“I hope so,” sighed Mrs. Dexter.
The auctioneering of the goods went on rapidly, and, toward the close of the afternoon, all that were not to be kept were disposed of. Mr. Rollinson cried his last “Going! Going! Gone!” brought his hammer down for the last time with a loud bang, and then announced that the sale was over.
“Where’s your mother, Larry?” he asked of the boy.
“I’ll call her.”
In a few minutes Larry had brought Mrs. Dexter to where the deputy sheriff waited for her in the parlor.
“Wa’al, everthing’s sold,” Mr. Rollinson began. “Didn’t bring as much as I cal’lated on, but then ye never can git much at a forced sale.”
“How much will I have left after all expenses are paid?” asked Mrs. Dexter.
“Allowin’ for everything,” said the auctioneer, figuring up on the back of an envelope, “you’ll have jest four hundred and three dollars and forty-five cents, the odd cents bein’ for some pictures.”
“It is very little to begin life over again on,” said Mrs. Dexter.
“But it’s better than nothin’,” said Mr. Rollinson, who seldom looked on the dark side of things. “Now I made the sale of these household things dependent on you. You can stay here two weeks if ye want t’, an’ nothin’ will be taken away. Them as bought it understands it.”