"Ach, it don't," Phœbe heard a voice exclaim. "That never belonged to any person called Bellem; that was old Amanda Brubaker's for years and she used to tell me that it belonged to her grandmother once. That man don't know what he's saying, but that's the way these auctioneers do; you can't believe half they say at a sale half the time."
Phœbe looked up at Phares; both smiled, but the loquacious auctioneer, not knowing the comments he was causing, went on serenely:
"Yes, sir, this is a real old piece of furniture, a real antique. Look at this, everybody—a chest of drawers, a highboy, some people call it, but it's pretty by any name. All of it is genuine mahogany trimmed with inlaid pieces of white wood. Start it up, somebody. What will you give for the finest thing we have here at this sale to-day? What's bid? Good! I'm bid five dollars to begin; shows you know a good thing when you see it. Five dollars—make it ten?"
"Ten," answered Phares Eby.
Phœbe gave a start of surprise as the preacher's voice came in answer to the entreaty of the auctioneer.
"Phares," she whispered, "I didn't mean that I want to buy it."
"I am buying it," he said calmly, an inscrutable smile in his eyes. "You like it, don't you?"
She felt a vague uneasiness at his words, at the new sound of tenderness in his voice.
"Yes, I like it, but——"
"Then we'll talk about that some other day soon," he returned, and looked again at the busy auctioneer.