The Gatehouse Mystery

said, shaking water out of her ear by hopping up and down on the raft. "Dick didn't go off on account of his black eye. He went off for some other reason, and it has something to do with the mystery."
    "What, exactly?" Mart demanded. "Elucidate, my dear Holmes."
    She whirled on him, and he pretended to cringe with fright. "I take 'elucidate' back," he howled. "I take it all back. What I meant was, explain, make clear your statement, Miss Belden."
    Trixie giggled. "I can't explain, make clear, or elucidate. I just feel it in my bones."
    Mart groaned. "Feminine intuition. Gleeps, noodle-head, spare us that."
    "I'll spare you that and a lot more," Trixie said tartly. "I was just going to explain, make clear, and elucidate to you about the letter of recommendation from Mr. Whitney. But, since I'm a noodlehead, I'd better keep it to myself."
    "I modify that statement," Mart said promptly. "You're not a noodlehead; you're merely equipped with scrambled brains."
    "Scrambled eggs would be nice now," Jim said with a grin. "And here come Miss Trask and Celia with the wherewithal." He dived off the float and, with his fast crawl, struck cleanly through the water toward the boathouse.
    They all followed him and a few minutes later were busy preparing breakfast. With everyone helping, they soon had a feast spread out on the table on the boathouse porch.
    "Honey," Mart said approvingly, "is hereby elected chief waffle-maker of the club." He waved a skewer at Trixie. "And you, addlebrain, are the barbecue chef."
    "I told you Honey and I are marvelous cooks," Trixie said smugly.
    "Oh, let's do have a club," Honey interrupted. "When I was in boarding school, I was always reading books about boys and girls who were members of secret clubs and had such fun." She added wistfully, "I never thought the day would come when I might belong to „ » one.
    "The Riders of the Glen, that's what we are," Mart yelled excitedly. "R.O.G. We'll call ourselves the Rouges."
    "Speak for yourself, knave," Brian said with a chuckle. "Just because you're a rascal doesn't mean the rest of us are."
    "Couldn't we be sort of Robin Hoods or something like that?" Honey asked. "The name of the red trailer was the Robin, you know. And the Darnells were the same kind of people Robin Hood would have helped in olden times."
    "We're better at riding than we are at archery," Mart objected.
    "And we think of ourselves as detectives," Jim added, grinning, "although we didn't prove much last night."
    " 'If at first you don't succeed, try, try again,' " Trixie chanted. "Canadian mounties are sort of detectives on horseback. And, in a way, they're modem Robin Hoods. Their motto isn't simply 'Get your man.' They are trained to give help to anyone who needs it."
    "How educated can we get?" Mart asked. "Where did you pick up that knowledge, Trix?"
    "In a book," she informed him airily. "Just because I can't thread a needle doesn't mean I can't read."
    "You've got an idea," Honey said. "We can't be Canadian mounties, but when we have secret meetings we could wear special red jackets which I can make easily. We might call ourselves the Glen Road Robins, and we could have the cottage for our clubhouse."
    "Swell," Jim put in. "Brian, Mart, and I can fix the roof and put new panes of glass in the windows. But let's not be robins, let's be bobwhites." He whistled bob-white, bob-white. "Remember, girls, that was our signal when I was hiding from Jonesy."
    "That's right," Trixie cried. "And don't they flock together in little groups called bevies? Instead of having a meeting, we could have a bevy, which would be more mysterious."
    "Bobwhites are quail," Mart said, chortling. "And I quail with surprise every time Trixie says something that makes sense." He turned to Honey. "Bob is sort of a nickname for Robin. Are you happy about the whole thing?"
    "Oh, yes," Honey said. "Bob-Whites of the Glen! B.W.G. Nobody could ever guess what those initials stood for. I can cross-stitch them in white on the back of our red jackets."
    "A motto," Brian said. "We should have a motto!"
    "How about thinking of ourselves as one big family?" Honey asked. "I mean, we're all brothers and sisters, and if one of us is ever in need, we'll never fail him or her."
    "I like that a lot," Jim said slowly. "If all the world had the same motto, there'd never be any wars."
    "I'm all for it," Brian said. "Mart and I could use another brother like you, Jim, and another sister like you, Honey."
    "I agree for the same