"It's liable to be. The potatoes won't amount to much, and the corn is just shriveling up with the heat. There'll be a short crop of everything but weeds, I'm thinking."
"I wouldn't worry, Enos, if I was you. Maybe things will come out all right."
"How can they, Debby, if we don't get rain? Things can't grow unless they get some moisture, and we haven't had a drop going on four weeks now. I declare, farming is the hardest kind of a life, I don't care what the books say!"
"Well, we'll have to do the best we can, I suppose," said the woman, with a sigh, as she went back into the house.
"What's the matter, mother?" asked a tall, pretty girl, who was washing the breakfast dishes. "You look worried."
"I am, Nettie."
"What about?"
"Everything; but your father in particular."
"Is he sick, mother?"
"No; but he's fretting himself to death because there isn't any rain, and he's afraid the crops will be ruined."