Christmas--at least, that was the postmark on the parcels, but
he has never written a word. He was always a bad correspondent, but
he'll turn up one of these days."

Mrs. M'Cosh came in with the letters from the evening post.

"Actually a letter for me," said Jean, "from London. I expect it's from
that landlord of ours. Surely he won't be giving us notice to leave The
Rigs. Pamela, I'm afraid to open it. It looks like a lawyer's letter."

"Open it then."

Jean opened it slowly and read the enclosure with a puzzled frown; then
she dropped it with a cry.

Pamela looked up from her work to see Jean with tears running down her
face. Jock and Mhor stopped what they were doing and came to look at
her. Peter rubbed himself against her legs by way of comfort.

"My dear," said Pamela, "is there anything wrong?"

"Oh, do you remember the little old man who came one day to look at the
house and stayed to tea and I sang 'Strathairlie' to him? He's dead."

Jean's tears flowed afresh as she said the words. "How I wish I had
been kinder to him. I somehow felt he was ill."

"And why have they written to tell you?" Pamela asked.

Jean picked up the letter which had fallen on the floor.

"It's from his lawyer, and he says he has left me money.... Read it,
Pamela. I don't seem able to see the words."

So Pamela read aloud the letter that converted poverty-stricken Jean
into a very wealthy woman.

Jean's face was dead white, and she lay back as if stunned, while Jock
gave solemn utterance to the most complicated ejaculation he had yet
achieved: "Goodness-gracious-mercy-Moses-Murphy-mumph-mumph-mumph!"

Mhor said nothing, but stared with grave green eyes at the stricken
figure of the heiress.

"It's awful," Jean moaned.

"But, my dear," said Pamela, "I thought you wanted to be rich."

"Oh--rich in a gentle way, a few hundreds a year--but this--"

"Poor Jean, buried under bullion."

"You're all looking at me differently already," cried poor Jean. "Mhor,
it's just the same me. Money can't make any real difference. Don't stare
at me like that."

"Will Peter have a diamond collar now?" Mhor asked.

"Awful effect of sudden riches," said Pamela.

"Bear up, Jean--I've no doubt you'll be able to get rid of your money.
Just think of all the people you will be able to help. You needn't spend
it on yourself you know."

"No, but suppose it's the ruin of the boys! I've often heard of sudden
fortunes making people go all wron