CHAPTER III
THE LOST LETTERS
Bob hardly knew what hysterics were. He thought that Miss Simmons was in a fit.
"Don't get scared, Walter," he said to the little boy, who was frightened and began to cry.
Bob jumped over the fence and ran to the pump in the yard. A cup hung on a nail. He filled this with cool, fresh water, and ran back to Miss Simmons. She was sitting up by this time and moaning, but she saw him coming.
"Don't throw that water on me," she said. "I'm only faint. Let me drink. Oh, those letters! those letters!"
Miss Simmons got to her feet, and at once fell against the fence again. Bob wondered why she was so stirred up.
"I wouldn't get so excited if I were you," he said. "What about the letters, Miss Simmons?"
"Oh, I can't tell. That is—they are very precious—I mean important," stammered the old maid, covering her face with her hands.
"Maybe I can get them back for you."
"Oh, could you? Can you?" cried the woman, eagerly.
"I can try," said Bob. "Were there many of them?"
"Just twenty, Bob," replied Miss Simmons.
"Twenty? Were they all addressed to you?"
"Yes, years ago. Oh, I must get them back at once. Bob—at once," and she acted as if she was going into another fit.
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