"That's that old sugar lot up by the big ledge, where Willis and Ben
were making syrup," said I. "Ad, whatever did you do with that pocketful
of auger chips?"
Addison glanced at me queerly. He seemed disturbed, but said nothing.
The following forenoon, when he and I were making a hot-bed for early
garden vegetables, he remarked that he meant to go to that auction.
It was not the kind of auction sale that draws a crowd of people; there
was only one piece of property to be sold, and that was an expensive
one. Not more than twenty persons came to it--mostly prosperous farmers
or lumbermen, who intended to buy the place as a speculation if it
should go at a low price. The old Squire was not there; he had gone to
Portland the day before; but Addison went over, as he had planned, and
Willis Murch and I went with him.
Hilburn, the tax collector, was there, and two of the selectmen of the
town, besides Cole, the auctioneer. At four o'clock Hilburn stood on the
house steps, read the published notice of the sale and the court warrant
for it. The town, he said, would deduct $114--the amount of unpaid
taxes--from the sum received for the farm.
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