Howard had finished his business with Ruby Ann, and Jack had paid his five dollars and received the apron, slightly mussed, but looking fairly well in the box in which they put it.  A good many people were leaving the rooms again, and among them Tim, laden with his mother’s dish pan and towels, and dress and brass kettle, and one or two articles which she had bought.

“Hallo, Tim!  You look some like a pack horse,” Tom said, but Tim did not answer.

He was very tired, for with so many calling upon him through the day and evening; he had run miles and received only seventy cents for it.  He was chagrined that he had raised his own bid, and wondered Tom did not chaff him.  It would come in time, he knew, and he felt angry at Tom, and angry with the brass kettle and dish pan and dress which kept him from wheeling Eloise instead of Tom, who, when they finally started, took his place behind the chair as a matter of course, while Howard and Jack walked on either side.  It was a splendid night, and when Mrs. Biggs’s house was reached Howard and Jack would gladly have lingered outside talking to Eloise, if they could have disposed of the boys.  But the boys were not inclined to be disposed of.  Tom had become somebody in his own estimation, and intended to stay as long as the young men did, while Tim, having found the key, this time instead of entering by the pantry window, unlocked the door, deposited his goods, and then came back, saying to Eloise with a good deal of dignity for him, “Shall I take you in?”

“Yes, please.  I think it’s time,” she said, and Howard and Jack knew they were dismissed.  “Thank you all so much for everything,” she continued, giving her hand to each of them in turn, and pressing Tom’s a little in token of the good feeling she felt sure was established between them.

It was not long before Mrs. Biggs came home, rather crestfallen that her spotted gown and brass kettle had not been more popular, but jubilant over the sale, the proceeds of which, so far as known when she left, were over two hundred and fifty dollars.

“Never was anything like it before in Crompton,” she said, as she helped Eloise to her bed lounge.  “That apron sale beat all.  Them young men didn’t care for the apron, of course, except that it was yours, and what Mr. Harcourt will do with it I don’t know.  Said he was goin’ to send it to his sister.  Maybe he is.  He paid enough for it.  Five dollars!  I was in hopes they’d run it up to ten! and I was sorry when ’twas over.  Mr. Bills kinder wilted after you all went out, and the whole thing flatted.  Well, good-night!  You was the star! the synacure,—­is that the word?—­of all eyes, and looked awful pretty in that white cape.  I see you’ve got Tom Walker, body and soul, but my land! you’d get anybody!  Good-night, again.”

She was gone at last, and Eloise was glad to lay her tired head upon her pillow, falling asleep nearly as soon as she touched it, but dreaming of the Rummage Sale and that she was being auctioned off instead of her apron.  It was a kind of nightmare, and her heart beat fast as the bids came rapidly,—­sometimes on Howard’s side and sometimes on Jack’s.  She called him Jack in her dreams, and finally awoke with a start, saying aloud, “I am glad it was Jack who bought me!”