The Marshland Mystery

sloshing around in an oozy old swamp, though. Ugh!”
    “We can stay on the paths. There are always paths in swamps,” Trixie assured her. “Brian told me so.”
    “Well,” Di sighed, “I suppose you can count me in.”
    “And the rest of us, I imagine.” Honey smiled. “I’m sure Jim will think it’s a great idea.” Her eyes twinkled with mischief as she glanced at the identification bracelet on Trixie’s wrist.
    Trixie’s cheeks got red as she flashed a reproachful look at her best friend, then pulled her sweater sleeve down over the inexpensive gift that Honey’s adopted brother had given her after their adventurous Easter holiday on Trixie’s uncle’s farm in Iowa.
    Honey and Di knew it wasn’t really a sentimental gift, but they liked to make Trixie blush. Jim Frayne had been a runaway not too many months before, when Trixie and Honey had first met him. They had helped him escape from a brutal stepfather, and Jim had been deeply grateful. Now, adopted by the Wheelers, and himself the inheritor of an estate of half a million dollars, Jim was a senior at Sleepyside High and planned to go to college in the fall. After college, he intended to use his entire fortune to establish a home and school for homeless boys such as he himself had been.
    All the B.W.G.’s were proud of Jim because, in spite of his wealth, he worked as hard as the Belden boys after school and on weekends. He and Trixie were copresidents of the club, and it had been his idea that no member could use money for the club that she or he hadn’t earned. So they all had jobs at home, for which their parents paid them small regular salaries.
    It wasn’t easy to get schoolwork finished and attend to their other jobs, too, but they managed somehow, and each put something into the club treasury every week.
    That was how the clubhouse had been fixed up out of the old run-down gatehouse at the foot of the Wheeler driveway. The gatehouse, almost hidden by wisteria and honeysuckle vines, had been the scene of one of Trixie’s first mysteries. Now it was the neat, weathertight little Bob-White clubhouse, thanks to many hours of hard work by all the B.W.G.’s.
    “Oh, well,” Di sighed as the bus came along and stopped, “I suppose we can wear old jeans and sneakers in the swamp.”
    When they had crowded on with the rest of the boys and girls, they were too late to find a seat together.
    “Oh, fine!” Trixie grumbled. “Now we each squeeze onto a corner of a seat, and we can’t even visit!”
    “Ow!” A football player had just stepped on Di’s foot as he pushed toward the rear.
    Honey giggled. “Maybe this kind of thing builds character!” she suggested as the bus picked up speed and hurtled around a corner, jiggling everyone.
    It wasn’t until they had limped out at the Wheeler bus stop that they took a free breath.
    “Whew! Now I know how a sardine feels!” Di groaned.
    “Do you suppose that’s what they mean by ‘togetherness’?” Honey laughed as she straightened the skirt of her pretty spring dress.
    They were still laughing when they noticed Mart sprawled out nonchalantly on the bench.
    “Where have you females been?” he demanded. “Don’t you know you all have chores waiting? Two demerits each for stopping for ice-cream bars!”
    “We didn’t,” Trixie answered pertly. “We were planning an exciting trip for tomorrow, and since you’re the only B.W.G. around, I suppose we’ll have to tell you about it before we tell the intelligent ones.”
    “Trip?” Mart stirred lazily and got up. “So?”
    Di smiled warmly at him. “To gather herbs in a swamp. And you and Jim and Brian are invited, too. Tell him, Trixie.”
    But before Trixie could start, Mart put up a warning hand. “Stop right there, dreamer. This is the end. Tomorrow we males are booked to labor from dawn till sundown. Hast thou forgotten that this is the time of planting? In other words, didn’t you hear Dad tell Brian we’d help Mr. Maypenny with his garden tomorrow?”
    “Yipes! I forgot all about it!” Trixie frowned. “And we were counting on getting Brian to take us in his car!”
    “Something tells me, squaw, you won’t get far from the family tepee tomorrow, unless you bike your way.” Mart chortled. “Dan will be working all day and so will Jim.”
    “I guess we could bike if the swamp isn’t too far,” Honey said, a frown on her pretty forehead. “If it’s a long way, I suppose we’d better give up the idea. Don’t