“Why, Miss Simmons, there is Walter now,” he said.
“Oh, so it is,” cried the old maid, starting down the street.
A dusty, tired-out little youngster came towards them. Bob walked on with Miss Simmons, until they reached him.
“You bad little boy!” cried Miss Simmons, seizing Walter by the arms. “Where have you ever been?”
“I’ve been playing postman, that’s all,” replied the little fellow.
He perked up in a proud sort of a way as he said this, Bob thought.
“Postman?” repeated Miss Simmons, with a sniff.
“Yes, Aunty.”
“What do you mean?”