Clerk Gum--relieved also, no doubt--received the tidings in a more sober
spirit; almost as if he did not dare to believe in them. The man's heart
had been well-nigh broken with the blow that fell upon him, and nothing
could ever heal it thoroughly again. He read the letter in silence; read
it twice over; and when his wife broke out into a series of rapt
congratulations, and reproached him mildly for not appearing to think
it true, he rather cynically inquired what then, if true, became of her
dreams.
For Mrs. Gum was a dreamer. She was one of those who are now and again
visited by strange dreams, significant of the future. Poor Mrs. Gum
carried these dreams to an excess; that is, she was always having them
and always talking about them. It had been no wonder, with her mind in so
miserable a state regarding her son, that her dreams in that first
twelve-month had generally been of him and generally bad. The above
question, put by her husband, somewhat puzzled her. Her dreams _had_
foreshadowed great evil still to Willy; and her dreams had never been
wrong yet.
But, in the enjoyment of positive good, who thinks of dreams? No one. And
Mrs. Gum's grew a shade brighter, and hope again took possession of her
heart.
Two years rolled on, during which they heard twice from Willy;
satisfactory letters still, in a way. Both testified to his "jolly"
state: he was growing rich, though not quite so rapidly as he had
anticipated; a fellow had to spend so much! Every day he expected to pick
up a nugget which would crown his fortune.
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