The twenty-five dollars Bart received was the nest egg of a fund being saved up for his father's benefit.
Mr. Stirling could now distinguish night from day, and in a few weeks they intended to take him to an expert oculist in the city for special treatment.
Amid all this encouragement, Bart's life was filled with contentment and earnest endeavor, and he tried to deserve the good fortune that was his lot, and fulfill every duty thoroughly. About a week before the present time he had received a brief letter from his roustabout friend, Baker, dated from a town about fifty miles away, telling him that he had been working on a steady job, but had some business in Pleasantville in a few days, and asked Bart to write him as to the whereabouts of Colonel Harrington.
Bart had replied to this letter, wondering what mystery could possibly connect this homeless vagabond and the great ruling magnate of Pleasantville.
"Now then, my friends," said Bart briskly, as he saw to it that everything was in order for the sale, "the motto for the hour is quick action and cash on delivery!"
About two o'clock there were several arrivals. Half an hour later the place was pretty well filled. There were several village storekeepers, some traveling men from the hotel, and railroad men off duty.
Nearly a dozen country rigs drove up to the platform, and the rural population was well represented.
At three o'clock prompt, as advertised, Bart ascended the little platform and took up the gavel.
Just then he nodded at a newcomer who entered the doorway and quietly took a seat. It was Mr. Baker.
Bart was more pleased than surprised to see him. He had anticipated his arrival the last two days.