercise, expenses and the dreams that buoy hope."

Her friends laughed in spite of the seriousness of the matter, and Eleanor added: "It also means that Daddy, and all of our New York investors, have lost the money they invested in the project."

"Well, when Tom Latimer called on me the evening after our ducking in the Bay, he said he was not in favor of working on the mine so late in the season. He thought John was taking dreadful risks to keep the plant open when snowstorms and slides were imminent.

"But John told him that plenty of snow was just what was needed on the peaks, to cement the chasms and crevices together that had been opened by the summer's heat and continued drought all Fall. In case no snow came, he said he would agree to abandon work when the cold weather became too severe to remain at that altitude."

"This unexpected accident and loss of the mine does not prevent the output of the lava jewels, Polly, so there'll be no noticeable difference in your income, will there?" asked Mrs. Fabian.

"Well, Tom explained it all to me. He said that mine affairs were so involved with the jewel works at Rainbow Cliffs, that one disaster affected the other interest. Rainbow Cliffs is part of Pebbly Pit Ranch, so the Cliffs were incorporated when work began on the mining of the lava. Then when trouble at Choko's Find Mine started, the mines at Rainbow Cliffs were mortgaged to secure financial aid for the gold mine on the mountains. So that everything is mixed up now in this calamity," explained Polly, tearfully.

Soon after this, the telephone rang. Mr. Latimer said he was coming to call, that evening, and Mr. Dalken wished to come in at the same time. Would the girls be home?

Polly assured him they would, and also that he would be welcomed as she wished to hear about the important matters that he could fully explain to her.

Soon after eight o'clock, therefore, Mr. Latimer and Mr. Dalken were announced. Polly and Eleanor—the latter had realized that maybe her future, because of this disaster to the mine would not be as luxurious as she had dreamed of—anxiously welcomed the two men. Polly lost no time in polite nothings, but asked, at once, about the conditions at the mines.

"I see you have heard about the trouble?" ventured Mr. Latimer.

"Yes, I received a long night letter from home, this afternoon. But they do not say whether there is anything left to pay my way in New York, or whether I ought to start for home," said Polly.

Eleanor was shocked at her words. "Why, Polly, surely you have no dread of such being the case, just because our old gold mine is choked again?"

"Don't you understand, Nolla, that starting work on the mine, and all the machinery for it, costs so much that not only is the lava mine involved, but the very ranch is risked. Maybe father will have to sell out his beloved farm and go away," explained Polly, with quivering lips.

"Oh no, Polly," hastily came from Mr. Latimer. "We are all stock-holders in this venture, you know, and one man alone does not bear the costs of the mine and its losses. That is why Mr. Dalken and I came over, tonight, when we got word that John had written you. We feared you might not understand matters."

"But I understand father, well enough, Mr. Latimer. He will never permit anyone to lose a penny because of him or his interests."

"Maybe he won't, Polly, but this mining venture was as much our interest as yours, or your father's, remember. It seems gone, this time, but we must take our loss as courageously as we would our profits. Tom wired me to come and see you and explain that you need make no change in any of your plans, as everything would go on as usual at the ranch. He and John will devote all of their time to the Cliffs now, instead of dividing their attention between the two mines, as they have been doing, heretofore," explained Mr. Latimer.

"But your mother wrote me, Polly," now said Mr. Dalken, "that finances would be rather strained for the next year, because of this tremendous outlay on the mines and no income; and the terrible drought that killed off so many head of cattle on the ranch this year, makes things look rather unpromising. I know how practical you are, and I thought it best to let you hear how matters stand. Your folks asked me not to mention it, because they wanted you to finish your studies here, and there are ample funds to pay for that. But I took it upon myself to warn you about going deeply into any antique purchases, in your auction fever."

"I'm so glad you did, Mr. Dalken. As you say, I am not a silly child, and now that I know exactly how matters are at home, I will see if I cannot do something while studying in New York, to pay my own way," responded Polly, anxiously.

"Oh, it isn't as bad as that, Child!" laughed Mr. Latimer; "but it is best for you not to buy in Fifth Avenue shops, or give away rare old bargains from the country."

Polly smiled. "Mr. Latimer, this is what I propose doing to earn my expenses in New York. Instead of buying old objects for fun, I shall secure them to sell again and make money."

"Poll is right! And I propose going with her as the partner in her first business venture!" declared Eleanor.

"Where will you two girls find customers?" asked Mr. Dalken, admiring the way they accepted the news that their gold mine seemed wiped out for all time.

"Oh, Polly'll find a way, never fear!" declared Eleanor with fervent faith in her friend's ability to accomplish things.

"Yes, I'll get Mr. Ashby, first of all, to permit us to exhibit our goods in his 'odd room' and we'll pay him a commission for sales, just as other folks do who wish to exchange, or sell, their antiques," explained Polly.

"Well, if you girls manage to find such valuable things as that famous missing picture that the Museum made such a time over, I should say you had found a big gold mine in New York instead of losing a little one in the Rockies," said Mr. Dalken.

So, shortly after the girls learned that they had to economise on expenses that year, Polly carried her old coverlets to Mr. Ashby's shop and left them with him to sell. The fine little mirror had been restored and was perfectly beautiful. This was placed on exhibition in the Empire Room of the Ashby Shop, but scarcely had it had time to be friendly with other rare objects in that room, before it was purchased at a high price. Thus Polly cleared several hundred dollars on the first sale, and felt encouraged to invest that money in new purchases.

Mr. Dalken gladly sent Carl with the car, to drive the girls whenever they heard of a place to visit, but Ruth and Nancy seldom accompanied them these days. Ruth had school to attend daily, and Nancy was painting a portrait for a famous stage beauty who had offered her an attractive price for the work.

The girls, with Mrs. Fabian, had gone again to New Jersey, after their great investment that day in Van Styne's place; but they drove on to Baskingridge that day, and stopped at several ancient farm-houses to ferret for old things. At one of the places, they secured some very old glassware, also odd pieces of Staffordshire, and a well-nigh complete set of old Wedgewood dishes.

At another house they got a set of old brass fire-irons and a crane with all the hangers and pots complete, just as it had been removed from the brick fire-place and thrown up in the attic.

At the third house, Polly became enamored of a wonderful sampler, and several very old silhouettes—the latter, very different from the kind we are familiar with. As these old relics were in the attic and were considered valueless, she got them for a very small sum.

While Polly was bargaining for these trifles, Eleanor was in the grandmother's room looking at several marvelous patch-work quilts. The old dame told Eleanor the story connected with each quilt; and one, the unusual one of silk pieces, as well as worsteds, patched in with calico, velvet and other odd materials, was said to be made of a collection of famous bits from gowns worn by the ladies of Revolutionary Days.

How the old grand-dame ever came into possession of such a valuable quilt, was beyond Eleanor's comprehension. Then Polly and the house-wife joined her, and Polly was shown the quilt.

"How very interesting," remarked she.

"Yes, and I'll tell you how it came about," explained Mrs. Johnson. "We've always lived on this place, and when the Army passed this way, our folks helped out in all sorts of ways.