"Maybe people will bring them back to you," said Bob.
"But they would read them first. Oh, I should die if they did! I would leave town. Everybody would be laughing at me."
"What would they laugh for?" asked honest Bob.
Miss Simmons did not reply to this. She only wrung her hands and looked worried to death.
"Oh, Bob, please try and get those letters back," she begged of him. "I'll pay you well."
"I don't want any pay," said Bob. "Here, Walter, you come with me and show me what you did with those letters."
Bob caught hold of Walter's hands, but the little fellow hung back.
"I don't want to go," he whimpered.
"Why not?" asked Bob.
"I'm all tired out."
"I'll carry you on my back part of the way," promised Bob, "and I'll make you a fine kite next Saturday."
"Oh, goody! I'll go, I'll go," cried Walter.
"Now, Miss Simmons, you go in the house and get some rest and quiet," said Bob.
"Do you think you can get the letters back?" asked Miss Simmons, anxiously.
"Don't worry now," said Bob. "I'm going to do the best I can, and, you see, I stand a good show, getting after them so quickly."
Miss Simmons went into the house, and Bob hoisted Walter to his back.
"Now then," he said, "you must tell me just what you did with those letters."
"Yes, I will," replied the little fellow, greatly delighted at the ride and the promise of a kite. "You see, I went down this street to the next corner."
