The Happy Valley Mystery

Wasn’t she marvelous? Just like a poem. I never saw anything more beautiful. Honestly, though, that isn’t what I mind so much. I just hate to have wasted all that time at the rink.”
    “It could have been just fun, Trixie. That’s what were supposed to be doing here. Having fun. And I’d like to have Dot see you on Satan’s Baby. He’s well named. I’ll bet she couldn’t stay on him two minutes.” Trixie laughed happily. “You’re wonderful, Jim,” she said. “I suppose I can ride, but maybe Dot can ride just as well. What I mean about wasting time is that I made another boo-boo trying to track down those thieves. Now it's Thursday night. Jim, will you go with me to Walnut Woods tonight and try again to see where that flickering light is?”
    “I will not!” Jim said decisively. Then, as Trixie’s face fell, he added, “I’ll go with you tomorrow, though, Trixie. What’s the use of going back there again at night? We were there once in pitch-darkness and had to back out. Wait till tomorrow.”
    “Then we’ll waste this whole evening. I wonder where Mr. Gorman is. Did anyone hear where he is?” Trixie asked Honey, who sat at her side.
    “Some trouble out in the field,” Brian answered from across the table. “Ben s gone out to see what’s delaying him.”
    “Do you suppose more of the sheep are missing?” Trixie asked anxiously.
    “If they are, you can take your bird-dog nose off the ground,” Mart said. “You’ve missed the scent too often.”
    “It isn’t anything about stolen sheep,” Mrs. Gorman said. “It’s just that ewe he’s been watching so carefully— the one who’s going to have twin lambs. We’ve been trying to call the veterinarian. He doesn’t answer. The operator thinks his phone is out of order. And that ewe is liable to have her lambs at any moment.”
    “How can you tell?” Diana asked, wide-eyed.
    “You couldn’t make a mistake,” Mrs. Gorman said. “When a lamb is about to be born, the ewe stops grazing and runs about, calling to her baby. She doesn’t know it hasn’t been born yet, and she nuzzles other lambs, looking for her own. It’s sort of pathetic. Here come my husband and Ben now.”
    “Did you get hold of the veterinarian?” Mr. Gorman asked, closing the door behind him.
    “He doesn’t answer,” Mrs. Gorman told him, and she explained that the telephone might be out of order.
    “Then I’d better go over to his house and get him,” Ben said, “or we’ll lose the ewe and the lambs.”
    “We’ll lose them anyway, Ben,” Mr. Gorman said resignedly. “There just isn’t time to wait any longer. She has to have help. I’ll go out again, Mary,” he told his wife, “and see what I can do.”
    “Do you think I could help?” Brian asked.
    “He’s going to be a doctor,” Honey explained.
    “No, thanks. I don’t think you can do a thing,” Mr. Gorman said.
    “He helped at home when our calf was born,” Trixie said quickly. “And at Honey’s house, too, when one of their mares foaled. I can help, too,” she added, “because I helped Brian both times. I’m a nurse’s aide at the hospital.”
    “Trixie Belden, you can’t—” Diana said, amazed.
    “Oh, yes, I can!” Trixie insisted and got up from the table. “Come on, Brian. Mr. Gorman, please let Ben go for the veterinarian, and we’ll help you.”
    Mr. Gorman threw up his hands in resignation. “I can’t lose,” he said. “Go ahead, Ben. Come on, kids.”
    Mrs, Gorman thrust a quickly made sandwich into her husband’s hand, and he went out, munching it.
    When they got to the barn, they found that the ewe had made a nest for herself in some hay in the comer of the big stall room. She looked up at them with her gentle eyes and bleated softly. Close beside her lay two little newborn lambs, one of them rather yellow and the other coal black.
    “There, there... quiet now,” Mr. Gorman said and put his hand on the ewe’s head. “You just went ahead and took care of things yourself, didn’t you? We have to work fast,” he said quickly to Brian and Trixie. “If she doesn’t claim them right away, she won’t ever do it. There, there now,” he said softly.
    “Help me, Brian—help to get them started feeding.” He took the yellowish lamb and guided its mouth to the mother. She turned and sniffed the homely little thing, all ears and head. Then she uttered a sound she hadn’t made for a year... a low rumble in her throat, without opening her mouth.