The Happy Valley Mystery

room, it was lunchtime, and the Bob-Whites went into the big kitchen.
    Mrs. Gorman had filled glasses with milk and was putting the finishing touches on a huge tray of choice sandwiches.
    “I haven’t seen Mr. Gorman all morning,” Trixie said.
    “He’s off mending fences. At least, that’s what he intended to do. Isn’t he coming in from the barnyard now?” Mrs. Gorman pulled aside the yellow flowered curtain at the kitchen window and looked out. “He’s upset,” she said. “Something’s wrong. I can tell by the way he’s walking. Oh, dear!”
    Mr. Gorman stomped into the kitchen, washed his hands in a basin near the sink, dried them, pushed his hair back, and sat down at the table in the kitchen dinette.
    “It happened again!” Mrs. Gorman said to him.
    “Yes, Mary,” he answered, “again. Four of them this time, I think. And right under my very nose. Under Tip’s and Tag’s noses, too. That’s one of the things that puzzles me. That and half a dozen other mysterious things.”
    “You saw no trace of them?” Mrs. Gorman asked.
    “Not a trace. Not even a wisp of wool. I tell you, Mary, it gets me down. Sorry, kids,” he added as they sat around the table, silent yet sympathetic. “I didn’t want to put my burden on you.”
    “Maybe there’s something we can do...” Jim began.
    Mr. Gorman shook his head and accepted the cup of hot coffee his wife handed him.
    “I do wish we didn’t have to go to that Farm Bureau meeting over at Rivervale,” he said. “I hate to leave the farm, even to drive twelve miles away.”
    “We can’t get out of it now,” Mrs. Gorman said quietly. “You’re the main speaker, Hank.”
    “Yes. I have to tell them all about raising sheep. A lot I know about that. Maybe they can tell me something about sheep-stealing.”
    Trixie nudged Honey. “We’ve just got to solve this mystery for him,” she whispered.
    Honey giggled, then put her hand over her mouth. “That’s silly,” she said. “What do we know about the habits of sheep?”
    “We should know something about the habits of thieves,” Trixie said indignantly, under her breath. “I didn’t like the looks of that man I saw....”
    “You wouldn’t tell me about him yesterday. You got mad. Tell me now.” Honey put her head close to Trixie’s. “What are you two whispering about?” Jim asked. “Nothing,” Trixie answered quickly.
    “That’s the quintessence of evasion,” Mart said.
    “If you mean that you think I was telling a fib,” Trixie said, “you’re wrong. If you mean that I’m not going to tell you what we were saying, you’re right.”
    “Oh, stop arguing, Mart and Trixie,” Diana said. She always tried to keep peace. “You’re forever arguing about something.”
    “Well, she—” Mart began.
    “Well, he—” Trixie interrupted.
    “Please stop your he-ing and she-ing and listen to what Mr. Gorman is saying,” Brian begged, his dark eyes serious. He was the oldest of the Bob-Whites, and, whether they would admit it or not, they paid attention to whatever he said.
    “Mrs. Gorman and I have to go to that meeting,” Mr. Gorman repeated. “Just look at the sky! Blue as could be this morning. Not a cloud. Look at it now! Listen to the wind! When Ben called this morning from Ames, to ask if he could stay over a day, I never thought the weather could turn like it has. I’d have wanted him to be here tonight.”
    “You can’t depend upon April weather in Iowa,” Mrs. Gorman said, frowning. “If you just didn’t have to give that talk! I guess you don’t know where to try to call Ben, do you?”
    Mr. Gorman shook his head.
    “Can we help?” Trixie asked.
    “Yes, may we?” Mart corrected her.
    “Nothing needs to be done unless the weather really gets bad,” Mr. Gorman said.
    “If it does turn bad, does something need to be done before you get back?” Trixie asked.
    “If it should start to snow—”
    “Snow,” Trixie repeated, surprised.
    “It just could, you know,” Mr. Gorman went on. “The sky looks pretty threatening right now. If it should snow,” he said thoughtfully, “then the sheep would have to be put in the field where the shelters are.”
    “We can do that, sir,” Jim said.
    “I’d do it myself,” Mr. Gorman said, “but there isn’t time. Tip and Tag can really manage, but, smart as they are, they’re still just dogs. They have to have some human direction. Did you have any trouble with the horses when you took them out to