“Why, yes, I was,” answered Bob.

“What was it?”

“Some letters. That little boy out at the gate got hold of some letters of his aunt, Miss Simmons. She lives down the street. He played postman, and left them at a lot of houses.”

“Oh,” said the man, slowly, as if thinking hard, “that’s it, eh? Valuable letters?”

“Why, I don’t suppose so,” replied Bob. “They were old letters that Miss Simmons had kept for a good many years. She is dreadfully upset about losing them.”

“Say,” grinned the man, “I’ll bet they’re old love-letters.”

“Maybe,” replied Bob. “Anyhow, there were twenty of them.”

“Twenty?”

“Yes.”

“Did you find any of them?”

“All except four,” replied Bob. “Little Walter says he left those on this porch here. You didn’t see them, did you, mister?”

“Me? No,” said the man, in a sort of a shifty way.

“I thought you might, having been here probably when the little fellow left them.

“Oh, I was snoozing,” declared the man. “Where do you suppose they went to?”

[35]

[35]

“I think they have blown away among the litter down by the creek,” explained Bob.

“Yes, that seems likely,” said the man.

He slouched down the steps and loitered about the gate as Bob took little Walter away towards the home of Miss Simmons. As he turned into her yard he happened to glance back. The man he had just left stood in the middle of the sidewalk, watching where he went.

“Did you find them—oh, did you find them?” asked Miss Simmons, anxiously, as Bob came up the steps.

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