Every Sunday morning, they were out cleaning the street, looking like community-minded kids.
It was heartwarming, reminding me of my own kids before they grew up and moved out. I admired their dedication.
One morning, I spotted their mom, Grace, rushing out, probably running late for work. I called out, “Grace! Your kids are doing a wonderful job cleaning the street.
You must be so proud!”. She paused, gave me a strange look, then smiled briefly.
“Oh, yeah… thanks. They’re good kids.
” Her tone was a bit odd, but I figured she was just in a hurry. .
Weeks passed, and I continued watching Becky and Sam—those were their names—working hard every Sunday. I even offered them lemonade once, but they politely declined, saying they had to “finish up.
Then, last Sunday, something unexpected happened
From my usual spot, I noticed Sam wasn’t just picking up trash. He was crouched by the big oak tree in front of my house, moving leaves aside and carefully tucking something under a bush.
I squinted to get a better look; it definitely didn’t look like trash. He kept glancing around, as if he were up to something.
After they finished and left, my curiosity got the better of me. I put on my gloves and went outside.
The wind tugged at my hair as I bent by the tree, brushing aside the leaves Sam had arranged. There it was—a small pile of loose change! Quarters, dimes, even a few pennies.
Puzzled, I checked other spots along the street and, sure enough, found more coins hidden behind street signs, between bricks, and even near the drain. .
By the end, I’d collected nearly five dollars in change. But why were they hiding money instead of cleaning?.
That afternoon, I saw Grace unloading groceries and decided to solve the mystery. I walked over, the coins jingling in my pocket.
Grace!” I called, waving her over. She looked up, surprised but smiling.
“Hey! Is everything alright?”. .
I laughed, trying to sound casual. “Yes, I just wanted to say again how wonderful your kids are, cleaning every week.
”. Grace looked genuinely puzzled.
“Cleaning? What do you mean?”. I blinked in surprise.
“They’re out there every Sunday, sweeping and picking up trash. I see them from my window!”.
She looked baffled, then burst into laughter. “Oh, they’re not cleaning!”.
I stared, completely lost. “Wait, what?”
“They’re on a treasure hunt!” she explained, still laughing. “Their grandpa hides coins around the neighborhood for them to find every Sunday.
It’s a game they’ve been playing for years! They’re not picking up trash—they’re hunting for treasure!”. I was stunned.
“A treasure hunt? So all this time, I thought they were cleaning the neighborhood, and they’ve just been playing?”. .
Grace nodded, still smiling. “Exactly! My dad started it when they were little.
He hides coins—quarters, dimes, sometimes even a dollar—and they spend Sunday mornings searching for them.”.
I couldn’t help but laugh. “Well, I’ll be! Here I was, thinking they were the most responsible kids around, and they’ve been playing pirates all along!”.
Sorry for the confusion! I guess it does look like they’re cleaning, but really, it’s all about the treasure.”.
I pulled out the coins I’d collected. “And this? I found it under the bushes today!”.
Grace gasped. “Oh no, you found their stash!”.
“I couldn’t help it,” I admitted, chuckling. “I saw them hiding something and thought they were being sneaky.
”. .
Grace shrugged with a smile. “No worries.
I’ll let them know where their treasure went—they’ll love it!”. We shared a good laugh, and then Grace asked, “So, what did you think they were doing?”.
Feeling a bit sheepish, I shrugged
“Honestly? I thought they were doing some sort of community service. I even told you how responsible they are!”.
Grace shook her head, still laughing. “Well, in a way, they are.
They’re keeping Grandpa happy and getting some fresh air, right?”. “True,” I said, smiling.
“But next Sunday, I think I’ll just sit back and enjoy the treasure hunt.”.
