“Oh, yes. I saw him come in, and I thought it was a circular. Then I noticed Miss Simmons’ name on it, and guessed the little fellow was up to some boyish prank. Here it is. I was going to return it to her.”
Thus Bob went down one side of the street. At every place but one he found the letters where they had been left. At the one place a boy had found the letter, and carried it as far as the street, and threw it into the grass, where Bob now found it.
By the time Bob had gone up the other side of the street nearly to its end, he had gathered up sixteen of the lost letters. There was only one house left. It was a big residence. A rich family named Dunbar lived there. Bob knew they were still absent at some summer resort.
“Did you leave any of the letters here, Walter?” he asked of his little charge.
“Oh, yes, all of the rest of them.”
“How many?”
“Three—no, four, I guess,” replied Walter. “You see, it’s a big house, and I thought a good many people would live in it.”
“Where did you put the letters?” asked Bob.
“I threw them right up on the porch.”
“I don’t see them,” said Bob.