Nan said nothing to Bess Harley, her particular chum and confidant,
about the wonderful letter that had come from Scotland. Although Momsey
and Nan talked the legacy over intimately that Saturday afternoon, and
planned what they would really do with some of the money “when their
ship came in,” the young girl knew that the matter was not to be
discussed outside of the family circle.
Not even the hope Nan now cherished of accompanying her chum to Lakeview
Hall when the next school year opened was divulged when the two girls
were together on Sunday, or on the days that immediately followed.
Nan Sherwood went about her household and school tasks in a sort of
waking dream. Imagination was continually weaving pictures in her mind
of what might happen if the vista of new fortunes that had opened before
the little family in the Amity Street cottage really came true.
Papa Sherwood's first reports on the matter of the Scotch legacy were
not inspiring.
“Mr. Bludsoe says we'd better go slow,” he said seriously. Mr. Bludsoe
was a lawyer of high repute in Tillbury. “This letter may be written by
an attorney in Edinburgh; but there are rascally lawyers there as well
as elsewhere. Bludsoe had correspondents in London. They may be able to
inform him regarding the firm of solicitors, Kellam & Blake, if the firm
really is entered at the Scotch bar.”
“Oh! But won't that mean delay?” murmured Nan.
“Meanwhile,” said her father, smiling at her impatience, “we will
prepare the papers identifying your dear mother so that, if this
wonderful new fortune should be a reality, we can put in a proper claim
for it. Just the same,” he added to his wife, when Nan had left the
room, “I have written to that machine shop boss in Chicago that I am
ready to come to work any day he may send for me.”
“Oh, Robert!” gasped the little lady. “Won't you believe?”
“Like the darkey who was asked if he believed the world was round, and
said, 'Ah believes it, but Ah ain't dead sho' of it.' I presume this
great fortune is possible, Jessie, but I haven't perfect and abiding
faith in its existence, FOR us,” said her husband.
But Momsey had just that quality of faith. She went singing about her
household tasks and her usual smile beamed quite beatific. So said Dr.
Christian, who stepped in to see her, as was his custom every few days.
“What's this? What's this?” the old medical practitioner demanded of Mr.
Sherwood, on the porch, where he usually made his report, and to which
Nan often stole to listen openly to them discuss her mother's case.
“I find her in a state of happy excitement, and that is quite right,
Robert, quite right, if the hopes that are the wellspring of it are
not quenched. What does it mean? Have you arranged the sea voyage I
advised?”
Papa Sherwood's face changed suddenly. He looked oddly, Nan thought,
at the doctor. “I don't know but that is it, Doc,” he said. “That sea
voyage may be in the offing.”
“Best thing that could happen to her, best thing that could happen to
her!” declared the old physician with emphasis, as he stumped away.
Nan wondered what that could mean. A sea voyage for Momsey? Of course,
for all of them. She could not imagine Momsey going anywhere without her
and Papa Sherwood.
She knew she was not to say anything about what she heard pass between
her father and the doctor on the porch. Indeed, Nan was no bearer
of tales in any event. But she was very curious. The steam from the
cauldron of Mystery seldom arose in the little “dwelling in amity”
save about Christmas time or just previous to Nan's birthday. But Papa
Sherwood certainly was enigmatical and Momsey was mysteriously happy, as
Dr. Christian had said.
“And we'll put steam heat in the little house. You know, Robert, we've
always wanted to,” Nan's mother suddenly said one evening as they all
sat around the reading lamp, and quite apropos of nothing at all. Then
she laughed, flushing prettily. “There! You see what my mind runs on. I
really can't help it.”
It was only a day or two later that the second letter came from Memphis.
Mr. Adair MacKenzie had returned from Mexico and evidently one of
the first duties he performed was to write his Cousin Jessie his
congratulations.
“A letter on quite another matter,” this epistle read, “from our distant
kinsman, Andrew Blake, of Kellam & Blake, apprised me that the ancient
Hugh Blake, steward to the Lairds of Emberon for so many years, was dead
and that his property was willed to your father, whose appearance as a
lad at Emberon pleased the old man greatly.
“You are to be congratulated. The estate is considerable, I understand.
Your husband's troubles which are mentioned in your letter that I
found awaiting my return will now be over. For, although Andrew Blake
intimates that there may be considerable opposition in the courts there,
over the money going to an American heir, you will be able in the end to
establish your rights.
“Believe me, my dear Jessie, I know of nobody in our family to whom I
would rather see fortune come than to yourself and your dear ones. If
I can be of any assistance, financially, or otherwise, in helping you
obtain your rights in this event, believe me, I stand ready to give such
aid. Do not hesitate to call upon me. My regards to your husband and
little girl whom I have never seen; Alice and John join me in expressing
our good wishes for your happy future. I remain, with the old love I
always had for you, Your cousin, Adair MacKenzie.”
“Now, Robert, what have you to say?” cried Momsey triumphantly, while
Nan danced a fandango about the room.
“This much,” replied her husband, smiling. “Our minds are relieved on
one point, at least. Kellam & Blake are respectable attorneys. We will
send our communication to Mr. Blake at once, without waiting for Mr.
Bludsoe's enquiries to bear fruit. Your Cousin Adair knows the Scotch
firm, and of course vouches for their trustworthiness.”
“Dear me, Papa Sherwood, you are so practical!” sighed Nan. She meant
“vexing;” they were interchangeable terms to her mind at this exciting
point. “Can't you work up any enthusiasm over Momsey's wonderful
fortune?”
“Its existence is established, it would seem, beyond peradventure,” said
Mr. Sherwood drily. “But our attempt to obtain the fortune is not yet
begun.”
“Why, ee!” squealed Nan. “You don't really suppose anybody will try to
keep Momsey from getting it?”
“Exactly that,” said her father. “The Blakes are a widely scattered
clan. There are probably a number of people as close in blood-tie to the
old man who has just died as your mother, my dear. These people may all
bob up, one after another, to dispute Momsey's claim.”
“But, dear me!” gasped Nan. “The money was willed to Momsey.”
“Nevertheless, these other relatives, if there be such--can keep Momsey
out of the enjoyment of her rights for a long time. Court processes are
slow, and especially so, I should judge, among the canny and careful
Scotch. I think we would better leave it to the lawyers to settle. We
cannot hasten the courts by worrying over the fortune.
“I think,” pursued Papa Sherwood judiciously, “that instead of spending
our time discussing and dreaming of the fortune in Scotland, we would
better go right on with our tasks here as though there were really no
fortune at all.”
“Oh, my!” whispered Nan, her eyes clouding. “That's because of my last
fortnightly report. I know I fell behind in history and rhetoric.”
“Don't be too hard on us, Papa Sherwood,” said Momsey brightly.
“Anticipation is more than half of every pleasure. I lie awake every
night and spend this great fortune of ours to the very last penny.”
“Of course,” the little lady added, with more gravity, “I wouldn't
really spend fifty thousand dollars so recklessly as I do in my mind.
But I can found schools, and hospitals, and educate Nan, and give you,
Papa Sherwood, a great big business, and buy two automobiles, and-----”
“Enough! Enough!” cried Mr. Sherwood, in mock seriousness. “You are a
born spendthrift, Momsey. That you have had no chance to really be one
thus far will only make your case more serious when you have this legacy
in your possession. Two automobiles, no less!”
“But I want you both, my dears, to bear one very important fact in mind.
Roughly estimated the fortune is ten thousand pounds. To be exact, it
may be a good deal less at the start. Then, after the lawyers and the
courts get through with the will and all, the remainder that dribbles
into your pocket, Momsey, may be a very small part of ten thousand
pounds.”
“Oh, how horrid, Papa Sherwood!” cried Nan. “We won't listen to him,
will we, Momsey?”
“Oh, yes we will,” her mother said quietly, but smiling. “But we will
still believe that the world is good and that God has given us great
good fortune. Papa talks very sensibly; but I know that there is nothing
to fear. We are going to be very well off for the rest of our lives, and
I cannot be thankful enough for it.”
At that Mr. Sherwood literally threw up his hands. “Nevertheless,”
he said, “I expect to go to Chicago next Monday, to begin work in the
machine shop. The boss writes me that I can come at that time.”
“I will get your clothes ready for you, Robert,” said Momsey calmly.
“Perhaps you will feel better in your mind if you keep busy during this
time of waiting.”