“Here’s a couple of letters,” said Dick, as Chub raised the window-curtains. They were lying on the floor just over the threshold, and he picked them up and examined them. “One for Miss Jennie Frost and one for Mrs. Amanda Peel. Strange I didn’t get anything.”
He handed them to Harry, and she looked them over critically.
“This one’s from Mrs. Peel to her niece,” she said. “And the other—Chub, where did you say Jennie lived?”
“Byers, or something like that. Why?”
“Because this other letter is postmarked Byers. It just means, I suppose, that Jennie can’t come.”
“Probably.”
“I wish we could open the other letter, the one from Mrs. Peel, and see when she’s coming back.”
“Yes, but of course we can’t,” said Roy. “Besides, what does it matter?”
“Well, it seems too bad to have the store shut up, doesn’t it? I’m sure Mrs. Peel needs money badly. I’ll put these letters in the cash drawer.”
“Come and look at the pocket-knives, Roy,” called Dick. “I’m going to have one. There’s a dandy here for seventy-five cents. Look.”
