Adrian agreed with him. The sun was already dipping well over toward the western hills, and whistling to Jack, who was romping about with some Indian dogs, Adrian and Roger started homeward. They tried shooting with their bows, sending the arrows far on ahead of them and then picking them up, to give them another flight into the air. They moved on briskly, and just as the sun was sinking out of sight, they arrived at Hank Mack's store. A few minutes later the boys were at their home. They stopped at the spouting spring for a drink of cool, sparkling water, and then entered the house.
They had no sooner reached the kitchen than they were aware that something had occurred. Mr. Kimball was standing in the middle of the floor, holding a letter in his hand. Mrs. Kimball sat in a chair, and it could be seen that she had been crying. Clara stood near her mother.
"Wh—what's the matter?" asked Adrian, in great alarm. "Has something happened?"
For a moment no one answered him.
"What is it, dad," he persisted, "bad news?"
"Yep, son, it's bad news," replied his father, brokenly.
"What is it?"
"Th' money your father invested in railroad sheers is all lost," burst out Mrs. Kimball, "'n' Nate Jackson has wrote t' say he's goin' t' foreclose th' mortgage."
This was bad news indeed, and Adrian sank limply in a chair, while Roger looked helplessly on.