Directly under this woven coverlet was a white spread. It was very old and torn at the corners, but the rest of it was in good condition. Mrs. Fabian saw at once that it was a spread of the finest candle-wicking style she had ever seen. It must have dated back to the early part of the eighteenth century.
Under this white bed-spread were small bundles of hand-spun linen towels, yellow with age but in perfect condition as to wear. But the greatest find of all, in this box, were the old brasses in the bottom.
Wrapped in papers to keep them clean, Polly found a long-handled warming-pan; a set of fire-irons—the tongs, shovel, and andirons of the famous “acorn-top” design; and a funny old foot-warmer. A pair of ancient bellows was the last article found in the box, but the leather was so dry and old that pieces fell out when Polly tried to make the bellows work.
“I must go right down and tell that clerk about these wonderful things. They must have overlooked them when they listed all the other articles in the house,” said Mrs. Fabian.
Eleanor held her back and said: “You’d better not tell him the news in that excited manner. He’ll understand at once, that these things are desirable, and then we’ll have to pay well for them.”
“You’re right, Nolla!” laughed Nancy, and her mother admitted as much.
“Why couldn’t we just take them down to the kitchen and pile them on the table. No one will know that we want them, and should anyone ask what we were doing up here and by what right we carried them down from the attic, we can honestly say that Abner said we could go over the house and see if there was anything we liked to buy,” said Polly, with a collector’s instinct for not paying extortionate prices for what she wanted.
The girls laughed, but each one caught up some object, and having gathered all safely in their arms, they started down. The kitchen, being the least desirable room to visit in the farmer’s wife’s judgment, no one was there when Mrs. Fabian and the girls returned to it. Their discoveries were piled on the old drop-leaf table, and they grouped themselves at the doorways to keep guard over the prizes.
A loud voice was shouting at the open front door, saying: “This are the terms of the sale: Everything bid on ’s got to be paid fer the same day and removed from the premises in twenty-four hours—all but th’ barn-stock. You’se kin take forty-eight hours fer them. I expecks everyone to pay cash fer anything they buy, ’cause I got enough trouble at that last sale at Hubbells’ when a lot of you folks bid on stuff an’ then went home an’ left it on my hands. Hubbell’s son had to give ’em away at last, and I lost all that commission. So, none of that, at this vendue!”
Some of the assembled people looked guilty, and the auctioneer rode rough-shod over their feelings. “Anudder thing: Don’t haggle on a cent! When I call out a decent bid on a thing, raise it a nickel, at least, if you wants it. This cent business—and at Hubbell’s vendue, some of you’se even bid half a cent at a time—makes me tired! If a thing ain’t wuth a cent more to yeh, then let it go to the other feller what wants it!”