a
he
sudden
thought struck him, and
hastily rang the bell. '
"Uncle feter," he said, "who owns
what used to be Mr. Tom Blake's
Meadow Farm ?"
V F. 1 ( AN
"Old Mr. Brown, sah; he got power
ful rich on dat farm. Yo'see, sah, hit's
got a coal-mine in it. Oh, yes, sah, he's
rich." ,
"And Tom mortgaged that land to
save my old home," thought Mr. Ro
main, sorrowfully. "I wonder if Jt
could be that the check I sent from En
gland did not get to him in time? ' In
any case he's dead, and Nellie and the
children penniless, and "glancing at
the letter again---"a legacy to me.
"An auction almost at Christmas
Eve! Why, it seems fairly barbarous,"
thought Mr. Romain, indignantly, as
he entered what had been the pleasant
home of his friend Tom, and was so
soon to be left desolate under the hands
of the auctioneer.
It was early in the day, but already
the house was filled with neighbors
who had come from miles around to
attend the sale ; and as Mr. Romain
moved among them his ears were con
stantly greeted with remarks on the
foolishness of "signin' for people."
Sick at heart, he entered the little
kitchen back of the house, which was
as yet unoccupied, save by Mrs. Blake's
faithful old colored cook, Aunt Nancy.
She was sitting on a split-bottomed
chair, rocking herself to and fro, and
occasionally wiping her eyes with her
blue-checked apron..
"Where is your mistress, auntie?"
Mr. Romain asked.
