With trembling hands the Heir of Linne fitted the golden key into the lock of one of the chests. It opened it easily, and when he raised the lid, what was his joy to find that the chest was full of bags of good red gold. There was enough of it to buy back his father's land, and when he saw it he hid his face in his hands, and sobbed for very thankfulness. The key opened the other two chests as well, and he found that one of them was also full of gold, while the other was full of silver. It was plain that his father had known how recklessly he would spend his money, and had stored up these chests for him here in this hidden place, where no one was likely to find them, so that when he was penniless, and had learned how wicked and stupid he had been, he might get another chance if he liked to take it. He had indeed learned a lesson. With outstretched hands he vowed a vow that he would follow his father's advice and mend his ways, and that from henceforth he would try to be a better man, and lead a worthier life, and use this money in a better way. Then he lifted out three bags of gold, and hid them in his ragged cloak, and locked up the chests again, and took his way down the hill to his father's castle. When he arrived, he peeped in at one of the windows, and there he saw John o' the Scales, fat and prosperous-looking, sitting with his wife Joan at the head of the table, and beside them three gentlemen who lived in the neighbourhood. They were laughing, and feasting, and pledging each other in glasses of wine, and, as he looked at them, he wondered how he had ever allowed the sleek, cunning-looking steward to become Lord of Linne in his father's place. With something of his old pride he knocked at the door, and demanded haughtily to speak with the master of the castle. He was taken straight to the dining-hall, and when John o' the Scales saw him standing in his rags he broke into a rude laugh. "Well, Spendthrift," he cried, "and what may thine errand be?" The heir wondered if this man, who, in the old days had flattered and fawned upon him, had any pity left, and he determined to try him. "Good John o' the Scales," he said, "I have come hither to crave thy help. I pray thee to lend me forty pence." It was not a large sum. John o' the Scales had often had twice as much from him, but the churlish fellow started up in a rage. "Begone, thou thriftless loon," he cried; "thou needst not come hither to beg. I swear that not one penny wilt thou get from me. I know too well how thou squandered thy father's gold." Then the heir turned to John o' the Scales' wife Joan. She was a woman; perhaps she would be more merciful. "Sweet madam," he said, "for the sake of blessed charity, bestow some alms on a poor wayfarer."