know about. It's this letter, Momsey," and she seized the thin
yet important envelope from Scotland and shook it before her
mother's eyes.

"Better look into it, Momsey," advised Mr. Sherwood easily,
preparing to return to the cinder sifting. "Maybe it's from some
of your relatives in the Old Country. I see 'Blake' printed in
the corner. Didn't your father have an uncle or somebody, who
was steward on the estate of a Scotch Laird of some renown?"

"Heck, mon!" cried Momsey, with her usual gaiety, and throwing
off the cloud of gloom that had momentarily subdued her spirit.
"Ye air a wise cheil. Ma faither talked muckle o' Uncle Hughie
Blake, remimberin' him fra' a wee laddie when his ain faither
took him tae Scotland, and tae Castle Emberon, on a veesit."

Nan and Papa Sherwood laughed at her when she assumed the Scotch
burr of her forebears. With precision she cut the flap of this
smaller envelope. She felt no excitement now. She had regained
control of herself after the keen disappointment arising from the
first letter.

She calmly opened the crackly sheet of legal looking paper in her
lap. It was not a long letter, and it was written in a stiff,
legal hand, instead of being typewritten, each character as
precise as the legal mind that dictated it:

"Mistress Jessie Adair Blake, (Known to be a married woman, but
wedded name unknown to writer.)