ords of the Oliver County almshouse, and you thought you might know something of his people."
The old man pushed his spectacles up on his forehead fretfully and regarded the girl impatiently from a pair of near-sighted blue eyes.
"The books weren't worth anything," he told her seriously. "I spent near a day going over 'em, and there wasn't a volume worth bringing back with me. Folks get the idea in their heads that a book's worth money just because it is old. 'Tain't so—I could fill my tables and shelves with old trash and still not have any stock. Jim Turner don't know a valuable book from a turnip."
Mr. Hale gave every indication of returning to the absorbing volume before him, and Betty plunged in hastily with another question.
"You know a boy named Bob Henderson, don't you?" she urged.
"Yes, he was in here some time last week," answered Hale calmly. "Was it Wednesday, or Tuesday—that load of old almanacs was delivered that same afternoon."
"Well, I'm a friend of his." Betty almost stuttered in her eagerness to explain before the old man should be lost again in his book. "He worked on the farm where I spent the summer, and he told me about you and how anxious he was to see you and find out about his people. I've been anxious, too, to learn if he reached Wash-
