At first it seemed incredible that any one would buy clothing which for years had hung in closets, or been packed in trunks away from moths and carpet bugs.  But what had been done in other places could be done in District No. 5, and never was a more heterogeneous mass of goods of every description gathered together than was sent to the Rummage rooms the day before the sale, and dumped upon tables and chairs and boxes, until they nearly reached the rather low ceiling.  There were old bonnets and hats, and boots and shoes and dresses, and coats and trousers and vests, and draperies and dishes, and stoves and chairs and tables and bedsteads, with books and old magazines and toys.

There was Mrs. Biggs’s foot-stove and warming-pan, which had been her mother’s, and a brass kettle, which had belonged to her grandmother, and which Mrs. Parker, the lady from western New York, said was the most valuable of all the articles sent.  Antiques were sure to sell to relic hunters, and a big price must be put upon them, she told the committee who looked in dismay at the piles of goods as they came pouring in, wondering how they were ever to bring anything like order out of the confusion.  They could not have done it without Mrs. Parker and Ruby Ann, the latter of whom had obtained permission to dismiss school for two days, and worked early and late.  She had laid siege to the Crompton House, from which most of the others shrank.  The Colonel was a rather formidable old fellow to meet, if he was in a mood with twinges in his foot, while Mrs. Amy was scarcely well enough known to the people generally to make them care to interview her.

On the strength of having been to school with her and known her since “she was knee high,” Mrs. Biggs offered to call upon her, but declined seeing the Colonel, who, she heard, didn’t believe in the Rummage.  Ruby Ann, however, was selected as the fittest person to see both, and had undertaken the task with her usual assurance and energy.  She found Amy a fine subject.  The idea of giving always appealed to her, and she began at once to think of what she would send.  The dresses she had worn as a concert singer were hateful to her, and she brought them from a closet and spread them upon chairs and tables, while Ruby looked on admiringly and wonderingly, too, as fans and gloves and sashes and ribbons were laid with the dresses, and Amy grew more excited and eager every moment.

“We’ll go to the attic now,” she said; “my doll house is there.”

They climbed the stairs and found the house packed away as it had been for years.

“It may as well be sold and make some child happy,” Amy said as she took off its wrappings.

In it was Mandy Ann, the doll the Colonel had bought in Savannah, and Judy, lying on her face in a pile of dust.  Amy took her up tenderly, saying, “Do you think anybody will buy her?”

There was a little choke in her voice as she asked the question, for the sight of Judy had stirred memories which often flitted through her weak brain and puzzled her, they were so misty and yet so sweet, like the negro melodies she hummed to herself or sang to an imaginary baby.