For once Bobby was too tired and hungry to argue.
Obediently, he let Trixie take him home and trotted right upstairs to wash his face and hands.
"I've been invited to a picnic lunch by Honey Wheeler," Trixie told her mother. "May I go if I come back afterward and take care of Bobby when he wakes up from his nap?"
"All right," Mrs. Belden agreed. "I'm glad you've found a new friend. Bobby said you went riding through the woods. Your shirt looks as though you'd had a spill. Did you?"
Trixie nodded, grinning. "It's not as easy as I thought it would be, Moms, but Regan-that's the man who takes care of the Wheelers' horses-said he'd give me lessons. He also said he was sure I'd learn fast."
"I'm sure you will, too," Mrs. Belden smiled. "But try not to break any bones in the process."
Trixie raced up the hill through the wooded path that led up from the vegetable garden to the Wheeler estate. She met Honey coming around the lake from the opposite direction. She was carrying a large, napkin covered basket.
"I've got a whole roasted chicken and a quart of milk," she called out, "and a dozen buttered rolls, besides a lemon meringue pie." She giggled. "I told Miss Trask you had an enormous appetite."
I have." Trixie took one handle of the basket and peeked under the snowy white napkin. "Boy, Jim'll be glad to see all this, won't he?"
As the girls entered the woods, Honey moved closer to Trixie. "Ooh," she murmured, "it's much more scary walking through here than it is riding." The trail was thickly carpeted with pine needles, and the heavy branches of the trees shaded them from the hot noon sun. Honey jumped as a chipmunk appeared from nowhere and scurried across the path. "Regan told me there were foxes and skunks in these woods," she said with a little shiver. "Do you think one of them will attack us, Trixie?"
"Golly, she is nervous," Trixie thought and said out loud, "Of course they won't, silly. Wild animals never attack humans unless we attack them first."
"How about that game hen?" Honey demanded, with a nervous laugh.
"That was different," Trixie told her. "She thought we were after her eggs." She sniffed the air. "I smell a skunk right now. Or a fox. Oh," she finished as they came around a bend in the trail, "there's a skunk, now. Isn't he cute?"
The little black and white animal stood smugly in the middle of the path, several yards ahead of them.
"Cute?" Honey cringed. "It's a horrible, smelly creature, and it'll squirt that awful stuff all over us."
"Skunks aren't really smelly at all," Trixie told her. "They're very clean little animals, and the Indians in Canada think skunk meat is delicious to eat. Mart had a
pet skunk once till Dad discovered it in the chicken coop calmly eating the eggs." She laughed. "They carry that fluid in two little sacs under their tails, and when they jump around that's the time to run. Reddy didn't run fast enough once, and it was days before Mother'd let him inside the house."
"Oh, Trixie, please let's go back," Honey begged. "I'm more afraid of skunks than anything else in the woods."
"Well," Trixie said, "we're perfectly safe unless we come too close. I'm going to throw this stone at him and see if that won't make him move."
Honey let the basket slip to the ground and got ready to run. The skunk, completely ignoring the pebble that bounced beside it, unconcernedly rooted through the leaves for a bug. The second stone landed on its back. The little animal stood perfectly still as though considering the matter carefully, then after a moment, ambled slowly across the path and into the woods.
"See?" Trixie demanded triumphantly.
"Yes," Honey said doubtfully. "But did you ever hear of a mad skunk?"
"Of course not," Trixie cried in derision. "Where did you ever get such a dopey idea?"
"From Jim," Honey told her in a low voice. "He said he hoped that the dog who frightened the horses this morning didn't have rabies. He said that a mad dog will attack anything in its way, and if it bit a fox or a weasel or a skunk that animal would go mad, too, and attack anything or anybody."
"I don't believe it," Trixie said. "And, anyway, we're not sure the dog did have rabies. It could have been foaming from the mouth because it got so hot thrashing around in the tangled vines." Trixie had already forgotten how terrified she had been earlier when she thought Bobby was alone in the woods with a mad dog and was convinced that Jim had deliberately made up a story about mad animals and dogs especially, just to tease Honey.
When they arrived at the hedge, Honey drew back timidly. "You go first," she said. "I'm so jittery I think I'd faint if Queenie even cackled at me."
Trixie laughed and led the way through the thicket, calling out to let Jim know that he didn't have to hide. He promptly appeared at the window and eyed the lunch basket hungrily. "We ought to have a special signal," he said as they handed him the basket and climbed through the window. "I'll teach you how to imitate a bobwhite; then, whenever I hear that bird call, I'll always know it's you.
By the time they had spread out the picnic on the old mattress, both girls had learned how to whistle, "Bob white!" almost as well as Jim did.
"We really ought to clean up this place," Honey said, looking around the cluttered living-room with distaste. "You can't live here like this, Jim. It's perfectly horrible."
Jim shrugged. "It is pretty dirty, but, after all, Uncle James must have liked it this way so we have no right to change anything without his permission." He munched thoughtfully on a drumstick. "I wonder if he'll ever get well. If he doesn't, I'm out of luck."
"Dad is sure to stop by the hospital on the way home," Trixie said, making a thick sandwich out of a buttered roll and a large slab of white meat. "I'll bring you the latest news tomorrow morning."
When they finished lunch, Trixie said excitedly, "I think we ought to start right now searching for the hidden treasure. If Mr. Frayne dies without ever regaining consciousness, nobody'll ever know where it is."
"How do you know there is any hidden treasure, Trixie?" Jim teased. "There's a whole barrelful of bottle tops in the study, if that's what you mean."
Trixie ignored him. "I just have a feeling there's a ton of money or jewels or something hidden around here. Let's start looking." She scrambled to her feet.
"I wouldn't know where to begin," Honey said doubtfully.
"Neither would I," Jim agreed. "Although I suppose that big roll-top desk is the most logical place."
"I don't think we'll find it in a logical place," Trixie said. "If I were a miser and was afraid of robbers, I'd hide my treasure in the same room where I slept and in the most illogical place imaginable."
"For instance?" Jim arched his eyebrows unbelievingly.
"For instance," Trixie retorted, "this pile of old newspapers. No burglar would have the time or the patience to sort through them all but between the pages would be a swell place to hide a will or stock certificates or even money."
"You mean there might have been a method in my uncle's madness?" Jim said, thoughtfully staring at the debris.
"I wouldn't go through that pile of filthy papers for anything," Honey said firmly. "It's probably crawling with roaches. I agree with Jim. The desk is the place to look."
But Trixie had already started riffling through the yellow sheets of faded newsprint. Jim and Honey watched her for a moment and then went into the study to search the desk. After a while, they called out that the desk was locked and that the chest of drawers contained nothing but a few acorns apparently left there by squirrels.
Jim refused to break the lock of the desk without his uncle's permission. "I keep thinking those bottle tops may be worth something," he said deridingly as they joined Trixie in the living-room. Trixie worked on and on, and pretty soon they caught some of her enthusiasm and set to work on the other two stacks which contained old magazines and pamphlets.
Trixie was nearing the bottom of her pile, and she was hot and dusty and discouraged. She was about to admit that she had been wrong when she came across a thick Sunday edition which wa
s more neatly folded than any of the others. The newspaper was so old that it tore apart at the creases when she tried to unfold it, and a large, green-tinged brass key fell out at her feet.
"Oh, joy!" she cried triumphantly, "I'll bet this fits a treasure chest. Now all we have to do is find the chest."
Jim examined the key carefully. "It looks more like an old-fashioned door key to me," he said. "But I can't imagine why Uncle James hid it under that pile of papers."
They tried the front, back, and side doors unsuccessfully, and in the end Jim dropped the key into his silver mug. "It may fit a closet or something in one of the upstairs rooms," he said. "But we can't go up there. The staircase is boarded up, you know."
"We could climb in through one of the windows," Trixie interrupted, but Jim shook his head.
"I don't like to do that," he said soberly. "This is my uncle's home, not mine. He must have boarded up the top floors for some good reason of his own."
They were all staring up at the ceiling wondering what could be up there and why Mr. Frayne wanted it kept a secret, when they heard the sound of something moving rapidly across the floor over their heads.
Honey gave a little scream and clutched Jim's arm. "I've thought all along this house was haunted," she whispered nervously.
Even Trixie felt creepy for a moment and then she joined in Jim's laughter. "Squirrels, of course," Jim said. "Or field mice."
"Oh, Jim," Trixie said, "I'd like to explore up there."
"Well, I wouldn't," Honey said emphatically. "At this point I'd rather see a ghost than a mad squirrel."
"Silly!" Trixie hooted. "What's the idea, Jim, of scaring Honey half to death with crazy stories of mad animals?"
"They're not crazy," Jim said seriously. "I saw a mad weasel once, and I'll never forget it. I was fishing at a pond in the woods, and it came straight at me, running like fury. Lucky for me, I had hip-length rubber boots on, or I probably wouldn't be here to tell the tale. I killed it with a rock and saved the body to show to Dad, who was a naturalist, you know. He said the weasel had hydrophobia. There was a mad dog scare around the countryside that August and Dad said an infected dog had probably bitten the weasel."
Trixie sniffed. "I never heard of such a thing," she declared. "I'll bet you made the whole thing up."
Jim's face flushed with anger, and he stared at her through narrowed green eyes. "There's one thing you'd better find out right now, Trixie Belden," he said evenly. "I never make things up. That was one of the reasons why I left Jonesy. He didn't believe me when I told him I'd won a scholarship to college. I didn't bother to show him the letter from the principal of my high school. I just left." And without another word he stalked across the room and vaulted out of the window.
Trixie felt hot and cold with shame. She knew she had the habit of hurting people's feelings sometimes, without meaning to. Her mother and father and even her older brothers had often told her she should count to ten before jumping to conclusions, but she never seemed to remember in time. Hot tears burned back of her eyes, and she had to swallow hard before she could call out, "I'm sorry, Jim. I didn't mean it."
There was no answer, and Honey said quietly, "Don't feel so badly, Trixie. Jim's a very sensitive boy, but he thinks a lot of you. He told me so this morning when he came back after making sure that Bobby was all right. He said it took an awful lot of courage for you to run through the woods right after a mad dog had been there." Shyly she tucked Trixie's arm through hers. I wish I wasn't such a fraidy cat. I sat there on the window sill so scared I couldn't move and watched you two tearing through the brambles and wondered what it would be like not to be afraid all the time."
Trixie swallowed again and felt better. "Are you really afraid all the time, Honey? Honest?"
Honey nodded. "Yes, and especially at night. I have awful nightmares sometimes, and when I was sick, I had nightmares all the time. I keep dreaming over and over that I'm in a tiny little sealed room, and a great big heavy balloon is pressing down on me. It keeps pressing down until I can't breathe, and then I wake up screaming."
Trixie squeezed her arm sympathetically. "Gosh, it must be awful. I haven't had any nightmares since I was a kid."
"It is awful," Honey said. "Miss Trask says it's just nerves, and when I start eating better I'll get over it." "Start eating better?" Trixie stared at her in amazement. "Why you ate as much as Jim and I did at lunch today. We all ate like pigs!"
Honey flushed with embarrassment, and she bent down to hide her face as she folded the napkin back into the empty basket. "I know I did, Trixie," she said, "but I was hungry today for the first time in my life. I guess," she added quietly, "that was because today was the first time, too, that I ever remember having had any fun." She straightened suddenly. "I'm glad now that my family moved up here. If they hadn't, why, g-gosh, I might never have met you and Jim!"
Copperhead!
When Trixie got home, she found her mother dressed for her Garden Club meeting in the village.
"I'm leaving Bobby in your care," she said as she slid behind the wheel of the station wagon. "You might keep him with you while you do some weeding. Don't forget to gather the eggs and throw out a canful of scratch for the chickens around five o'clock. Your father
filled the mash hoppers this morning, but you had better check the water." She turned on the ignition. "I did the luncheon dishes and the dusting and made a big pitcher of lemonade. There are plenty of cookies in the crock. I thought you might like to have your new friend to tea."
"Oh, Moms!" Trixie jumped on the running board and kissed her mother swiftly. "You're just wonderful. You think of everything." Thoughtfully, she watched the station wagon roll down the driveway under the arch of crabapple trees. "I'm the lucky duck, not Honey," she told herself. "I have what she calls fun all the time. From now on, I'm going to work like a beaver to show Dad and Moms how glad I am I belong to them and not to Honey's father and mother."
Bobby began to wail then, as he always did when he woke up from his nap. Trixie raced upstairs and found him sprawled across his bunk, sleepily rubbing his eyes. "I'm too hot," he howled. "And I won't wear overalls. I wanna wear my bathing suit, and you squirt me with the hose."
"I'll squirt you, later," Trixie said soothingly. "Come on, Bobby, I'll help you with your overall straps and sandals."
"Don't wanna wear sandals," he said crossly, squirming away from her. "Wanna go barefoot."
'All right," Trixie agreed, "but you've got to stay right with me in the garden, then. You can help me weed, and then, afterward, we can have lemonade and cookies out on the terrace."
Bobby cheered up immediately. "I can weed, too," he announced as they walked across the lawn to the garden path. "Mummy showed me this morning which little plants were lamb's quarters and which ones were carrots." He grinned. "I picked an awful lot of carrots first before she 'splained to me."
"You can pull up the purslane," Trixie told him. "They're easy to pick and good to eat. Better than lettuce."
"I won't eat 'em," Bobby said firmly. "'Member the time I ate poison ivy?"
Trixie shuddered. Bobby had heard his older brothers saying that the Indians obtained immunity from poison ivy and poison sumac by chewing the leaves. He had been a very sick little boy for several days. "No, you'd better not eat anything," Trixie cautioned.
" 'Cept lemonade and cookies," Bobby said as he raced ahead of her and tripped over the patch of exposed tree roots.
"Oh, Bobby," Trixie cried impatiently. "Must you trip over roots every single time?"
He scrambled to his feet and picked up his trowel and pail. "Not every single time," he said with injured pride. "Once I tripped over a big black snake, right here. He was so long," he said stretching out his arms full length. "And he didn't bite me, or anything."
"Of course, he didn't bite you," Trixie said. "Snakes don't go around biting people." She hustled the little boy into the fenced-in garden and closed the gate just in time to keep out Reddy who liked nothing bett
er than to run up and down the neat green rows in pursuit of an imaginary rabbit. Reddy sat outside the gate for a while and looked sulkily after them. Then he grew tired of waiting and set off after a squirrel.
Bobby promptly sat down on a carefully tied-up head of lettuce and announced that he was going to dig for worms instead of weeding. "You're worse than Reddy," Trixie scolded him as she moved him to the path. "Now, stay right there and don't dig up anything except this purslane."
Trixie noticed, then, that the tomato seedlings her mother had transplanted that morning were drooping sadly in the hot sun. These plants would bear a late crop of green tomatoes which her mother would pick just before the first frost, and they would ripen slowly indoors so the family could have fresh tomatoes up until Christmas. "I'd better water them after I feed the chickens," Trixie said. "Otherwise, they're sure to die."
She worked along the row of broccoli plants, weeding and cultivating with her scratcher but thinking mostly about Jim and Honey. I hope Jim isn't still mad at me, she thought with a little pang of regret. I'll apologize the first thing in the morning. She began to wonder, then, whether old Mr. Frayne would ever get well and whether or not there really was hidden wealth up at the old Mansion. She was lost in thought when she was startled out of her preoccupation by Bobby's screams.
She scrambled stiffly up from her knees, momen-tarily blinded by the bright sunlight shining in her eyes. Then she saw that the gate was open and there was no sign of Bobby.
"Trixie!" he screamed again, and she realized that he was somewhere in the woods just outside the garden. For a moment panic seized her; Bobby's screams usually meant that he was in trouble, for Bobby was almost always in some sort of trouble. But then she remembered how he had screamed earlier that day just to attract her attention, and she called out sharply, "What is the matter, Bobby? Where are you?"
"I'm here," he called, and she saw him, then, at the edge of the woods waving a forked stick. "I caught a snake," he said, half-crying, half-laughing. "But he didn't like it, and you were wrong. He did bite me." He stuck out his bare foot as she ran to him. "He bitted me on the toe. It burns."
The Secret of the Mansion Page 4
