The legacy amounted to ten thousand dollars; and coming as it did from a little known, scarcely remembered relative it seemed even more unreal than the man who had bequeathed it. Not until lawyers' visits and numerous official-looking papers had convinced the Daltons beyond the smallest doubt did the family believe their good fortune genuine; then, with the conviction, came all the overwhelming ambitions and unsatisfied longings of past years.
"There, now we can leave the farm," exulted Mrs. Dalton.
"Why, Sarah, do—do you think that is quite—wise?" asked her husband.
"Wise? Of course it is!" she returned decidedly. "Why, Caleb, don't you know?—we've always wanted to go to the city; and Cousin John said he 'd give you a place in his store any time, so you'll earn something to start with right away. We never dared to before, you know, for you wa'n't sure how you'd do; but now we 've got all this money we shan't have to worry a mite. Oh, isn't it just splendid, Caleb?"
"Yes; but—" he hesitated.
"Why, Caleb, I don't believe you appreciate it a bit!"
"Oh, I do, indeed I do, Sarah, but—" again he hesitated.
"But there is n't any 'but,' Caleb," laughed Sarah, and turned to a boy of twelve and a girl of fourteen who entered the room at that moment. "We've got it all settled, children. We 're going to Boston, sure, this fall."
"Oh, mother!"—Ethel's hands came together in ecstasy, while Fred whooped in glee.
"There's the lovely big stores and the people," cried Ethel.