ater. Rose, where is that
pocketbook you found?" he asked.

"Why? Do you know who owns it?" the little girl asked.

"No, but I want to look at it again. Perhaps there may be a card, or
something, that will tell the address of the person who lost it and the
sixty-five dollars."

"But we did look," said Russ, "and we couldn't find any."

"I thought perhaps the card or paper might have slipped through a hole
in the lining," said Mr. Bunker, "as the real estate papers I searched
for so long slipped inside the lining of the old coat I gave the
lumberman. Where is the pocketbook?"

"Mother has it," answered Rose. "I'll get it for you, Daddy!"

She ran to her mother, and soon returned with the purse. The sixty-five
dollars had been put in a safe in Aunt Jo's house, but the sad little
letter was still in the wallet.

Mr. Bunker read it over again, and then carefully looked through the
pocketbook. It was an old one, and the lining was torn, but there was no
slip of paper or card in any hole that would tell to whom the
pocketbook should be returned.

"I'll advertise once more," said Mr. Bunker, "and then, if no one claims
it, I guess the money will belong to you, Rose."

"And can I spend it?"

"Oh, no indeed! Not all of it. A little, perhaps; but the rest will be
put away for you, until you grow to be a young lady. Still I would
rather give it to whoever owns it."

"So should I," said Rose softly. "I'd like to get back my lost doll,
that I sent up in the balloon airship, and I guess the pocketbook lady
would like to get her money back."

They all thought the pocketbook belonged to a poor woman. They got this
idea from the letter--that is, the grown-up folks and the older children
did. Mun Bun and Margy didn't think much about it, one way or the other.
All they cared about was having fun.

And the six little Bunkers certainly had fun at Aunt Jo's. They played
in the yard or around the garage; they went for auto rides, on little
excursions and picnics, they played with Alexis, the big dog, and they
rode on the skatemobile.

One day a boy named Tom Martin, who lived about half a block from Aunt
Jo's house, came up in front and called:

"Hi, Russ! Ho, Laddie! Come on out and play tops!"

The two older Bunker boys had become acquainted with Tom, and liked to
play with him. Now they heard him calling and Russ answered:

"We'll be out in a minute; soon as we've had some bread and jam."

"Bring Tom a piece, too," s