We've been lucky.

It's the best and finest wheat father ever raised.

If it rains the yield will go sixty bushels to the acre." "Sixty?
Whew!" ejaculated Anderson.
Lenore smiled at these wheat men, and said: "It surely will rain--and likely storm to-day.

I am a prophet who never fails." "By George! that's true! Lenore has anybody beat when it comes to figurin' the weather," declared Anderson.
Dorn looked at her without speaking, but his smile seemed to say that she could not help being a prophet of good, of hope, of joy.
"Say, Lenore, how many bushels in a section at sixty per acre ?" went on Anderson.
"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....