“No, guess not. These must be unregistered bonds. I expect somebody once thought he was awfully rich with all this paper. It totes up quite a fortune, Aggie.”
“Oh, dear!” sighed Agnes. “I guess it’s true, Neale: The more you have the more you want. When we were so poor in Bloomingsburg it seemed as though if we had a dollar over at the end of the month, we were rich. Now that we have plenty—all we really need, I s’pose—I wish we were a little bit richer, so that we could have an auto, Neale.”
“Uh-huh!” said Neale, still feasting his eyes on the engraved bonds. “Cracky, Aggie! there’s fifty of ’em.”
“Goodness! Fifty thousand dollars?”
“All in your eye!” grinned Neale. “What do you suppose they ever pasted them into a scrap-book for?”
“That’s just it!” cried Agnes.
“What’s just it?”
“A scrap-book. I didn’t think of it before. They made this old album into a scrap-book.”
“Who did?” demanded the boy, curiously.
“Somebody. Children, maybe. Maybe Aunt Sarah Maltby might tell us something about it. And it will be nice for Tess and Dot to play with.”