vest, Ruthie? A wallet?"

It was an old leather note-case. There appeared to be little in it
when Ruth picked it up, for it was very flat. Certainly there was no
money in it. Nor did there seem to be anything in it that would
identify its owner. However, as Ruth carried it to the window she
found a newspaper clipping tucked into one compartment, and, as it
was damp, too, she took this out, unfolded it, and laid it carefully
on the window sill to dry. But when she looked further, she saw
inside the main compartment of the wallet a name and address
stenciled, It was:

JONAS HATFIELD

SCARBORO, N. Y.

"Sec, Helen," she said to her chum. "Maybe this is his name--Jonas
Hatfield."

"And Scarboro, New York!" gasped Helen, suddenly. "Why, Ruthie!"

"What's the matter?" returned Ruth, in surprise.

"What a coincidence!"

"What is a coincidence?" demanded Ruth, still greatly amazed by her
chum's excitement.

"Why this boy--if this is his wallet and that is his name and
address--comes from right about where we are going to-morrow.