"Going to a vendue," he announced. "Now how much do you know?"

Morgan tossed her head, and elevated her teeny, freckled nose.

"A vendue?" she repeated. "Why, a vendue is a--a--what is it, Bob?"

"A sale," said Bob. "Some farmer is going to sell out and Peabodywants a wagon. So I have to ride that horse fourteen miles and back--and he has a backbone like a razor blade!--to buy a wagon; that is,if no one bids over me."

"And Mr. Peabody won't pay more than six dollars; he exclaimed so at thesupper table last evening," mourned Betty. "You'll never be able to buya wagon for that. I wish I could go, too. Bob, I never saw a countryvendue. Please, can't I?"

"You cannot," said in reply Bob with unaccustomed decision. Betty usuallywheedled him into granting her requests. "Haven't I just told youthere is nothing to go in? If you look at yourself perched on that raw-bonednag with me, I don't, that's all. But I tell you what; there'sa sale to-morrow at a farm this side of Glenside--I'll take you tothat, if you like. I guess Peabody will let me off, seeing as howthere are wagons advertised. We can easily walk to Faulkner's place."