“You are pretty well loaded down,” said Mrs. Hardy, who was at the gate to see him off.
“He is a peddler with a pack,” said Ruth. “But don’t you mind that, Frank, so long as you are making money.”
“I don’t mind it a bit,” he answered, cheerfully, and then, with a wave of his hand, he started for Camperville, twenty-two miles distant.
He had three calls to make on the road, and at the last of the three he stopped for dinner. As he was entering the yard, he encountered a small-built, sallow-faced man coming away, valise in hand. The stranger had an air about him that was far from reassuring.
“I am so glad he has gone, ma,” Frank heard a girl in the kitchen say.
“So am I glad, Emma. I wonder where the money went to?”
“I’m sure I don’t know. We didn’t take it, goodness knows.”
“He was awfully angry.”
So the talk ran on, and Frank soon gathered that the stranger had lost ten dollars while stopping at the house overnight.
“He almost accused us of stealing it,” said Mrs. Farley, the lady of the place. “He said he had placed two five-dollar bills on the mantelshelf in his room, and now they were gone. We hunted everywhere, but couldn’t find the money.”