The farmer was soon to die; there was no doubt about it. Indeed, his sons knew it, the townspeople knew it, and he himself knew that neither the town doctor nor the prayers of the people could prevent the event from coming about. I, for one, know not what sort of ailment assailed him, but along with others, know that it was beyond human aid. To lay in bed, his eyes yellow and his hands shriveled, was all he could do: wherefore he called his five sons to the deathbed, being eager to impart a secret to them. The five of them, being of tall stature and little grace, clambered up the stairs with a noise like that of an elephant: and gathered round their father with nostril hairs bristling, feet shuffling, eyes bulging, and necks craning. The farmer cleared his throat, opened his yellow eyes, and spoke: “My sons—death is upon me—my body if frail and weak from years of cursing the vineyard and the fruit it bears and bringing up by hand five ignorant, lazy imbeciles, and I have yet one sole thing to impart to yourselves.” The five sons, each of them equally lazy, slovenly, niggardly, gluttonous, and greedy, nodded in unison. Snorted the father, and he continued: “in your lives, you have been fortunate to have me, a rich and prosperous farmer, as your father. A treasure I have, a small fortune of my own making. Search underneath the vineyard, and you will find it.” The five sons, having no patience for their father’s death, all rushed out of the house with spades and shovels, despicably neglecting the dying farmer. So eager were they to find the treasure, these five dastardly men, that they dug for days and days until at last, when no treasure miraculously appeared, they retired to their beds. As no such thing existed, their efforts were in vain—but through their incessant digging, the ground of the vineyard became fertile and from it came a crop such as Dr. Hayes, Reverend John, the grocer, and the bartender swore they had never before seen.
Raediance. 