"Gracious! Why, I never thought of that! I don't want it. I just wanted the fun of bidding. Can't I pay it and leave it and they can sell it over again?"
"You bid rashly," the preacher said, though his eyes were smiling and his usual tone of admonition was absent from his voice. "I think you may be able to sell it to the woman who was bidding against you."
"I'll find her and give it to her."
She elbowed her way through the crowd until she reached the place from which the opposing voice had come. She looked about a moment, then addressed a woman near her. "Do you know who was bidding on the cradle?"
"Yes, it was Hetty here, the one with the white waist. Here, Hetty, this lady wants to talk to you."
"To me?" echoed the rival bidder for the cradle.
"Did you bid on the cradle?" asked Phœbe.
"Yes, but I didn't get it. I only wanted it because it was in the family so long. I'm a Brubaker. I said I wouldn't give more than fifty cents for it, for it would just stand up in the garret anyway, and be one more thing to move around at housecleaning time. Yet I'd liked to have it. I don't know who got it."
"I did, but I don't want it. I'd like to give it to you."
"Why"—the woman was amazed—"what did you bid on it for?"