Poor Bob, who had often been forbidden a meal as punishment, now
mechanically tried to eat the unappetizing food placed before him.
Betty was terribly disappointed about the sale, for she had set her
heart on going. There were few pleasures open to her as a member of
the household at Bramble Farm, and, with the exception of the Guerin
girls in town, she had no girl friends her own age. Bob had proved
himself a sympathetic, loyal chum, and he alone had made the summer
endurable.

"Don't care!" she cried, to console the boy, as Peabody and his
helper went out of the house to begin the field work for the day.
"Don't care, Bob. I really don't mind not going to the sale."

Mrs. Peabody was in the pantry, straining the milk.

"We're going," whispered Bob. "You meet me right after dinner at the
end of the lane. I'm sick of being knocked around, and I think Jim
Turner will be at the sale. I want to see him. Anyway, we're going."

"But--but Mr. Peabody will be furious!" ventured Betty. "You know
what a scene he will make, Bob. Do you think we had better go?"

"You needn't," said Bob ungraciously. "I am."

"Of course, if you go, so will I," replied Betty, swallowing a sharp
retort. Bob was badgered enough without a contribution from her.
"Perhaps he will not miss us--we can get back in time for supper."

Immediately after dinner at noon Mr. Peabody sent Bob out to the hay