The Marshland Mystery

go.”
    “Why does she blame herself?” Mart asked. “Did she-start the fire or something like that?”
    Brian shook his head. “No. Dad says it’s supposed to have started in the summer kitchen from grease that caught fire on the stove. The house went up so fast that there was hardly time to get some of the priceless antique furniture and family silver out. The servants did what they could, but the flames moved too fast.”
    “I saw some old trunks up in the barn loft. I suppose they’re part of the stuff that was salvaged,” Trixie said, “and I saw some lovely old furniture in the cottage when I peeked in this afternoon.”
    “Miss Snoop,” Mart said, and before Trixie could think of something in her own defense, he went on. “I still would like to hear why Miss Rachel thinks she’s to blame for what happened to her sister.”
    “Dad was a little vague about that, but he thought it was because Miss Rachel, as Emily’s big sister, had punished her for some mischief and sent her to bed without supper. When the fire started, the servants forgot all about little Emily being up in her bedroom, and it was Rachel herself who found her there, unconscious from the smoke, and brought her down through the smoke and flames. She put the little girl safely on the lawn and then ran back inside again to get some papers of her father’s. When she came back, Emily was gone. No one had seen her in all the excitement.”
    Trixie and Mart had listened intently, shocked by the old tragedy. Mart nodded somberly as his brother ended. “And when they did find her in the swamp, it was too late?” he asked.
    “That’s right,” Brian agreed. “And Miss Rachel blamed herself for leaving the child for the few minutes it took her to find her father’s papers and save them. She had a nervous breakdown and was in a sanitarium for months. Then she moved into the marsh cottage that had been the servants’ quarters, and she’s lived there ever since, all alone.”
    “No wonder she looked as if she’d seen a ghost today,” Trixie said with a shudder. “Gaye, with her yellow curls like Emily’s, walking out of the barn in what must have been Emily’s dress!”
    “Who told you what color Emily’s hair was?” Brian asked.
    “Why, Miss Rachel was talking to me just before Gaye started pounding on the barn door, and she said something about Emily’s curls being ‘long and yellow, too.’ ”
    The two boys exchanged quick looks. “Too?” Mart said quickly. “You mean she had already seen Gaye? I thought she denied that.”
    “Maybe Gaye wasn’t lying when she said Miss Rachel had purposely locked her in the barn!” Brian added.
    “No, no, no! She hadn't seen Gaye. I told her about Gaye’s curls being long and yellow when I went to the door to ask if she had seen Gaye!” Trixie explained.
    “That’s different,” Brian said with relief. “Glad to hear it. I’d hate to think Trent had guessed right about an attempted kidnapping. You had me holding my breath!” He looked suddenly toward the open window, then held up his hand. “Listen!”
    They all heard it then. Faintly, from the Wheeler mansion high on the hill beyond the Belden wood lot, the sound of violin music was clear on the night air.
    Trixie dashed to the back door and flung it open so they could hear more clearly. “It’s Gaye, all right!” she said in an excited whisper. “She got over her sulks!”
    At a pause in the music, Brian whispered, “Wow-ee! The kid is good, good, good!”
    But Mart snickered. “I bet Miss Crandall would send us a bill if she knew we were enjoying it for free!”
    All Trixie said was “Shhh!” as the music started again. She closed her eyes and imagined little Gaye, in the bright gypsy costume of yesterday, standing alone on a stage, her tiny, thin fingers moving expertly on the string of the big violin while she guided her bow across them, now slowly, now at full tempo, in the flashing gypsy music.
    “Nice going,” Mart murmured, forgetting to be funny in his real admiration for the little girl’s skill.
    Trixie frowned and said “Shhh!” again, but just as she said it, the music stopped abruptly in the middle of a particularly brilliant passage.
    For a moment they waited in silence, looking at each other inquiringly. But there was no more of the gay gypsy music from the Wheelers’.
    “What do you think happened?” Trixie broke the silence after a long moment.
    “Mebbe so stling bloke,” Mart said in