The Auctioneer Read Online Free PDF Page A

sale,” she said. “I see a bed frame looks quite fancy.”
    So John and Mim and Hildie moved toward the bandstand and wandered among the things set out for sale.
    “A heap of barns gettin’ cleaned this year,” John said.
    “Why do you suppose anyone’d put this out to the barn? Mim asked, running her hand down the cornerpost of the fine spool bed Ma had spotted. It was beautifully oiled and finished. “This is a darn sight better than what I call rummage.”
    Hildie found a cast-off red wagon and arranged her sturdy self in it. She ran her hand lovingly around its rusted rim. “Not even one little thing?” She pleaded, for her parents had warned her they would not buy her anything.
    “Might not go for much,” Mim said.
    “We’ll see,” John said, heading back toward Ma.
    Hildie followed, pulling the wagon behind her. Then she set herself to kneeling in it, sitting in it, trying out the handle and all the wheels, her green balloon bobbing overhead.
     
    A ripple of attention passed through the crowd. On the porch of the old Fawkes place stood the auctioneer. He was as tall as Gore, but trim and upright. Despite his red plaid shirt open at the neck, there was something sharply formal about his stance which set him apart from the country Saturday slackness of the people waiting for him. His features were fine and tense and his skin was burned almost as brown as his hair. He stood looking out over the crowd, his hands in his pockets. Directly over his head, elaborate carved fretwork hung from the eaves, laced in and out with thick brown stalks of wisteria. Above the porch was the central window, and higher still, at the peak of the roof, a weather vane with a lynx turning restlessly in a light breeze beneath a pointed lightning rod. At the auctioneer’s heel sat a young golden retriever, the tip of her tail moving in tentative friendliness as she waited to walk with him into the crowd.
    Finally, a half smile of welcome on his lips, the auctioneer moved down his front steps, across the road, and into the crowd between his house and the bandstand.
    The people were beginning to fill in the seats and to settle themselves for the auction. They opened a way before Dunsmore, and he paused to nod and shake hands with everyone from Harlowe.
    When he reached the Moores, he stopped and looked at them. “The Moores, perhaps?” he said. “From up on Constance Hill?”
    John looked at Mim.
    “Lord sake,” Ma cried. “How’d you know that?”
    The auctioneer threw back his head and laughed. “I’ve been hoping you d come. You folks do keep to yourselves. I’ve met almost everyone else by now. And I’ve heard about Hildie’s corn-silk hair.” He reached out and placed a broad palm on Hildie’s head.
    Hildie stood with her mouth open and allowed herself to be caressed.
    The auctioneer stepped back and put his hands on his hips.
    “Do you like that red wagon, little lady?” he asked.
    Hildie clapped her thumb into her mouth and lifted trusting blue eyes to the auctioneer in assent.
    “Now there’s a lady knows her own mind,” he said to Mim with a broad smile, his dark eye catching momentarily on her face. “Now, Hildie. If you’ll just give up that precious wagon. Oh, only for a minute or two, don’t worry. I’ll kick off the whole shebang with your little wagon. That way your daddy can buy it for you right off.”
    But instead of letting go, Hildie plumped her bottom firmly into the bed of the wagon and hung on.
    “Now, Hildie, I’m a man of sterling honor, can’t you tell?” he asked.
    Hildie caught her bottom lip in a shy smile.
    He lifted her out of the wagon, kissing her on the forehead as he set her down next to Mim.
    He held out his hand to John. John, caught off guard, paused for an awkward second, then shook hands. “So glad to meet you folks at last,” said the auctioneer.
    “We’ve heard it’s quite a show,” John mumbled.
    Then the auctioneer picked up the rusty wagon and carried it