by the harsh cry of the auctioneer:

"Three thousand dollars!" he called. "Going at three thousand dollars! Any
advance on three thousand dollars. Going at three thousand dollars. Once--
twice--third--and--"

"Three thousand one hundred," came suddenly from Parson John.

An earthquake shock could hardly have startled the men more than this bid
from such an unexpected quarter.

Farrington's face reddened, and he moved a step nearer to be sure that he
had not been mistaken.

"Did I hear aright?" he gasped. "Did the parson add one hundred to my
bid?"

"Three thousand one hundred dollars from Parson Westmore," shouted the
auctioneer. "Any advance on three thousand one hundred dollars?"

"Another hundred, then, damn it," and Farrington thrust his hands deeper
into his pockets, while his eyes gleamed with an angry light.

"Three thousand five hundred," came the quiet response.

Silence followed this last bid, which plainly proved that Farrington, too,
was weakening. He looked around as if uncertain what to do, and his eyes
rested upon Mrs. Frenelle. In her eagerness she had moved from the door,
and was standing near the group of men with her eyes fixed full upon the
clergyman. The expression upon her face was that of a drowning person,