"It's a joke!" declared Grace.
"It sounds far from being a joke," spoke Betty, seriously. "Girls, there may be a grim tragedy here."
"How romantic!" sighed Mollie. "What shall we do with the money?"
"We must take it home and consult our folks about it," decided Betty. "I'll ask papa—and you might refer the question to yours, Amy. Being a broker, he's quite likely to know about such things, and can tell us what to do. This is quite a lot of money to lose, I wonder how we can find the owner?"
"Advertise?"
"Maybe there'll be a notice in the post office."
"It can't have been here very long. Perhaps we'll meet whoever it belongs to, coming back to look for it," spoke Grace.
Thus came some opinions, and while various others were rapidly formed and expressed, and as the girls are speculating on how the bill, and the attached paper, came to lie so openly on the highway, I hope I may be permitted to insert here a little descriptive matter that will, perhaps, give the reader a clearer understanding of the characters of this story.
And as Betty Nelson had, by right of more than one informal conquest, reached the position of leader, I can do no better than begin with her.
Betty was about sixteen years old. She was not exactly what one would call "pretty"—that is, at first glance. More likely she would have been spoken of as "good-looking." At least by the boys. And certainly Betty was good to look upon. Her face showed her character. There was a calm thoughtfulness about it that suggested strength of mind, and yet it was not the type of face called "strong." It was purely girlish, and it reflected her bright and vivacious manner perfectly. How her features lighted up when she spoke—or listened—her friends well knew. Her eyes seemed always to be dancing with fun, yet they could look calmly at trouble, too.