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.

He complained in these letters that he did not hear from home; not once had news reached him; had his father and mother abandoned him?
The question brought forth a gush of tears from Mrs.Gum, and a sharp abuse of the post-office.