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“My address is on that, Mauney,” she said. “Please write to me once in a while and let me know how you are getting along. We go back to Scotland in another week. Dear me, you ought to be glad you live in America.”

Soon her husband was beside the car.

“That land could all be reclaimed,” he said, wagging his thumb toward the marsh. “It wouldn’t cost over two thousand, either.”

“Dollars?” asked Mrs. Day.

“No, pounds.”

“They don’t need to do that sort of thing,” stated Miss Day. “As it is now, there’s plenty of tillable soil not under cultivation. I fancy that it will be a long time before these farmers will find it necessary to reclaim land.”

Day glanced at his watch.

“If you don’t mind, Mary,” he said, “it’s getting late and we’d better try to make Lockwood before dark. How far is it, Mauney?”

“It’s just over twenty miles.”

They entered the car while Mauney stood on the road waiting to say good-bye. Neville Day tossed away the stump of his cigar and settled down behind the wheel, adjusting his motor-cap more comfortably.