the week's news.

"On Sunday," said Mr. Crow, "there was a freshet."

"I knew that before you did," said Brownie Beaver.

Mr. Crow looked disappointed.

"How?" he asked.

"Why, I live further up the river than you," said Brownie Beaver. "And
since freshets always come _down_ a river, this one didn't reach you
till after it had passed me."

Something made Mr. Crow peevish.

"I don't believe you'd care to hear any more of my news," he said.
"You appear to know it already. Perhaps you'll be kind enough to tell
me the sort of news you prefer to hear."

"Certainly!" Brownie Beaver replied. "Now, there's the weather! I've
talked with a good many people and they all say that a good newspaper
ought to tell the weather for the next day."

Mr. Crow cocked an eye up at the sky.

"To-morrow will be fair," he said.

"I'm told that a good newspaper ought to tell a few jokes," Brownie
Beaver continued.