“Most of them, Miss Simmons,” replied Bob, handing her sixteen of the letters.

“There are four of them missing,” said the old maid, counting the letters.

“Yes, ma’am. I know where Walter left them, though.”

“Where, Bob?”

“At the Dunbar house.”

“There is no one at home there now.”

“I know it, but the letters were gone. Tell you, Miss Simmons, I feel pretty sure the wind blew them across the yard and in among a great lot of litter near the creek.”

“Oh, I hope so! Oh, I hope no one will ever find them!” sighed Miss Simmons. “I haven’t got any change in the house, Bob, but when you come by again stop in, and I’ll give you ten cents.”

“Don’t think of it,” replied Bob. “When I have time, Miss Simmons, I’ll make another search for those four missing letters.”

“You’re a good boy, Bob.”

“Thank you, Miss Simmons.”

“And—and, Bob, please don’t tell anybody I took on so about those letters.”

“Oh, no, ma’am, I won’t,” promised Bob.

[36]

[36]

He went on his way, whistling. The man he had met at the Dunbar house had gotten out of sight by this time. Bob supposed he was some tramp passing through the village. He forgot all about him, and Miss Simmons, too, as he hurried towards the schoolhouse.

There was a fine meadow right near the school grounds. This had been chosen as a favorite spot for sport. The baseball and football teams of the town played there regularly. It was marked off for both games, and there were some benches at one corner of the field. At the other end there was a tennis court.

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