She could not help feeling a little guilty, though all the time telling herself that it was a worthless old book, and that her mamma often gave her old magazines to try her own paints upon.
Yet, when she heard a step on the stairs, she started guiltily, and shut the book with a snap, then put down her brush, unaware that she had upset the glass of water in her haste, and that it was running across the table and soaking through the book.
She hurried out of the door leading to the porch. Here she could listen to the voice of the auctioneer, as it came to her ears quite distinctly from across the street. It had stopped raining, though little puddles still lay among the bricks of the walk.
“Any one can go,” thought Mabel; “mamma said so. I should love to see a nauction. And that little boy, I wonder if he is there.”
It was mild spring weather, and Mabel thought she could dispense with a hat. She would rather not go in the house again just then; “I’ll go to the nauction,” she said. “It’s no more than going to a store; mamma said so.”
So, running across the street, she stood for a moment before the gate of the little boy’s home, then slipped in; another moment found her in a room full of people. She turned to run away, as several turned to look at her, but she caught sight of the forlorn figure of a little boy huddled up in one corner, hugging a large dog, and towards these two she made her way.
The little boy looked up with a faint smile as Mabel approached, then made room for her on the box on which he was sitting.
“Isn’t it funny?” whispered Mabel, while the auctioneer went on rapidly: “A dollar an’ a half an’ a half.”
But the little boy didn’t look as if he thought it very funny, for he turned his head away, and Mabel thought she saw two tears rolling down his cheeks.
“Is your father here?” she asked.