“You what?” asked Larry.

“Never mind now.  Put the horses up.  You won’t have to feed them; they’re too hot.  Give them a little hay and then come in to supper.”

Knowing it was useless to try to get their father to satisfy their curiosity, for Mr. Alden, though a kindly man, was what his neighbors called “set in his ways,” Tom and Larry ran to the barn to open the door, while the hired men followed with the horses.

After rubbing the animals down and giving them some hay, the four returned to the house.

But not until the supper was finished did the farmer deign to impart his news.  Then, tilting back in his chair, he looked at his wife and asked: 

“How would you like to take the boys to Scotland for the summer, ma?”

“To Scotland?” repeated Mrs. Alden, as though scarcely believing her ears.  “Theodore Alden, are you going crazy?  What are you talking about?”

“About going to Scotland,” answered the farmer, grinning.  “And I’m not crazy.”

At the mention of the trip, Larry and Tom looked at their parent and then at each other in dismay, for they had planned a different sort of way for spending the summer.  But their attention was quickly drawn to their father again.

“I’ve got to go to Scotland and we might as well all go,” he was saying.  “The hired men can run the farm for the summer.”

Lapsing into silence as he watched the effect of his words, Mr. Alden enjoyed the looks of surprise and curiosity, then continued: 

“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 and herself ready in such a short space of time.