The Gatehouse Mystery

helping her mother fix lunch, Miss Trask called, inviting Trixie for supper and to spend the night. When Mrs. Belden came back from the phone, she said, "They're so hospitable, Trixie, I never can say no. Are you sure you're not wearing out your welcome?"
    Trixie grinned. "They've already put an extra leaf in the dining-room table so there'll be room for Brian and Mart. And they fixed up the extra guest rooms for them, too." She hugged her mother impulsively. "I really like our house much better than anyplace in the world, but it is fun to go visiting."
    "Of course it is." Mrs. Belden smiled. "And I don't suppose you have tomatoes almost every meal the way we do down here when they're in season."
    "Only because Gallagher was such a lazy gardener," Trixie said. "They have even more tomatoes than we have, but nobody picks them except Miss Trask, and she's almost always too busy to go near the garden."
    "What a pity," Mrs. Belden said as she dried tender baby lettuce leaves in a clean dish towel. "Maybe a nice way for you to repay them for their hospitality would be for you to take them some of my homemade tomato juice."
    "They'd love it," Trixie said. "But they'd like your green tomato chutney the best of all, Moms. You can't buy anything like that in the stores."
    "Fine," Mrs. Belden said. "Remind me when I start picking the green tomatoes early in October." She laughed. "I mean, when you pick them for me."
    "It never seems to end," Trixie said with a moan. "Sometimes, Moms, I wish you hadn't been born with a green thumb."
    "Speaking of which," her mother said, "there are beans to be picked and early potatoes to be dug. And don't go up to Honey's this afternoon until you've gathered the eggs and fed the chickens."
    It was after six when Trixie climbed the hill to the Manor House, and she was so tired from working in the garden she knew she would fall asleep the minute she got into Honey's big bed.
    "But I've got to stay awake," she wailed inwardly. "I just know Nailor will try to sneak into Honey's room and get the diamond." She stopped, suddenly, as she heard stealthy footsteps on the path behind her. She wheeled. "Bobby Belden, what do you mean by following me with that jar full of leopard frogs? Go and put them right back in the pond."
    "Won't," Bobby said firmly. "I'm gonna show 'em to Dickie. Mummy said I could."
    "Are you sure she said you could, Bobby?" Trixie demanded suspiciously. "It's your suppertime."
    Bobby nodded until his blond curls danced. "Sure as sure. Hey! I love Dickie, and he loves me." He trotted along beside Trixie, clutching the jar of frogs.
    Trixie made sure that there were enough air holes punched in the metal top. "I wish you'd stop catching frogs," she said. "It's sort of cruel. Even though you do let them go right afterward."
    "Is not cruel," Bobby said. "They like it. I feed 'em flies and things. I love frogs 'most as much as I love Reddy and Patch and Regan and Dickie. But Dickie," he confided in a lower voice, "is 'fraid of horses."
    "I don't believe it," Trixie said with a sniff and a toss of her head.
    "He is so," Bobby insisted. "Tol' me so his very own self. But he loves Patch and Reddy. Bought 'em some big bones when he droved into the village. Oh, oh," he finished. "That was a see-crud."
    "Don't be silly," Trixie said. "Why should it be a secret? It was very nice of him to bring some bones back to the dogs."
    "We have lots of see-cruds," Bobby said smugly. "I showed Dickie all round Honey's place today. I showed him the wading pool and the cottage and Honey's windows. That's a see-crud, too."
    "Well, I'm glad you had fun," Trixie said absentmindedly and added to herself, "Bobby and his secrets! He's hopeless!"
    The plump little boy raced ahead of her to show his prize to the new chauffeur, tripped on an exposed tree root, and fell on the rocky path. The jar broke with a loud crash. For a moment, Trixie was too frightened to move. Broken glass was all around him—was Bobby badly cut?
    He was yelling as though he were suffering from a million serious wounds, and Trixie forced her trembling legs to carry her to his side. But Dick reached the child first and lifted him up in his arms.
    "There, there, Bobby," he said in a reassuring voice. "You haven't got a scratch."
    Trixie saw, with relief, that Bobby was only screaming because his leopard frogs were hopping off into the ferns as fast as they could. The new chauffeur gave her a disapproving glance. "You ought to have better