The Happy Valley Mystery

here they were sheltered for the moment and could look about. The grounds of the Schulz home were elaborate and beautifully tended. A row of evergreens lined the curved driveway, and an old ornamental iron fence enclosed what must be a lovely formal garden in the summertime. In back of the patio, they could see a large oval swimming pool, boarded over now for the winter.
    “We’ll go in here,” Ned said and opened the door from the porte cochère. “Mom is probably in the kitchen helping with the food. She does most of our cooking, and my mom can really fry chicken.”
    A long redwood table had been brought from the patio into the big old-fashioned kitchen. Down the center of the table were arranged huge platters of golden fried chicken, casseroles of scalloped potatoes, a large pot of baked beans, and two large wooden bowls of tossed salad. There were baskets of buttered buns and huge plates of cookies and the promised cherry pies—and, over all, there was a delicious country-kitchen fragrance.
    And, of course, there was Ned’s mom.
    She didn’t look much older than Ned himself. She wore a yellow sweater and a tan skirt, and she had black curly hair and a warm welcoming smile. It wasn’t until she walked toward them that the Bob-Whites noticed a decided limp.
    “Polio,” Barbara whispered to Trixie. “Isn’t she just wonderful?”
    Within a few minutes the laughing group was seated around the table, all talking at once. All of them, too, were immediately in love with Ned’s pretty mother.
    “Tell me more,” she said, “about the Bob-Whites of the Glen. The United Nations Children’s Fund has been a vital interest of mine since its beginning. Have you kept your interest in it since the antique show?”
    “Yes, we have,” Trixie answered. “We sell their stationery all around Westchester County. Really, it practically sells itself, it’s so attractive.”
    Mrs. Schulz nodded. “I use it, too.”
    “We already have orders for cards for next Christmas,” Diana said, “and we correspond with about ten young people our ages in India, Africa, and South America. Say, Barbara, don’t you belong to something
    like the Bob-Whites here in Iowa?”
    “No,” Barbara answered slowly, “but I wish we had a Bob-White club here.” Then her face brightened. “I do belong to a wonderful club... but maybe you belong to the same one, because there are branches all over the United States, even all over the world.” Mart whistled. “Jimmy, that sounds like a big order!”
    “Is it a church group?” Honey asked.
    “No,” Barbara answered. “It’s called Four-H. Now do you know about it?”
    “Yes,” Trixie said. “I’ve heard a lot about it. It’s mostly for young people from farms, isn’t it?”
    “Not exactly,” Barbara said. “Mrs. Schulz is one of the leaders. Gosh, I’m glad I’m in her group. There are twenty-two of us, an average group, I guess. I think she even sponsored a group in Evanston, didn’t you, Mrs. Schulz?”
    “Yes. However, Trixie, it really is mostly for young people in rural areas,” Mrs. Schulz said. “Maybe because cities have playgrounds and community houses and places like that. You see, we’ve always lived out in the country, and we were almost in the country in Evanston. The Four-H is under the direction of the Federal Extension Service.”
    “What do the members do?” Jim asked politely. “Everything under the sun,” Bob answered. “Clubs can have almost any kind of project. Right now, I’m working with four others—at least five members of a club have to work on each project to make it earn standard rating—on improved grain feeding for growing Jersey calves.”
    “And my group is working on Holstein calves,” Ned said.
    “Wait till the Dairy Cattle Congress at Waterloo, and you’ll soon find which breed is better,” Bob said confidently. “It’ll be Jerseys. Their milk is a lot higher in butterfat.”
    “Holsteins give a greater volume of milk,” Ned insisted. “That counts, too, remember.”
    “We have a sewing project,” Barbara interrupted. “This is the second pair of slacks I’ve made myself,” she said proudly.
    Honey went over to Barbara’s chair for a closer look. In spite of the wealth of her family, in spite of the fact that when Honey first came to the Manor House, her clothes had come from New York and Paris, Honey loved to sew.
    “Honey made all the curtains for our clubhouse back home,” Trixie said, with a proud