Just then I noticed a placard on the fence; it was not printed, but the lettering was large, apparently made with ink and a brush.

It read: TO BE SOLD For TAXES.
We stood and looked at each other.

Euphemia turned pale.
"What does this mean ?" said I."Has our landlord--" I could say no more.

The dreadful thought arose that the place might pass away from us.

We were not yet ready to buy it.