The Happy Valley Mystery

been when Moms knocked at her door that very morning. Her mind was swimming with new impressions and alert with the problem that faced Uncle Andrew and his manager.
    “What makes sheep so valuable to raise?” she asked. “People don’t eat mutton anymore, do they?”
    “It’s the only meat that is universally eaten,” Mr. Gorman said. “In fact, if you were having a dinner for representatives of the United Nations, the only meat you could safely offer all of them would be mutton or lamb. There are no taboos against it, that I know of, such as there are against pork and beef.”
    “But we don’t eat mutton,” Trixie insisted.
    “Without knowing it you do,” Mrs. Gorman said.
    “It’s a base for every kind of canned soup. But meat isn’t the most valuable product of sheep.”
    “Wool?” Mart asked. “Clothing?”
    “Yes,” Mr. Gorman answered, “and fleece lining for coats for men in the armed forces stationed in the far North, for flyers....”
    “And women couldn’t get along without sheep,” Mrs. Gorman said, “for almost every beauty product has a lanolin base—refined from pure wool.”
    “Hair creams for men, too,” Mr. Gorman added. “Do you know a funny thing?” he asked as he thumbed his pipe. “In sheepshearing season, the hands of the shearers are as soft as a baby’s. Guess nothing beats sheep grease for calloused hands.
    “Then there are buttons, pipe stems, briefcases, diplomas, and twisted peritoneum for violin strings; bagpipes are made of sheepskins, and skins of frankfurters come from sheep’s insides,” Mr. Gorman continued, “and— Say, Diana’s just about asleep. Mart, you don’t need to hold back a yawn. No wonder you’re tired. Here I’ve been going on and on. Come, Tipi Up, Tag! We’ll go and put the farm to sleep.”
    “Would you mind very much if I went with you?” Trixie asked. “I’m so wide-awake. I’d love to go.”
    “Well, then, come along,” Mr. Gorman invited her. “This is Sunday night,” Mrs. Gorman reminded him. “That’s right,” her husband answered, and he took down the Bible and seated himself in his big old morris chair. He turned to Genesis and read:
     
“And Abel was a keeper of sheep, but Cain was a tiller of the ground. And in process of time it came to pass, that Cain brought of the fruit of the ground an offering unto the Lord. And Abel, he also brought of the firstlings of his flock, and of the fat thereof. And the Lord had respect unto Abel, and to his offering: but unto Cain, and to his offering, he had not respect: and Cain was very wroth, and his countenance fell.”
     
    When Mr. Gorman had finished, the other Bob-Whites scattered for the night.
    “We’ll see first if Betsy brought her calf to the barn,” Mr. Gorman told Trixie as he went ahead of her with the lantern. The light threw long shadows dancing around them. Here and there in the valley a dog barked and then was answered.
    “That’s Ingham’s old liver-and-white pointer,” he said to Trixie, “and one of the Schulzes’ big German shepherds answering. They’ve got a raccoon treed someplace, probably, or a possum. Look over there in that comer by the stalls, Trixie.”
    Curled in deep straw, the little calf lay, its head tucked back along its side. Above it, contentedly chewing her cud, Betsy turned a curious head and allowed Trixie to smooth her nose.
    Mice rustled overhead, and the tangy fragrances of cows’ milk, hay, and com mingled. Late birds settled in their nests, twittering. Tip and Tag were off to the four ends of the farm. In the moonlight the white sheep grazed peacefully, some with new lambs by their sides.
    “It’s beautiful here,” Trixie sighed.
    “Yes,” Mr. Gorman agreed, “and yet....”
    Trixie knew what he was thinking. Sheep were disappearing, no one knew where, and all was not as peaceful as it seemed.
     

A Bad Mistake • 3
     
    THE NEXT MORNING, Monday, the sun was shining brightly. There wasn’t a sign of a cloud in the sky, but the air still held some of the sharpness of winter.
    The Bob-Whites took turns riding the horses: Diana on Nancy, a gentle gray mare; the boys and Honey and Trixie riding Satan’s Baby, a roan firebrand, and Black Giant, a huge black stallion. Nancy was too slow and quiet for anyone but Diana, so Diana lazed along by herself, while the other five took some of the spirit out of the bigger horses.
    When the mounts had been carefully groomed and the saddles returned to the harness