The Happy Valley Mystery

sheep out to graze, then shearing them and sending them to market.”
    “Well,” Mr. Gorman said, “it isn’t all sitting on a hill watching them and whittling. You have to be alert twenty-four hours a day. Even then things happen that you can’t understand.”
    Trixie knew he was referring to the sheep that kept disappearing. Seems as though someone ought to be able to find out where they re going, she said to herself. Sometimes stealing goes on right under the noses of people, and they cant seem to see it because they’re used to everyday routine, she continued to herself, remembering some of the experiences she and Honey had had in tracking down thieves. They were going to be sure-enough detectives when they grew up, she and Honey.
    “There’s that bawling again,” Jim said. “Do you suppose that calf could have wandered into the creek down there, sir?” he asked.
    “Could be,” Mr. Gorman said. “I hope not. It’d mean the loss of a good Guernsey calf, and I can’t afford that —right now, especially. All right, Betsy, we’re coming. Hi, Tip! Hi, Tag! Go find her!”
    The dogs jumped ahead at the sound of his voice and ran up and down the banks of the swollen stream. Soon, from the near side of the stream, they heard a lusty bleat. The collies, furiously barking, rustled the little bawling calf from back of a fallen log. It was hungry. When she heard her baby, Betsy came hurrying to the creek’s edge, softly mooing to the small calf to comfort it. It paid no attention to anybody but greedily started feeding.
    “Betsy’ll get that blamed little nuisance back up to the barn by evening,” Mr. Gorman said. “Let’s wander back there ourselves. Tired, Trixie?”
    “Not a bit,” she said. “I love a farm. I love all the animals on it.”
    “Wait till the week’s over, Trixie, and I’ll ask you if you really meant that. She just might run into a skunk someplace,” he said and nudged Jim.
    “I meant I like all the animals that belong on a farm,” Trixie said and looked back toward the creek edge where Betsy still nuzzled her calf. Across the water, just disappearing back of some trees, she saw the figure of a man. His face, silhouetted against the sky as he topped the slope, seemed covered with a black, bushy beard. That’s strange, Trixie thought, and she turned to call it to Mr. Gorman’s attention. But he and Jim, deep in conversation, were far ahead.
     
    Back in the farmhouse kitchen, they found Honey busily peeling potatoes. Brian, Mart, and Diana were just in from touring the farm on horseback.
    The kitchen smelled of sugar and spice and everything nice—roasting chicken and strawberries! “The strawberries are right out of their own garden and into the freezer," Honey explained. “Stop tasting!”
    “Shortcake!” Mart whooped. He bent low and smelled the brown crust of the big, round shortcake. “She makes it just the way Moms does,” he added as Mrs. Gorman split the crisp brown cake and buttered it. Then she spooned crushed and sugared strawberries over it, gently replaced the top layer, poured the remaining strawberries and juice over it, and set it aside to let the goodness soak in.
    “I could eat a stalled ox,” Mart said as he raised his blond crew-cut head from the fragrant cake. “Come on, Jim and Brian, off to the shower! Say, Mr. Gorman, that’s a snug apartment you have for your help out there in the barn. Warm as toast and lots of books, most of them on farming. I’m going to be a farmer someday.”
    “It’s a good life,” Mr. Gorman said. “The books belong to Ben, our hired man. He’s taking a correspondence course in animal husbandry. This summer he’s planning to go to Iowa State University at Ames for a two-week course. That’s where he is now, in Ames, arranging for it. He’ll be back tomorrow, I think. Hustle along, boys. Dinner’s about ready, isn’t it, Mary?”
     
    Upstairs, the girls took out their pretty dresses Uncle Andrew had suggested they take “for a dance,” and, as they dressed, Honey and Diana hummed. Trixie, sober-faced and silent, seemed preoccupied.
    “What’s wrong?” Honey whispered, worried.
    “Not a thing,” Trixie answered and turned her back to Honey. “Button my dress for me, will you please?”
    “You can’t fool us,” Diana said. “Something’s wrong. Out with it, Trixie. Did Jim say something to hurt ^ your feelings?”
    “Of course not!” Trixie denied vehemently.
    “He’d never say anything