It was bitterly cold, and having nothing but a light overcoat on, the young auctioneer was chilled to the bone. He was compelled to caper about and clap his hands continually to keep from being frozen. The snow, now fine and hard, beat into his face mercilessly, and to protect himself from this he pulled his hat far down over his eyes, and tied his handkerchief over his mouth and nose.

But the hardships of the storm were not to be endured for long. A quarter of a mile further on they came to a large farmhouse, situated some little distance back from the road. In the rear was a barn and a cow-shed.

Running ahead, Matt knocked upon the door of the house. It was opened by an elderly farmer, who was smoking, and who held a paper in his hand.

"Good-afternoon," said the young auctioneer. "Can we get shelter here for ourselves and our horse? We are willing to pay for the accommodation."

"What's the matter? Caught on the road?" returned the farmer pleasantly.

"Yes, sir," and Matt briefly narrated the particulars.

"Drive right around to the barn," were the farmer's welcome words.

"I'll open up for you and make your horse comfortable enough."

And reaching for his hat and coat, he put them on and came outside.

Andy was not slow to drive Billy into shelter. The barn was a large one, and far from filled, and the wagon went in without difficulty.

As soon as the horse had been cared for, the young auctioneers followed the farmer back to the house. The family had just finished their dinner, but set to work at once to prepare food for the half-frozen and exhausted travelers.

While Matt and Andy were warming up they told the farmer about the cases which had been left on the road.

"I suppose they ought not to be left there too long," said Andy. "If I had a light wagon and a pair of strong horses I would go after them as soon as I've had something to eat."

"Don't you mind; I'll go after 'em for you," said the farmer. "I've got Sam and Bess, and they can pull through most anything. Perhaps after you've had dinner it will be too late."

"Well, if you get them we will pay you whatever it is worth," returned Matt's partner.

The farmer set about the trip without delay, and just as Andy and Matt were called to the dining-table he drove out of the yard.

The meal was a good one, there being plenty to eat and all of it well served. To the two half-famished ones it seemed to be about the best meal they had ever tasted.

After it was over they sat down by the fire and began to chat with the farmer's wife, a motherly creature of the same age as her husband.

Every five minutes Matt would walk to the window to see if the farmer was yet returning.

It was nearly an hour before Mr. Pearsall, for such was the farmer's name, drove up to the door. Matt and Andy ran out to meet him, and were relieved to learn that the cases of goods had been brought in good condition. They were taken around to the barn and there transferred to their original places on the auction wagon.

Mr. Pearsall was curious to know something of their business, and when they were once more in the house the two young auctioneers told their story, to which both the farmer and his wife listened with deep interest.

As it continued to snow, Matt and Andy decided to remain at the farmhouse over night, and arrangements were made to that effect. They spent a pleasant evening, and all hands retired early.

In the morning, much to their joy, they found that the snow had stopped coming down, and that the sun was shining brightly. They had an early breakfast, and then, after settling with Mr. Pearsall, who did not wish cash, but took goods his wife desired instead, they set off for Pittston, which was scarcely half a mile distant.

Billy had had a good rest, and the city mentioned above was reached in a short while. Here they arranged for an extra horse, that was. .h.i.tched up in front of their own. In this manner they started for Scranton with more confidence.

The road was as rocky and uneven as before, but it being bright and clear, they were enabled to avoid hollows with ease. They stopped at Taylor for dinner, and arrived in Scranton an hour before nightfall, tired out, but happy to think that their journey, for the balance of the week at least, was over.

As soon as they had settled in a vacant store Matt left Andy in charge and hurried to the post-office, to look for a letter from Ida Bartlett. He was not disappointed; the letter was there, and he read it with deep interest.

"Since receiving your letter," she wrote, "I have been watching Mr.

Fenton closely, and I am satisfied that he is much disturbed over the fact that Mr. Gaston has left his employ and that he was threatened with exposure. I have also taken the liberty to write to Mr. Gaston, but have, as yet, received no reply. Will write again as soon as he answers. It is a pity you cannot find out what became of your poor father and the papers."

CHAPTER x.x.xVII.

MORE OF AUCTION LIFE.

"Yes, I would give every cent I am worth, and more, to learn what did become of father," said Matt to Andy, after he had allowed his partner to peruse the letter.

"I have no doubt you would, Matt," returned Andy feelingly. "I can imagine how much it worries you--not knowing if he is dead or alive.

But you must keep a stout heart and trust to the future to clear up the mystery."

"I'm trying to do that, but, Andy, it's hard work," and Matt's handsome face took on an unusually sober look.

Knowing that nothing could be gained by discussing the matter, which had been talked over a score of times previously, Andy changed the subject. Business had opened very well, and he wished to go out and have some circulars printed, by which even a larger crowd might be attracted to the sale.

It remained clear for two days, and during that time both of the young auctioneers were kept busy from eight o'clock in the morning until eleven at night.

On the third day it began to grow warmer, and by noon it was raining steadily.

"Well, never mind, the rain will wash the snow away, and if it only stays clear afterward we will have a chance to get on to Carbondale,"

was Andy's cheerful comment.

Seeing that Matt could get along very well alone, he left the store in the afternoon to buy a heavy overcoat at some clothing establishment.

If he procured what he wished, Matt was to buy one also.

Left to himself, the young auctioneer did what he could to attract trade, but without success. He waited on the few customers who had drifted in, but when they were gone found himself alone.

Rather than have the time hang heavily upon his hands he began to clean up the stock. Cutlery and spoons need constant care to keep them looking bright, and Matt was, therefore, never at a loss for employment.

While he was hard at work shining up some silver-plated ware which was slightly tarnished through handling, the door of the store was flung open violently, and a large, heavily-built man staggered in. At a glance Matt saw that the man was much the worse for the liquor he had drunk.

"Say, is this an auction store?" grunted the man, as he tried to walk up to the counter with some show of steadiness.

"It is," returned the young auctioneer briefly. Of all persons to deal with he hated a drunken man the worst.

"It is, hey--a genuine auction store?" went on the tipsy individual.

"Yes. What can I do for you?" and Matt put the silverware he was handling away.

"I want to buy a pistol."

Matt was surprised at this statement, and he was also alarmed. The tipsy man was certainly not the person to have a firearm in his possession.

"You wish a pistol?" he said slowly.