The Marshland Mystery

spiny, but every one of the bushes was neatly trimmed, and the ground around them had been carefully weeded and neatly raked. “That’s strange,” Honey murmured. Then she saw Trixie lean over suddenly and study something in the soil. “What have you found now?”
    “Footprints,” Trixie told her. “Small ones. Anyhow, smaller than my feet.” She set her foot down beside the print. “Probably a little boy’s.”
    “But they’re pointed. Boys don’t wear pointed-toed shoes. It’s a girl.”
    “And they’ve been made since last night’s rain,” Trixie decided. “Maybe we scared her away.” She straightened up and stared all around, hoping to catch a glimpse of the mysterious gardener.
    “Trixie, I think we’d better get out of here. We’re really trespassing, you know.” Honey clutched Trixie’s arm nervously and looked about. “Whoever has been taking care of this garden may come after us with a shotgun if she sees us snooping!”
    “Huh!” Trixie’s eye measured the small footprint again. “Nobody would be silly enough to let a little girl have a shotgun.” She frowned. “Wonder why she comes here?”
    “Maybe her people have a trailer back in the woods somewhere. Dad says he’s seen lots of campers around lately. It’s the spring weather that brings them.”
    “But why should she work around a garden that doesn’t belong to her?” Trixie persisted.
    “Maybe she happens to like roses,” Honey guessed. “But they won’t bloom for another month or so,” Trixie objected. “If her people are just camping, they’ll probably be gone by then. It’s certainly mysterious.”
    “Well, we aren’t getting any nearer to the swamp while we stand here guessing about her. Hadn’t we better go look for those flowers and plants we set out to get for Miss Bennett?” Honey asked matter-of-factly.
    “Right, as usual,” Trixie said cheerfully. “Let’s be on our merry way.”
    But they were due for another surprise. They had pedaled along the lonely road for only a few hundred feet, when they went around a bend and found themselves practically in front of another house.
    This house stood, small and neat, behind a whitewashed picket fence. And it quite obviously was occupied, for the brick walk to the front door was swept clean, and the plots of bright-colored spring flowers were carefully set out and well cared for. Tall maples stood stiffly like soldiers along either side of the walk.
    “How darling!” Honey said, slowing down to admire the cottage. “Look at the spring beauties. Don’t you love them, Trix? They’re such a heavenly shade of pink.” But Trixie, who had stopped also, was more interested in taking a close look at the mailbox that stood on its pedestal at one side of the gate. Much to her disappointment, there was no name on the metal box, only a number.
    “Isn’t it the cutest ever?” Honey asked with an admiring sigh. “I always wanted to live in a cottage just like this!”
    “Not me,” said her more practical-minded friend. “That well back there near the barn looks as if it were very much in use even today! The tin cup is shiny, and the bucket is still wet from being dipped. I’ll take my plumbing up-to-date!”
    “But it’s so—so charming and—away from things.”
    “You said it. Too far away,” Trixie retorted with a grimace. “But the well reminds me that I’m awfully thirsty. Why don’t we go in and knock and ask politely if we may have a drink of water?”
    “I’m sure it would be all right,” Honey agreed.
    They carefully propped their bikes against a roadside tree and opened the gate. It squeaked loudly, startling them both into giggles.
    “There’s nothing like announcing yourself with a squeaky gate.” Trixie grinned, but the grin disappeared a second later. She gripped Honey’s arm and held her back. “Look at the window!” she said in a strange voice.
    Honey looked and felt a little shiver go down her spine. A bony hand was gesturing from between the curtains of the window next to the door. And, quite unmistakably, the hand was warning them to go.
    Then, as they stood staring, wide-eyed, the hand disappeared, and for a flash they saw a small white face with wide-set dark eyes, framed by smooth white hair parted in the middle. Then the face disappeared into the shadows of the room, and the curtains fell.
    Without a word, both girls turned and fled through the gate. It took all of Trixie’s courage to stop long enough to