One morning, some few weeks afterwards, Alison found on her plate a letter addressed to herself in a strange handwriting. After wondering about it for some moments, she opened it. The letter ran thus:
“Re Mr. James Thomson, deceased.
“To Miss Alison Muirhead.
“Dear Madam,
“We beg to inform you that, in accordance with the last will and testament of our client, the late Mr. James Thomson, there lies at our office a packet containing a thousand threepenny bits, being a legacy which he devised to yourself, free of duty, in a codicil added a few days before his death. We should state that, by the terms of the bequest, it was our client’s wish that five hundred of the threepenny bits should be spent by you for others within a year of its receipt, and not put away against a maturer age; the remaining five hundred he wished to be spent by yourself, for yourself, and for yourself alone, also within the year. The parcel is at your service whenever it is convenient to you to call for it.
“We are, dear madam,
“Yours faithfully,
“Lee, Lee and Lee.”
Alison was too bewildered to take it all in on the first reading, and her father therefore read it again and explained some of the words, which perhaps your father will do for you.
But if Alison was bewildered, it was nothing to her mother’s state, which was one of amazement and pride too.
“To think of it!” she cried.
“Well, I never heard of such a thing in my life!” she said.
“It’s like something in a book or a play!” she exclaimed.
“A thousand threepenny bits! Why, that’s—let me see—yes, it’s—why, it’s twelve pounds ten,” she remarked.