“No, sir. Father said it was a hundred times worse.”
“But that was exaggeration, Ned,” cried Chris eagerly. “It’s very bad, but not a hundred times worse than it was last time we were there.”
“Say eighty or ninety times worse, then,” said Chris’s father bitterly.
“No; dad’s right, sir,” cried Ned Bourne. “The twigs and leaves are covered with those nasty little tortoise-like things, and he says they are sucking all the juices out of the trees.”
“They might have waited till the fruit was ripe,” said Chris, with a grin, “and then been contented with sucking a few oranges.”
Doctor Lee smiled sadly at his son, and was silent for a few moments before saying—
“That’s bad news indeed, boys; it’s like the last straw that breaks the camel’s back. I did hope that the orange trees were going to be better this year; it would have made up for that other disappointment.”
“What other disappointment, fa?” cried Chris sharply.
“Over the peaches. I’ve been through the plantations this morning before I sat down to write home about our troubles.”
“But have the peaches got scale too, father?”