So I've got to post the notices of the
sale."
"To think that I should live to see this day!" sighed Mr. Apgar. "My
farm to be sold under foreclosure!"
"It is hard, Pa, dreadful hard," said Mrs. Apgar. "But we are honest.
We'd pay if we could."
"If only I could find Uncle Isaac's money," sighed Sandy. "Couldn't
you give us a little more time, Sheriff Hasell?"
"No, I'm sorry; but I can't," replied the official. "You see this
isn't actually selling the farm. We're only going to post notices
that it will be sold. That has to be done, according to the law here.
It'll be some time though, before the farm is auctioned off to the
highest bidder."
"And we can stay here until then; can't we?" asked Sandy.
"Oh, yes, sure, and for a little while after. You see these things
take time," the sheriff returned. "It's too bad--I'm sorry, but me
and my deputy has to do our duty."
"Go ahead, then," said Sandy, and there were tears in his eyes. "We
won't stop you, but it's hard--it's terrible hard--to lose the place
we worked so long for, an' all because of some mistake. Uncle Isaac
would want us to have that money paw lent him, but he died afore he
could tell where he hid it."
The sheriff and his man then went about the farm, posting several
notices of the sale on the different buildings.
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