All the neighboring towns-people knew that the Grath farm was to be sold on this day. The "bills" had been "out" for over two weeks. These were announcements, printed in large letters, on bright-colored paper, and hung up in barber-shops, grocery stores, post-offices and even nailed on trees. One might be driving along an almost deserted road, several miles from any habitation, and suddenly find himself confronted by one of these yellow and black "auction bills," which would notify him that upon the stated date a homestead would be "sold out," in the next county.

Therefore it was not surprising that when Leon and the Doctor reached the farm, several "teams" were already "hitched" along the stone wall that surrounded the orchard.

The auction was advertised to begin at eight o'clock, and by seven over a hundred persons had already arrived, and were "rummaging" about the premises. An auction of this kind differs greatly from an art sale at Chickering Hall. There is no catalogue, numbering the various lots to be offered; nevertheless there is nothing so small, so worthless, so old, so broken, or so rusty, that it will not be put up, and bid for too. Many of the prospective buyers come many miles to attend, and as the sale usually lasts all day, it is expected that the owner will serve dinner promptly at noon, to all who may wish to partake of his hospitality. As these dinners, save in rare cases, usually amount to nothing better than a luncheon, many bring viands with them, thus reinforcing themselves against contingencies of hunger.

By the time that the auction was to begin, the Grath farm looked like a veritable picnic-ground; teams tied to every place that offered, one old man having "hitched" his horse to a mowing-machine, which caused some merriment when that article was sold, the auctioneer announcing that he would "throw in the critter leaning against the machine"; whilst here and there some of the bolder visitors had gathered together tables and chairs, and were keeping guard over them until the eating hour.

One old woman approached Leon and sought information, thus:

"Be you the boy that Marg'ret Grath took offen the county farm?" To which Leon vouchsafed no reply, but turned and walked away. This at once aroused the anger of the irascible old party, who followed him speaking loudly.

"Hoity! Toity! What airs for a beggar's brat! I'd have you to know, young man, that when I ax a civil question, I cac'late to git a civil answer!" Which calculation, however, miscarried.

Over near the barn he met another woman who asked:

"I say! You be the boy as lives here, be'ant you?"

"Yes, I live here," replied Leon.

"Well! I hearn as how Miss Grath hed some white ducks, so nigh as big 's geese, thet a body couldn't tell one from t'other. Now I've sarched the hull place lookin' fer them ducks, but bless me ef I kin find a feather on 'em. I seen a fine flock o' geese in the orchard, but I want you to show me them ducks. I'm jest achin' to see em."

"The flock in the orchard are the ducks; we have no geese," explained

Leon.

"You don't mean it!" rejoined the woman, much astounded. "So them geese is the ducks! Land alive! And I took 'em for geese. Well, I never! To think I couldn't tell one from t'other! I mus' git another peak at 'em." Then she hurried away towards the orchard.

Over by the barn a man was coming out from the horse stalls, with an old leather strap in his hand, when he was suddenly confronted by the stern visage of Miss Matilda Grath, spinster. Before he found words of greeting, she burst forth in wrathful tones:

"Jeremiah Hubbard, whatever do you mean by stealin' other folks' property, right before their very eyes?"

"Stealin', Miss Grath? Me steal? You mus' be losin your senses. Hain't ye?"

"No, I hain't!" snapped back Miss Grath. "An' ef you an't stealin' that strap, I'd like to know what you're doin', takin' it outen the barn, before it's sold?"

"Gosh! Ye don't mean you're goin' to sell this strap?"

"An' why not, I'd like to know? It's mine, an' I kin sell it, I spose, 'thout gittin' your permission?"

"Why, sartin! But 'tain't wuth nothin'."

"Ef 'tain't wuth nothin', I'd have you tell me what you're takin' it for?"

"Well, you see," – Mr. Hubbard was embarrassed by the question – "it's this way. A bit o' my harness is a leetle weak, and I thought this'd come handy to brace it up till I get to hum."

"Jes' so," answered Miss Grath, with gratification, "an' as 't would come handy, you jes' took it, French leave. Well! Ef you stay till the end o' the auction, mebbe you'll git a chance to buy it. Meanwhile, Mr. Hubbard, it might be 's well to keep your hands offen what don't belong to you."

Mr. Hubbard threw the old piece of strap back in the stall, and pushing his hands deep into his pockets, snarled out:

"I reckon I'll put my hands in my pockets, where my money is, an' keep 'em there too!" With which he strode away, a very angry man. He stayed to the end of the auction, but Miss Grath noticed with regret that he did not bid on anything all day, and she wondered if she had not "put her foot in it," which she undoubtedly had. But there are many, many people, in this curious little world, who hold a penny so close to their eyes that they lose sight of many dollars that might come their way were they not blinded by the love of small gains. Mr. Hubbard, too, was troubled as he rode home, that night; for, aside from the fact that he had been accused, of stealing, and that the stolen property had been "found on him," because of his determination not to let "the old hag" get any of his money he had lost several good opportunities to secure tempting "bargains"; and there is nothing that a true New Englander loves so much as a bargain.

At last there was a commotion in the crowd. Some one had recognized the auctioneer's team approaching, and presently he jumped out of his light wagon, greeting the men and women alike, by their first names, for there were few who did not know Mr. Potter, and there was none whom Mr. Potter did not know.

Mr. Potter himself was a character of a genus so unique that he was perhaps the only living example. If it be true that poets are ever born, then Mr. Potter was born a poet. It was only by the veriest irony of fate that he was an auctioneer, although undoubtedly it is probable that he made more money by the latter calling, than he ever would have gained by printer's ink. And as for fame, that he had, if it please you. For be it known that no farm of consequence in New Hampshire hath passed under the hammer these five and twenty years, but Mr. Potter hath presided at the obsequies. I use that word advisedly, for, truly, though they make a picnic of the event, the selling of an old homestead is a funereal sort of pleasure.

The cause of his success lay in the fact that, with wisdom such as no professional poet has been known to possess, Mr. Potter had combined his business and his pleasure, so that he became known as a poetical auctioneer. Gifted with the faculty of rhyming, and well versed in the poets, he readily would find a couplet to fit all occasions. Sometimes they were quoted entire, sometimes they appeared as familiar lines with a new termination, and not infrequently the verse would be entirely original, provoked by the existing circumstances.

As to his personality, I need but a few adjectives to give you his picture. He was a large man, and a hearty one. Witty, genial, and gallant to the ladies. Above all things, he possessed the rare faculty of adapting himself to his surroundings. Add to this that he was scrupulously honest and fair in his dealing, and you will readily believe that he was popular. His name on a "bill" always assured a large crowd. On this occasion more than the usual throng surrounded him, as he climbed up into an ox-cart and opened the sale with these words:

"My friends, we will begin the morning services by quoting a verse from Dr. Watts, junior:

"Blest is the man who shuns the place

    Where other auctions be,
  And in his pocket saves his cash
    To buy his goods of me."

Then, when the laugh had died away, he offered for sale the cart upon which he stood, reserving the right to stand upon it during the balance of the day. The bidding was spiritless at first, and the cart went for two dollars. Mr. Potter remarking, as he knocked it down:

"Thus passeth my understanding!"

And so the sale progressed, Mr. Potter finding many opportunities which called forth some selection from his store of poetry. There were many sharp sallies from the crowd, for the New Englander is keen of wit, but the auctioneer ever had a ready rejoinder that turned the laugh away from himself, without causing ill-feeling.

After a couple of hours, during which Leon saw many things sold which were associated in his mind with what were now sacred memories, he turned away from the crowd, and went off towards the barn. Lost in thought, he did not notice that the collie followed at his heels, until presently, walking between the bales of new hay, and finding one upon which he could throw himself, Lossy jumped up beside him and kissed him in the face.

"Poor doggy," said the lad; "you know that I'm in trouble, don't you, old boy?" He paused as though he awaited a reply, and the dog, seeming to understand that something was expected of him, sat back on his haunches and offered his paw, tapping his master's arm again and again, until it was taken. Then Leon turned so as to face the dog squarely, and retaining the proffered paw, he spoke again.

"I wonder, Lossy, how you will do in a great city? Will you miss the old place, as I suppose I shall? Will you mind being penned up in a little yard, with strict orders not to come into the grand house? Will you miss going after the cows, and the sheep? Will you miss your swims in the lake?" He paused again, but Lossy was looking away much as a human being would who tried to hide his feelings. For there is little doubt that when a dog acts thus, in some mysterious way he comprehends his master's trouble, and shares it. "Never you mind, old fellow," Leon continued, "you sha'n't be entirely forgotten. I'll look out for you. The nights will be ours, and what fun we shall have. We'll go off together on long walks, and if there is any country near enough, why we'll go there sometimes on Sundays. For we don't care about church, do we, old boy? No, sir! The open fields, with the green grass, and the trees, and the birds, and the bright sunlight is all the church we need, isn't it, old doggy?" He stopped, and as his voice had grown somewhat more cheerful, the dog vouchsafed to look at him timidly. Seeing encouragement, he wagged his tail a few times. "Come, sir," said Leon, "I am talking to you. Don't you hear? Answer my question. Speak, sir! Speak!" "Whow! Whow! Whow-Whow!" answered Lossy, barking lustily. But Leon held up his finger in warning, and he ceased. "What do you mean by all that noise?" said Leon. "Don't you understand that this is a confidential conversation? Now, sir! Answer me again, but softly! softly!"

"Woof! Woof! Woof!" answered Lossy, in tones as near a whisper as can be compassed by a dog.

"Very well, sir!" said Leon. "That's better. Much better. We don't want to attract a crowd, so the less noise we make the better for us."

But, alas! The boy's warning came too late. Miss Matilda Grath had seen Leon go towards the barn, and when she heard the dog's loud barking, a sudden idea had come to her, which thrilled her cruel heart with anticipation of pleasure. So much so indeed, that she at once left the vicinity of the auctioneer, where her interests were, and hurried out to the barn, surprising Leon by her unwelcome presence.

"What are you doin' out here all by yourself?" she asked.

"I am not doing anything, Miss Grath!" replied Leon mildly, hoping to mollify her. A vain hope!

"Miss Grath!" she repeated sneeringly. "Don't you Miss Grath me. I an't to be molly-coddled by the likes o' you. I wanter know what you're doin' out here, when everybody's to the auction. You an't up to no good, I'll warrant. Now up an' tell me! An' no lies, or it will be the worst for you."

"I don't know what you're aiming at. I came out here to be alone, that is all!"

"Oh! You wanted to be alone, did you? Well, that's the right way for you to feel, anyway. The company of decent folks an't for the likes o' you." She paused, expecting an angry retort, but failing to obtain the desired excuse for proceeding in the diabolical design which she was bent upon executing, she continued in a worse temper. "You needn't think you kin fool me with your smooth talkin'. I know you, and I know what you're up to!"

"Well, if you know, why did you ask me?" said Leon, stung into something like anger.

"I don't want none o' your impudence. I'll tell you mighty quick what you're up to. You're plannin' to steal that dog, that's what you're after!"

"Steal Lossy! Why how could I do that? He is mine!" Leon did not yet fully grasp what was coming, but the vague suspicion conveyed by the woman's words aroused a fear in his breast.

"Oh! He's your'n, is he. We'll see 'bout that. How did he come to be your'n? Did you buy him?"

"Why, of course not. He was born right here on the farm, and, when he was a puppy, mother gave him to me."

"Don't you dare to call my sister mother, you impudent young beggar. You never had no mother, and your scoundrel of a father foisted you onto my innocent, confidin' sister, who took you out o' charity, like a fool. I wouldn't 'ave done it."

"I have not the least idea that you would, Miss Grath. You never did any one a kindness in your life, if what people say is true."

"People say a deal sight more 'n their prayers. But that an't to the p'int now. We're talkin' 'bout this dog. You say he's your'n; that my sister gin him to you. Now kin you prove that?"

"Prove it?" repeated Leon, at last fully comprehending that his dog might be taken from him. "Prove it! Why, how can I?"

"Jes' so. You can't. My sister's dead, and an't here to contradict you, so in course you kin claim the dog. But that's all talk, an' talk 's cheap. The dog's mine."

"He is not yours."

"An't he? We'll see 'bout that mighty quick." And before either Leon or the dog understood her purpose, she had grabbed Lossy in her arms, and was striding away towards the crowd around the auctioneer. Leon jumped down and followed her, his pulses beating high.

Reaching the cart where Mr. Potter was standing, she threw the dog towards him, saying:

"Here, sell this dog next. He's named Lossy. He's a right smart beast. Goes after the cows, kin tend sheep, and run a churn. He's wuth a good price. Sell him for what he'll fetch."

Mr. Potter stooped and patted the dog, who was trembling with fear, for ordinarily a collie is easily alarmed, and not very brave except when guarding his sheep, when he has the courage of a lion.

"Well," began Mr. Potter, "what'll you give for the dog. Come! speak, and let the worst be known, for speaking may relieve you. If it don't, I'll relieve you of the price of the dog, and you can take him with you."

"Dollar!" cried a voice in the crowd succinctly.

"'n' quarter," said another.

"Stop," cried Leon, fully aroused, now that his pet was actually offered for sale. "Mr. Potter, you shall not sell that dog. He is mine."

"It's a lie!" cried Miss Grath. Then pointing her bony finger at Leon, she continued: "Look at that ungrateful wretch. Look at him. You all know who he is, and where he came from. My sister nussed him, and fed him, and gin him his clothes all these years, and now arter she's dead, he's tryin to defraud me by claimin' my property, 's if he an't had enough outer my family a'ready."

"I've never had anything from you, and would not accept it if it was offered and I was starving," cried Leon, white with anger. But as just as the words were, they rather injured his cause, for most of those present held ideas not very dissimilar from Miss Grath's, and they accepted her version and believed him ungrateful. The prejudice against him was not lessened by the intuitive knowledge that, poor though he was, he was better than they. So those who heard him did not hesitate to speak against him, and such phrases as "Nuss a serpent and 'twill sting you," and "A beggar on horseback," reached his ears, and despite their inaptness, they wounded him.

Mr. Potter, seeing the rising storm, essayed to stem the torrent, and exclaimed:

"Don't show temper, friends; anger and pride are both unwise; vinegar never catches flies."

"Ther' hain't no flies on Potter," cried a voice, and a general laugh followed. Then, in spite of his protest, Leon saw Lossy offered again for sale.

Mr. Potter lifted the dog in his arms and said:

"Now here's a dog, by name of Lossy.

  Just feel his fur, so fine and glossy.
  I'm told that twixt his loud bow-wows
  He often fetches home the cows.
    Besides that, he can tend the sheep,
      And bring the butter in the churn.
    So buy him dear, or buy him cheap,
      He'll eat no more than he can earn.

"How much for the dog?"

The competition excited by the occurrences, and the verses, was now so great, that the bidding was spirited until fifteen dollars was reached, to which sum it had mounted by jumps of fifty cents. Then a man said quietly but distinctly:

"Twenty dollars," and a glad cry escaped from Leon, as he recognized Dr. Medjora's voice, and knew that his purpose was to restore his dog to him. But at the same instant Miss Grath also comprehended the situation, and determined that Leon should not have Lossy. She cried out to Mr. Potter:

"The dog's wuth twice as much. You kin stop sellin' him. I'll keep him myself."

At this Leon's hopes fell, only to be revived again by the auctioneer's words. Mr. Potter knew Miss Grath thoroughly, and he readily appreciated the fact that she was selling the dog to spite the lad, and that, in withdrawing him, she was actuated by some sinister motive. Sympathizing with Leon, against whom he had none of the prejudices of the neighborhood, he turned now to Miss Grath and said:

"You told me to sell him for what he would fetch. It's too late now to draw back."

"It an't too late," screamed the infuriated woman; "it's my dog, and I sha'n't sell him."

"Oh, you won't," said Mr. Potter. "'The best-laid plans of mice and men aft gang aglee.' Dr. Medjora gets the dog at twenty dollars."

"It's no sale! It's no sale!" cried out Miss Grath. "'T ain't legal to sell my property agin my word."

"Now, look here, Miss Grath," said Mr. Potter; "I'm here to sell, and whatever I sell is sold. That dog's sold, and that settles it. If you dispute it, you jes' say so, right now, and you kin sell the rest of this farm yourself. Now decide quick! Is the sale of that dog all straight?"

Miss Grath, despite her anger, was shrewd enough to see that her interests would be ruined if she suspended the sale. She could never hope to get the crowd together again, and no other auctioneer would obtain such good prices. So she was obliged to yield, though she did so with little grace.

"Oh! I 'spose ef you choose to be ugly 'bout it, I hain't got nothin' more to say. Dr. Medjora kin have the dog, an' much good may it do him. I hope he'll regret buyin' it, some day."

And so, through the cleverness of Mr. Potter, the poet-auctioneer, when Dr. Medjora and Leon started for New York on the following morning the collie went with them.

CHAPTER IV.
AN OMINOUS WELCOME

Leon at this time was about twenty years old, but, as we have seen, he had already passed the crisis in his life which made a man of him. He was a curious product, considered as a New England country boy. Despite the fact that all of his life had been passed on the farm, except a brief period when he had been sent to another section, equally rural, he had adopted none of the idioms peculiar to the people about him. Without any noteworthy schooling, he could boast of being something of a scholar. I have already mentioned his predilection for the higher order of books, and by reading these he had undoubtedly obtained a glimpse of a vast field of learning; but one may place his eye to a crack in a door and see a large part of the horizon, yet the door hides much more than the crack reveals, and the observer sees nothing except through the crack. So Leon, knowing much, knew less than he thought he did; and many ideas which he believed to be mature, and original products of his own brain, were but reflections of the authors whose works he had read, and whose deductions he had adopted, because he had read nothing by other writers contradicting them. Therefore he was exactly in that mental condition which would make him a good pupil, because he would be a disputative one. The student who accepts the teaching of his master without question, will acquire but a meagre grasp of knowledge, while he who adopts nothing antagonistic to his own reason, until his reason has been satisfied, may be more troublesome, because less docile, but his progress will be more real.

That Leon had very decided convictions upon many topics, and that he would argue tenaciously in defence of his views, would not at all militate against his learning. Those ideas which were most firmly fixed in his mind, could readily be dislodged, if erroneous, for the very reason that they were not truly original with himself. Having adopted the teaching of one book, he could certainly be made to accept opposite theories, if another book, with more convincing arguments, should be brought to his notice.

For these reasons, it might be said that his mind was in a plastic condition, ready to be moulded into permanent thoughts. With such a teacher as Dr. Medjora, he would learn whatever the Doctor taught; he would adopt whatever theories the Doctor wished. Under the control of another master he might become the antithesis of what the Doctor would make of him. Therefore it may be truly said that when he accepted Dr. Medjora's offer, he sealed his fate, as surely as when Faust contracted with Mephisto.

Just as he had gleaned the ideas of authors, so also his conception of cities, and city life, had been taken from books. He had read works of travel, and thought that he was quite familiar with travelling. He was consequently astonished to find how much at variance with the real, were his notions. When he found himself aboard of The Puritan, that palatial steamboat of the Fall River line, he was dazed by the magnificence and luxury, thus seen for the first time in his life. But later in the night, when he and the Doctor sat upon the upper deck, as they swiftly glided through the moonlit waters of Long Island Sound, he was so enraptured at this broader view of the Universe, that he felt a distinct pain as his thoughts recurred to Lake Massabesic, which now seemed so diminutive, and which only a few days before had been an ocean to him. Yet there was still the real ocean which he had not yet seen, and which would render the Sound as diminutive in comparison, as the lake. And so, also, we arrogant inhabitants of this planet may presently come to some other world so much greater, so much larger, so much more grand, that we will not even deign to turn a telescope towards the little world which we have left behind. In some such manner, Leon was leaving his little world behind him, and even already he was abandoning all thought of it, as his heart welled up and his soul expanded towards the greater world looming up before him. In that little town behind him he had lost his name, which indeed had never been his. But in the great city which he approached, was he not destined to make a new name for himself? He was young, and in answer to this mental question his answer was – "Certainly!" All young men see Fame just there – just ahead of them! They need but to stretch out a hand, and it is within their grasp. Yet, alas! How few ever clutch it!

Dr. Medjora sat beside Leon for a long time in silence. He noticed the lad's absorption, and readily comprehended the mental effects produced. It suited his purpose to remain silent. He wished his companion to become intoxicated by this new experience, for, in such a mood of abstraction, he hoped for an opportunity to accomplish a design which was of great importance to himself. He wished to hypnotize Leon. Why, I will explain later, but the chief reason at the present moment was this:

Dr. Medjora had, as you know, observed Leon feeding the chipmunks, and had said to himself, "He has inherited the power." By this he meant Leon possessed that temperament which is supposed to render the individual most capable of controlling others. And let me say at once that I do not allude to any occult power. There is nothing whatever in connection with this history, which transcends known and recognized scientific laws. But, to express myself clearly, I may say that all persons are susceptible to impressions from suggestion. Those who fall asleep, because sleep has been suggested, are said to be hypnotic subjects; while he who can produce sleep by suggestion in the greatest number of persons, may be said to have "the power" in its most developed form. But it is a power thoroughly well comprehended by scientists of to-day, and may be acquired by almost any one to some extent, just as any one is susceptible to hypnotic influence, to a greater or less degree according to the conditions. I believe that there is no person living who cannot be hypnotized, by some living person, however well he may resist all others. Or in other words, there be some individuals so little susceptible to outside suggestions, so self-reliant, and so strong in their own ego, that it would be extremely difficult to produce true hypnosis in them. Yet the phenomenon is possible with even these, provided the hypnotizer be one who is a past-master in methods, and possesses the most effective power of conveying suggestion.

Such a man was Dr. Medjora. Never yet had he met a human being who could resist him, if he exerted himself. He was a master of methods, possessing a knowledge of the minutest details of the psychological aspect of the subject, and therefore the most powerful hypnotizer of the age, perhaps. One fact he had long recognized. That just as one individual is more susceptible than another, so an individual who might resist at one time, would be perfectly docile at another. So much depends upon the mental attitude of the subject. One of the favorable states is abstraction, for in such a condition the mind is off its guard, so to speak, and it may be possible that, by a sudden shock, the suggestion to sleep, might be conveyed and be obeyed.

Thus he was glad to note that Leon was losing himself in thought, because it would give him an opportunity to hypnotize the lad, and if he could once be thrown into that state, hypnosis could be re-produced thereafter very readily. It would only be necessary for the Doctor to suggest to Leon, while asleep, that he permit himself to be hypnotized in the future, and the possibility of resistance would be destroyed.

Therefore the Doctor watched Leon, as a cat does a bird when seeking a chance to seize and destroy it. Several times he was about to make the attempt, but he hesitated. That he did so annoyed him, for it was a new experience to him to doubt his ability to accomplish a purpose. But, truly, he questioned the wisdom of what he meditated, in spite of the fact that he knew this to be a rare opportunity, which would never occur again. The boy would never, after this night, be so intoxicated by Nature as he was at this time. Even though Leon were, as the Doctor believed, one of those exceptional individuals who could successfully resist him, his will-power was for the time in abeyance, and a well-directed effort to throw him into hypnotic slumber promised success. Yet he could not overlook the other fact, that, were the attempt to prove a failure, it would render all future experiments doubly difficult.

Thus an hour passed. There was no one on the upper deck besides these two. Leon had remained so still, so motionless for many minutes, that he might have been a corpse sitting there and gazing into the line of foam which trailed in the wake of the boat. He was fascinated, why might he not be hypnotized? Still, the Doctor was loath to take a risk. He called the lad's name, at first very softly. But he repeated it again, and again, in louder tones. Leon did not reply. His abstraction was so great that he did not hear. It was certainly a favorable moment. The Doctor rose slowly from his chair; so slowly that he scarcely seemed to move, but in a few moments he stood erect. Then he paused, and for some time remained motionless. With a movement that was more a gliding than a step, one leg crept forward towards Leon, and then the other was drawn after it, thus bringing the Doctor nearer. Again he stood motionless. Again the manoeuvre was repeated, and now, still unnoticed, he stood beside the lad. The approach more than ever reminded one of a cat, only now one would think of a tiger rather than of the little domestic animal. For the Doctor looked tall and gaunt in the moonlight. Now he stooped slowly forward, bending his back, as the tiger prepares to spring upon its prey, and now his mouth was near Leon's ear.

The final moment had come; the experiment was to be tried. But even now the Doctor had devised a scheme by which he hoped to lose nothing, even though he should fail. His first intention had been to cry out, "Go to sleep!" a command which he had often seen obeyed instantly. This time the formula was changed. In a loud tone, which, however, was mellifluous and persuasive, he uttered these words:

"You are asleep!"

He paused and anxiously awaited the result. For a brief instant success poised upon the verge of his desire. Leon's eyes closed, and his head drooped forward. Then, like lightning, there came a change. The lad jumped up, and started back, assuming an attitude of defiance, and a wrathful demeanor. He was entirely awake and in full control of his senses as he cried out: