she fancied she saw something in his comrade’s face which roused her pity and stirred her to sympathy.  That, having made it unasked, the former should slight a promise of the kind appeared incomprehensible and she felt that if he did so her faith in the type he served as an example of would fall with him.  There was also pressing need of some one to look to for guidance in her time of necessity, because Townshead was not the man to grapple with any difficulty, and most of his neighbours knew little or nothing about the cities.

“Father,” she said, “in case the purchaser turns us out where shall we go to-night?  The stage does not go in to the railroad until a week to-day, and do you think there will be anything left over to keep us for a little in Vancouver?”

Townshead glanced at her querulously.  “Somebody will take us in,” said he.  “I should have fancied, my dear, that you would have seen I am sufficiently distressed and unwell to-day without having to anticipate further difficulties.  There will, I hope, be a balance.  What is the bidding now?”

The girl listened, but for a few moments there was a significant silence, and her heart sank when a single voice rose.  One or two others joined in, and there was silence again until the auctioneer repeated the offer.  Then she turned quivering towards her father.

“You heard him?” she said.

Townshead groaned despondently, “I am afraid the prospect of a balance is very small,” he said.

Again there was a stillness in the clearing, until the auctioneer’s voice rose raucously expostulating.  “It is really preposterous, gentlemen,” he said.  “I’m giving the place away.”

“Well, I’ll go ten better,” said somebody, and the girl held her breath,

“Twenty!” said another man, and there was a laugh.

“Then that takes me.  You can have the ranch.”

The voice of the auctioneer rose again.  “Nobody to follow him?  Your last chance, gentlemen.  He’s getting it for nothing.  Too late in a moment.  Going—­going.”

Nellie Townshead closed her hands and turned her head away, then sprang up quivering with the revulsion from despair to hope.  Through the silence she heard a faint drumming down the valley.

“He is coming.  Stop them, father,” she said.

Nobody else apparently heard the sound.  The eyes of all in the clearing were fixed upon the auctioneer, and while Townshead rose from his chair he brought down his hand.

“It’s yours, sir,” he said, “I’ll take your cheque, or you can fill this contract in if you’re bidding for the smaller lots.”

Nellie Townshead grew white in face as she glanced towards her father.  Townshead stood still, gripping the back of his chair.

“We are homeless now,” he said.