The Indian Burial Ground Mystery

and see if there’s any reason for this. In the meantime, why
don’t you go over to the students in the cleaning tent and see if they need any
help.”
    Slightly annoyed that Professor Conroy hadn’t exactly taken her side,
Trixie stood there lamely, trying to hide her anger. Although Professor Conroy
didn’t say as much, Trixie detected an expression of annoyance on his face. She
wished she could think of something to say that would make him go off and scold
Charles Miller. Then, thinking better of it, Trixie turned away. After finding
Honey, they spent the afternoon hanging around the cleaning tent, accomplishing
nothing.
     
    That night after supper, the Bob-Whites met in their clubhouse. The
clubhouse had once been the old gatehouse on the Wheeler estate. The Bob-Whites
had repaired it, hung curtains, and added some old furniture. They’d even
gotten a wood-burning stove from Mrs. De Keyser, who lived down Glen Road . The
stove made it possible for them to use the clubhouse for most of the year.
    Trixie was curled up in a newly covered armchair. She had just finished
telling Di, Mart, Dan, and Brian about the unfortunate meeting in the woods
with Charles Miller and Harry.
    “Maybe there’s a real treasure buried on the preserve,” Trixie concluded excitedly.
    “I still say, Little Miss Detective,” Brian said firmly, “the only thing
Charles Miller could possibly be talking about is the buried ‘treasure’ of
archaeology. You’re wasting your time.”
    “I am not,” Trixie countered. “I think Charles Miller and Harry know
something about a real treasure. I say they’re using this dig as a cover for
finding it. Maybe they’re looking for Captain Kidd’s treasure.”
    “The only thing people find when they’re looking for Captain Kidd’s
treasure,” Mart said with a superior look on his face, “is other people
looking for Captain Kidd’s treasure.”
    “What about the map part?” Trixie asked. “What other kind of map could
they be talking about in the same breath as treasure?”
    “Probably an old map of the Indian encampment,” Brian said reassuringly.
“Now don’t get yourself all worked up over nothing.”
    “Nothing!” Trixie blurted angrily, but inside she was disappointed that
Brian didn’t agree with her. He usually took her side, and Trixie was always
grateful for it.
    “Speaking of nothing,” Mart interrupted, “I have had nothing to eat
since dinner. What we need in this clubhouse is a refrigerator full of food.”
    “It’s only been an hour since dinner, but let’s all go to the Manor
House,” Honey suggested. “There’s always loads of food there, and Miss Trask
said she’s missed us lately.”
    “I’ve missed her, too,” Di said softly. “I’ve been so busy with the dig
and taking care of the twins. I haven’t had a chance to see anyone.”
    “Let’s go,” Mart whooped, skidding out the door. “No sense hanging around
here talking about food. We could be up in the kitchen doing something about
it!”
    As the six young people trudged up the driveway, they heard the sound of
laughter and music coming through the trees.
    “That must be coming from the dig,” Trixie exclaimed.
    “It sounds like guitars and folksinging ,” Di
said.
    “It sounds like a party to me,” Brian said. “Let’s go see!”
    “What about food?” Mart moaned dramatically, clutching his stomach.
    “Forget about food for a while,” Dan said. “Maybe we’ll have some fun, instead.”
    “What could be more fun than food?” Mart mumbled as he grudgingly
followed the other Bob-Whites along the dirt road leading to the dig site.
    When they came to the clearing, a lively campfire was burning. The
students were sitting around the fire on logs and rocks, singing and talking.
Professor Conroy was there, too, and it looked as if a delightful songfest was
on.
    “Join us,” he boomed, seeing the six Bob-Whites straggle in through the
trees. “We need a tenor. Any of you a tenor?”
    “At your service,” Mart called back. Then he began to warble, “Do-re-mi- fa -so-la- ti -do!” They all found
spots in the circle, and the singing continued.
    “Where’s Charles?” Brian asked, after looking around the assembled
group.
    “He’s in the city,” answered one of the graduate students. “He goes
there every night.”
    “Why?” Trixie asked with interest.
    The girl replied with a toss of her long blonde hair. “He pays his own
tuition, so he has to work every summer