"Something has happened!" exclaimed Mr. Sneed. "I knew it would—I told you so!"
Hurrying to the porch where the group was, Mr. Pertell heard one of the strangers saying:
"Well, we've got to do it whether you like it or not, Mr. Apgar. Squire Blasdell wants the money on that mortgage, and the only way he can get it is to foreclose. 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 re-
