The Gatehouse Mystery

order a taxi for Winnie, Celia."
    Celia shrugged. "Taxis, taxis, taxis. We spend enough money on them to pay the salary of a good chauffeur— not to mention the garage bills. Not that it's any of my business," she added, flushing.
    Honey called for a cab to be sent out from Sleepyside immediately. As she hung up the phone, she said, "You're right, Celia. We do need a chauffeur, especially now that Regan will have another horse to take care of. I'll talk to Miss Trask and Daddy about it." She smiled at the pretty maid. "Maybe you know somebody in the village who would like the job."
    "I don't at the moment," Celia told her. "But I'll ask around this afternoon. It's my day off—after I serve lunch, you know." She hurried away.
    "Stay for lunch, Trixie," Honey begged. "Bobby can stay, too; then your mother can just keep right on canning tomatoes without interruption."
    "I'll call up and ask her," Trixie said, reaching for the phone. "She should love the idea of having the kitchen to herself all day."
    Mrs. Belden did approve. "Watch Bobby's table manners," she warned Trixie. "Don't let him eat with his fingers."
    "I'll try," Trixie said and added to Honey, "I'd better go get Bobby from Regan now. He's had him in his hair long enough."
    "Oh, Regan doesn't mind," Honey assured her as they left the house. "He loves kids. And, look; Jim's got Bobby in his hair now."
    Trixie laughed. Bobby was riding on Jim's broad shoulders, his plump hands clutched in Jim's crisp red hair. Jim galloped over to the lawn and gently tumbled Bobby over his head. The little boy rolled down the slope, shrieking with laughter.
    Jim joined the girls on the veranda. "Don't go near the garage," he said. "Regan is telling the sedan's fan belt what he thinks of it. My, what a temper that redheaded man has!"
    Honey chuckled. "All the men on this place have red hair and tempers and know nothing about automobiles and everything about horses and dogs. Where's Daddy?"
    "He's upstairs in Regan's room over the garage telephoning for help." He grinned. "This is the third time this week that we've had to send to town for a mechanic. And each time the trouble has always been some simple thing anyone but Dad, me, or Regan could fix."
    "Never mind," Trixie said soothingly. "When you go to High, they'll give you driving lessons and teach you the mystery of what makes a car run. Brian learned so much last year that he'll be able to get a license when he's sixteen in October."
    "He's lucky," Jim said. "They didn't give driving lessons at the school I went to upstate." He sat between them on the glider. "Tell us about your brothers, Trixie. Honey and I can't wait to meet them."
    "Well," Trixie began, "Mart is supposed to look so much like me that everyone thinks we're twins, except that he's a couple of inches taller. And, actually, we are twins for the whole month of May."
    "What do you mean?" Honey asked.
    Trixie laughed. "I'll be fourteen next May first, and Mart won't be fifteen until June first. We're exactly eleven months apart. He and I and Bobby are blond like mother, but Brian is dark like Dad. He has thick, wavy hair and black, black eyes, and he's going to be a doctor, so he studies hard and is interested in anything that has to do with medicine."
    "Gee, that's swell," Jim said enthusiastically. "Maybe, when I have my camp for boys, Brian will be the resident doctor."
    "Oh, wouldn't that be wonderful!" Honey cried excitedly. "And isn't it marvelous that your dream of an outdoor school for orphan boys is going to come true, Jim? Why, you have enough money to start right now!" He chuckled. "Enough money, but not enough education. I won't be ready to teach until about the same time Brian is ready to practice medicine. I want to get a Ph.D. first." He turned to Trixie. "What's Mart's ambition, or, like you, hasn't he got any?"
    "I have so got an ambition," Trixie told him with a toss of her head. "It's all settled. Honey and I are going to be private detectives; aren't we, Honey?"
    Jim hooted with laughter. "And call your agency Schoolgirl Shamuses, Incorporated, I suppose. I can just see your business cards," he went on gaily. " 'When the FBI gives up, we take over,' printed in red."
    Honey and Trixie couldn't help laughing, too. When they subsided, Trixie said, "You've got to admit that we were pretty smart about finding you, Jim Frayne."
    "That you were," he admitted. "Are you two really serious about being detectives?"
    "We re working on a ca—" Honey