The Gatehouse Mystery
sense," he muttered. "The idea of letting a little boy run around with a jar in his arms!"
"My frogs," Bobby shrieked. "I've losted 'em all!"
"Never mind," Dick said, setting the boy down on the ground. "I'll help you catch some more." To Trixie, he added in a disagreeable tone of voice, "You'd better get a broom and clean up that broken glass."
"It wasn't my fault," Trixie retorted. "But I'll clean it up. Thanks," she added sarcastically, "for offering to help."
A dark flush spread over his pale features. "I haven't time," he told her coldly. "And it was your fault. You're supposed to take care of that kid, and you go off and leave him for hours at a time."
It was Trixie's turn to flush. She squared her shoulders. "I'm sorry Bobby took up so much of your valuable time this afternoon. It won't happen again." And she marched off to the stable for a broom and dustpan.
He stood watching her, insolently grinning, while she swept and picked up the broken pieces of glass. When she finished, he said, "Let that be a lesson to you. Palling around with a rich little girl has sort of made you forget that you're supposed to work for the money your dad gives you every week, hasn't it?" Trixie ignored him. She started Bobby off on the path that led down to their home and said, "Go right into the house. Your supper is waiting for you."
"I won't go by my own self," he yelled. "Hey! I want Dickie to take me home."
Dick immediately took the boy's fat little hand. "Sure, I'd be glad to, Bobby," he said affably.
Trixie, her hands on her hips, watched them stroll down the hill. "Well, I never," she cried exasperatedly. "He's too busy to help me pick up the pieces, but he's Bobby's willing slave."
Down in the hollow, they were joined by the two dogs. Reddy and Patch greeted the new chauffeur affectionately, and that made Trixie crosser than ever. "This must be Dick's 'Be kind to children and animals week,"' she reflected bitterly. "Anybody over twelve is beneath his notice."
"Talking to yourself?"
Trixie whirled around to face Jim, who must have come quietly down from the back of the house. "No," she told him. "I'm simply boiling over. That new chauffeur is as mean as a snake." She explained, but, instead of being sympathetic, Jim merely chuckled.
"You can't expect everyone who works around here to be the good sport Regan is," he said. "Regan is something pretty special. Ill bet there's not another groom in the world who would put up with what he puts up with, and no complaints." He picked up the dustpan and broom. "I'll put these away for you. Honey's on the front porch champing at the bit because you didn't show up when you said you would."
"Thanks a lot, Jim," Trixie said and added gratefully, "You and Regan are both swell to help me take care of Bobby. I'll try to be better after this."
Inwardly she was thinking, "Bobby must have given Dick a play-by-play description of what the Belden family does every day. How else could he have known that Dad gives me five dollars a week for helping Moms at home?"
As she walked along the graveled driveway, she tried to remember what Bobby had said to her about the secrets he shared with the new chauffeur. Something he had said didn't make sense. If Dick were very modest, he might not want it known that he had bought some bones in the village for the dogs. That would explain that "see-crud." But what else was it Bobby had told her?
Then Trixie remembered. "I showed Dickie all round Honey's place today," Bobby had said smugly. "I showed him the wading pool and the cottage and Honey's windows. That's a see-crud, too."
Honey's windows! That was it, and now it did make sense!
Midnight Prowler • 6
DINNER AT the Manor House was usually such a formal affair that it never failed to awe Trixie. She was always terrified of using the wrong fork or spoon; and, no matter how careful she was, she always managed to spill something on the snowy white tablecloth.
But on Thursdays, the cook's night off, the meal was a much more simple affair. Celia served the first course, and then she and Miss Trask brought in platters of cold cuts and big bowls of salad. Everyone helped himself, and the dessert was usually fruit and crackers with several kinds of cheese. Grown-ups were served coffee in fragile little cups.
This Thursday night, Trixie made up her mind that she would have some coffee, too. Otherwise, she would never stay awake. And she had to stay awake. Someone, she was sure, would sneak
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