Hope seized it eagerly. "From the market-man," she said.
"Now we'll see."

She tore it open. A ten-cent piece, a small currency note and a one-cent
stamp dropped into her lap. She read the letter in silence, then handed
it to her husband.

"Ha! ha! ha!" laughed the Pessimist, reading it over his shoulder. "This
is the worst I _ever_ heard. 'Thirty-six crates arrived in worthless
condition; twelve crates at two dollars; fifty, at fifty cents;
freights, drayage, commissions;--balance, thirty-six cents.' Thirty-six
cents; for a hundred bushels of peas! Oh, ye gods and little fishes!"

Even Hope was mute.

Merry took the document. "It was all because of the rain," she said.
"See! those last crates, that were picked dry, sold well enough. If all
had done as well as that we should have had our money back; and that's
all we expected the first year."

"There's the corn, at any rate," said Hope, rousing herself. "Dryden
says it's splendid, and no one else has any nearly as early. We shall
have the first of the market."

The corn was our first thought in the morning, and we walked out that
way to console ourselves with the sight of its green and waving beauty,
old Spafford being of the party. On the road we passed a colored woman,
who greeted us with the usual "Howdy?"

"How's all with you, Sister Lucindy?" asked the "section."

"All standin' up, thank God! I done come t'rough your cornfield, Uncle
Spafford. De coons is to wuk dar."

We hastened on at this direful news.

"I declar'!" said old Spafford as we reached the fence. "So dey _is_
bin' to wuk! Done tote off half a dozen bushel dis bery las' night.
Mought as well give it up, missis. Once _dey_ gits a taste ob it,
_good-bye!_"

"Well, that's the worst I _ever_ heard!" exclaimed the Pessimist,
resorting to his favorite formula in his dismay. "Between the coons and
the commission-merchants your profits will vanish, Hope."

"Do you think I shall give it up so?" asked Hope stoutly. "We kept the
rabbits out with a fence, and we can keep the coons out with something
else. It is only a few nights' watching and the corn will be fit for
sale. Dryden and Solomon must come out with their dogs and guns and lie
in wait."

"Bravo, Hope! Don't give up the ship," said the Invalid, smiling.

"Well, if she doesn't, neither will I," said the Pessimist. "For the
matter of that, it will be first-rate sport, and I wonder I haven't
thought of coon-hunting before. I'll come out