The Happy Valley Mystery

Blackie joined the fun on this final evening of the visit.
    In their chairs by the fireplace, Mr. and Mrs. Gorman watched and smiled. “It’s been far too quiet in this house with no young people around,” Mrs. Gorman said to Honey, who, breathless from dancing, dropped into a chair beside her. “We wish you didn’t have to go back. Look at Ben! Trixie is teaching him to dance. What in the world is that outlandish thing they’re doing?”
    “That’s the very latest thing,” Honey said. “And Ben’s a neat dancer!”
    “He’s needed livening up, too,” Mrs. Gorman said.
    “You’ve been good for him—all of you. He works too hard and then studies half the night. The Bob-Whites are the best thing that ever happened to Happy Valley Farm!”
    Gradually the records became softer and sweeter, and the television programs narrowed down to the late show. After a few subtle words from Mrs. Gorman about the need to pack, Ned and the Hubbell twins left. They promised, though, to be at the airport in the morning, when the Bob-Whites took off for home.
    “Don’t forget to write our names and addresses in your address books just as soon as you get home!” Trixie said. “Don’t forget to send us that material about Four-H work!”
    “Don’t forget you’re coming to visit us next summer!” Mart called from the doorway as the trio left and crawled into Ned’s little red car.
    “Maybe our parents’ll let us drive to visit you,” Ned said. “I’ve been as far as St. Louis with my car. I think my dad just might let me drive to Sleepyside. Don t be surprised next June if you see us coming down Glen Road to Crabapple Farm!”
    “Jeepers!” Trixie said. “Imagine!”
     
    Back in the house, Mr. Gorman let the dogs out for the night and took his lantern for a last look at the big farm before going to bed. Trixie stood beside him and looked out into the dark, listening to the night noises. “It’s beautiful here,” she said softly. “I’ll run out and see the little black Iamb and the horses before I go tomorrow. The lamb’s going to be all right now, isn’t it, Mr. Gorman?”
    “Yes, Trixie,” Mr. Gorman said. “And all the rest of the sheep, too, thanks to you.”
     
    The Bob-Whites were still lingering in the living room when Mr. Gorman came in from the barn. They hated to start the job of packing.
    Suddenly the sharp ringing of the telephone brought them all to their feet
    Mr. Gorman glanced at his watch. “Who in thunder,” he said, “would be calling at twelve o’clock at night?”
    “Take up the receiver and see,” Mrs. Gorman suggested with a smile.
    Mr. Gorman did just that then tamed to the group, his eyes popping. “It’s Glasgow, Scotland, calling!” he said. “It’s Andy Belden!”
    They gathered close to the telephone, waited while it sputtered and crackled, and finally heard the sound of Uncle Andrew’s voice.
    “Say, this is a surprise,” Mr. Gorman boomed. “Everything’s going just fine.... No, not a sheep missing for days, and there wont be.... Sure! Your detective niece tracked them down. Honestly!... I’m telling the truth.... It was this way— Do I have time to tell you?”
    Uncle Andrew must have said yes, for Mr. Gorman told him the whole story. Then he handed the receiver to Trixie. “He wants to talk to you,” he said.
    “Of course we re all right,” Trixie said. “No, we didn’t count on getting caught in the flood. Everything’s fine now.... Yes, it is, really! We wanted to catch the thieves to try and pay you back a little for the grand time we’ve had here.... Oh, Uncle Andrew, that’ll be super wonderful!”
    Trixie turned to the rest of the Bob-Whites. “He’s going to bring us all cashmere sweaters from Scotland!... Yes, Uncle Andrew, I guess we’d better say good-bye. I never talked across the ocean before in my whole life!... Yes, I’ll tell Ben he’s to have the car you bought in England in place of his jalopy.... We did hate that!... Uncle Andrew, Ben heard me, and he’s dancing a jig.... Good-bye, now. Were leaving early in the morning. Then we’ll count the days till you’re back in the United States and visit all of us at Sleepy-side. Dear, dear Uncle Andrew, good-bye!”
     
    The next morning the big yellow station wagon from Happy Valley Farm deposited six happy, laughing Bob-Whites at the airport in Des Moines. They hardly had time to weigh their luggage and hurry out to the waiting plane.
    From the steps they waved to