"Why, everything that's happened in Green street for the past week. I
haven't had a visitor up on the farm for ten days."

"Everything is growing splendidly down here. The water in the canal is
holding out fine and Brother Larsen is fast learning to be a farmer."

"Good," said Dorian. "Our dry wheat is in most places two feet high,
and it will go from forty to fifty bushels, with good luck. If now, the
price of wheat doesn't sag too much."

Dorian finished his supper, and was about to go to bed, being in need of
a good rest. His mother told him not to get up in the morning until she
called him.

"All right, mother," he laughed as he kissed her good night, "but don't
let me be late to Sunday School, as I have a topic to treat in the
Theological class. By heck, they really think I'm Uncle Zed's successor,
by the subjects they give me."

He was about to go to his room when his mother called him by name.

"Yes, mother, what is it?"

"You'll know tomorrow, so I might as well tell you now."

"Tell me what?"

"Some bad news."

"Bad news! What is it?"