“Looking for something, lad?” asked the tramp, noticing this.
“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.”