"Thirty-eight thousand four hundred," replied Lenore.
"An' what'll you sell for?" asked Anderson of Dorn.
"Father has sold at two dollars and twenty-five cents a bushel," replied Dorn.
"Good! But he ought to have waited. The government will set a higher price.… How much will that come to, Lenore?"
Dorn's smile, as he watched Lenore do her mental arithmetic, attested to the fact that he already had figured out the sum.
"Eighty-six thousand four hundred dollars," replied Lenore. "Is that right?"
"An' you'll have thirty thousand dollars left after all debts are paid?" inquired Anderson.
"Yes, sir. I can hardly realize it. That's a fortune—for one section of wheat. But we've had four bad seasons.… Oh, if it only rains to-day!"
Lenore turned her cheek to the faint west wind. And then she looked long at the slowly spreading clouds, white and beautiful, high up near the sky-line, and dark and forbidding down along the horizon.
"I knew a girl who could feel things move when no one else could," said Lenore. "I'm sensitive like that—at least about wind and rain. Right now I can feel rain in the air."