Betty Gordon in Washington | Page 9

pleasures open to her as a member of the
household at Bramble Farm, and, with the exception of the Guerin girls
in town, she had no girl friends her own age. Bob had proved himself a
sympathetic, loyal chum, and he alone had made the summer
endurable.
"Don't care!" she cried, to console the boy, as Peabody and his helper
went out of the house to begin the field work for the day. "Don't care,
Bob. I really don't mind not going to the sale."
Mrs. Peabody was in the pantry, straining the milk.
"We're going," whispered Bob. "You meet me right after dinner at the

end of the lane. I'm sick of being knocked around, and I think Jim
Turner will be at the sale. I want to see him. Anyway, we're going."
"But--but Mr. Peabody will be furious!" ventured Betty. "You know
what a scene he will make, Bob. Do you think we had better go?"
"You needn't," said Bob ungraciously. "I am."
"Of course, if you go, so will I," replied Betty, swallowing a sharp
retort. Bob was badgered enough without a contribution from her.
"Perhaps he will not miss us--we can get back in time for supper."
Immediately after dinner at noon Mr. Peabody sent Bob out to the hay
loft to pitch down hay for the balers who were expected to come and
set up their machine that night, ready for work the next day. He could
not have selected a meaner job, for the hay loft was stifling in the heat
of the midday sun which beat down on the roof of the barn, and there
were only two tiny windows to supply air. Mr. Peabody himself was
going up in the woods to mark trees for some needed fence rails.
Bob departed with a significant backward glance at Betty, which sent
her flying upstairs to get into a clean frock. Mrs. Peabody manifested
so little interest in her activities that the girl anticipated no difficulty in
getting safely out of the house. As it happened, her hostess made the
way even easier.
"If you're going to Glenside, Betty," she remarked dully, stopping in
the doorway of Betty's room as the girl pulled on her hat, "I wish you'd
see if Grimshaw has any meat scraps. Joseph might get me a bit the
next time he goes over. Just ask how much it is, an' all--the hens need
something more than they're getting."
Betty knew that Joseph Peabody would never buy meat scraps for his
wife's hens. Indeed, she had priced stuff several times at Mrs.
Peabody's request and nothing had ever come of it. But she agreed to
go to Grimshaw's if she got that far in her walk, and Mrs. Peabody
turned aside into her own room without asking any questions.

"Gee! thought you never were coming," complained Bob, when the
slim figure in the navy serge skirt and white middy met him at the end
of the lane road. "The sale starts at one sharp, you know, and we'll miss
the first of it. Lots of 'em will come in overalls, so I'll be in style."
Before they had walked very far they were overtaken by a rattling
blackboard, drawn by a lean, raw-boned white horse and driven by a
cheerful farmer's wife who invited them to "hop in," an invitation
which they accepted gratefully. She was going to the Faulkner vendue,
she informed them, and her heart was set on three wooden wash tubs
and seven yards of ingrain carpet advertised in the list of household
goods offered for sale.
"My daughter's going to set up for herself next fall," she said happily,
"and that ingrain will be just the thing for her spare room."
When they reached the Faulkner farm, a rather commonplace group of
buildings set slightly in a hollow, they found teams and automobiles of
every description blocking the lane that led to the house.
Bob tied the white horse to an unoccupied post for the woman, and she
hastened away, worried lest the ingrain carpet be sold before she could
reach the crowd surrounding the auctioneer.
Betty, for whom all this was a brand-new experience, enjoyed the
excitement keenly. She followed Bob up to the front porch of the house
where the household effects were being put up for sale, Bob explaining
that the live stock would be sold later.
"Well, look who's here!" cried a hearty voice, as a man, moving aside
to give Betty room, allowed the person standing next to him to see the
girl's face. "Betty Gordon! And Bob, too! Not thinking of going to
farming, are you?"
Gray-haired, kindly-faced Doctor Guerin shook hands cordially, and
kept a friendly arm across Bob's thin shoulders.
"Friends of yours coming home next Tuesday," he said, smiling