He started around the store, looking into displaced boxes and cans and returning them to their places. Presently Harry got a piece of paper and began to put down a list of the things which they believed had been taken. “There were more sides of bacon than this,” said Chub. “There were seven,” said Harry. “I noticed yesterday. They’ve stolen four.” “Put it down,” said Chub. “And they’ve made a big hole here in the canned things. Looks to me as though they’d taken about two dozen cans. You can see where they took peaches and green-gage plums. Let’s see; put down six of each, Harry, and about a dozen more assorted--tomatoes, beans, and other truck. And sardines, I guess; I don’t know how many; say three or four. That’s all they took here, I think.” He worked around the store, examining, tidying, and replacing, Harry following anxiously with her paper and pencil. When they had finished they breathed easier. It seemed that the robbers had confined themselves entirely to bacon and canned goods, although, as Chub allowed, they might have helped themselves to other things in small quantities for all they knew. But at most the value of the things taken would foot up well under ten dollars. “Don’t see why they didn’t take more,” mused Chub. “They had all the time they wanted, apparently.” “Maybe they had to carry the things a long way,” Harry suggested. Chub shot a questioning glance at her. “What do you mean?” he asked. “Why, they might live a long way off,” Harry explained. “I don’t believe it was any one who lives here, do you?” “No, I don’t. It might have been a couple of tramps. The railroad isn’t more than a quarter of a mile from here, and they may have been walking along the track and got hungry and came over to see what they could find. Only, how’d they know there was no one at home here?” “That’s so,” murmured Harry. “It looks as though it must have been some one who knew that Mrs. Peel was away, doesn’t it?” “Yes,” answered Chub, thoughtfully. “Well, whoever they were, they cleaned up the cash-drawer.” He walked over to it and stared into it, hands in pocket. “There ought to have been a lock on it, though I don’t suppose that would have kept them out.” He turned away, and as he did so something white on the floor under the counter caught his eye. Picking it up, he bore it to the light. It proved to be a crumpled wad of papers. Chub smoothed them out, revealing Harry’s memoranda of sales, the letter to Jennie, and the letter to Mrs. Peel. Both envelopes had been torn open. “Guess they thought there might be money in them,” said Chub. Then--“Look here, Harry,” he said, “I’m going to read this one to Jennie and see if Mrs. Peel says when she’s coming back. Under the circumstances I think it’s allowable, don’t you?” “Yes,” answered Harry. “I do. Because she ought to know what’s happened, and if she isn’t coming to-day or to-morrow we must write to her.” So Chub opened the letter and read it aloud: