"When I got to Bramley this morning I found a letter from a man
named Henry Sargent, a Glasgow lawyer. He said my uncle, Thomas
Darwent, had died, leaving me the only heir to his estates. Just
how much money this means I don't know. He said it might be ten
thousand pounds."

"Phew! that's fifty thousand dollars," interposed Larry, excitedly.

"Just so," returned his father. "It may be more. I can't make out
whether that's the amount of cash or if that's what it will come to
when the land and houses are sold."

"You can write and find out," suggested Mrs. Alden.

"I can write, but I doubt if I can find out," chuckled the farmer.
"Those lawyer chaps use such high-sounding words, you can't tell
what they mean. If Uncle Darwent made me his heir, I'm going to
see I get all there Is to get. No Scotchman is going to cheat
Theodore Alden out of what's his. Soon's I'd made up my mind to
that, I drove over to Olmsted and made arrangements to sail from
New York on Saturday."

"Saturday? Why that's only three days off!" protested Mrs. Alden.

"Well, it'll only take a night and part of a day to get to New
York. That'll give you a day and a half to get ready, ma."

The thought of a trip to Scotland delighted Mrs. Alden, and she
immediately began to plan how she could get the boys, her husband