The Marshland Mystery

Miss Bennett says they had remedies for all sorts of illnesses and accidents. You’d never believe some of the things they used ordinary little weeds for. Like the one they called boneset. The Indians believed it would make broken bones heal fast, and when the white men tried it, it worked just fine.”
    “How did they use it?” Honey’s eyes opened wide. “They made a poultice of the dried leaves and tied it on the arm or leg or whatever bone was broken, and the bone knit fast. Miss Bennett says part of the treatment was that the broken bone had to be kept perfectly still for a certain length of time, and perhaps that was why it healed so quickly, and not the boneset poultice. But she says the plant does have a lot of calcium in it, so maybe it did help.”
    “Anyhow, they thought it did. That’s what counts.”
    “I was hoping we could talk to Miss Rachel about boneset and some of the other things we gathered in the swamp.” Trixie frowned.
    “Oh, well, you can tell Miss Bennett about the mint tea we didn’t get, and I’m sure if you promise to get her the recipe next Saturday or Sunday, you’ll get the good marks for the project, anyway!” Honey laughed as she and Trixie guided their horses down onto the wider road and stepped up their pace.
    They had gone only a few yards when a car came roaring down out of the narrow road and passed them, within a foot of Trixie’s mare. The mare reared, and it took all of Trixie’s horsemanship to stay in the saddle.
    By the time the mare was calm again, the car was out of sight, but they had both recognized it. It was the car they had seen parked outside of Miss Rachel’s cottage.
    And the driver was Paul Trent.
     

Trouble Brewing ● 14
     
    WHAT DO YOU SUPPOSE he was doing up at Miss Rachel’s place?” Trixie asked with a frown.
    “Probably trying to get her to confess she was in on the kidnapping fake,” Honey replied scornfully.
    “Well, from the look on his face, she told him off, loud and clear,” Trixie said. “He was certainly upset about something.” She had a sudden inspiration. “Maybe we should go back and let her tell us about it.”
    “Huh-uh.” Honey shook her head firmly. “Let’s wait till after school tomorrow. Maybe Di can come along. She’s sure to love that little old cottage and the garden.” So they rode homeward, chatting easily and making plans to bring Miss Rachel a basketful of Mrs. Belden’s home-canned fruit as a gift.
    But when they reached the foot of the Wheelers’ driveway and paused, as usual, to gaze with pride at their little clubhouse, they were surprised to see the door wide open. They could hear the sound of voices.
    “That’s Jim laughing,” Honey said, surprised. “I thought he and your brothers were going to be planting all day for Mr. Maypenny. They must have finished early.”
    “I hear Mart’s voice, too,” Trixie said with a little frown. “Wonder what they’re laughing about.”
    Another outburst of laughter made them exchange quick looks. They both had recognized Bobby’s shrill giggles coming from the clubhouse.
    “There’s something going on, and I’m not going to miss it,” Trixie declared. “Let’s take a quick look before we put these critters of ours to bed.”
    They dismounted hastily and tied the horses to the fence post. An outburst of handclaps startled them both.
    “I’m sure I heard Gaye laughing just then,” Honey said as they hurried up the brick walk.
    “Gaye? After collapsing last night and all?” Trixie asked, surprised. They both hurried faster to see.
    As they reached the door, they heard Jim’s voice. “Say, that’s a keen trick, Gaye. Where did he ever learn to dance like that?”
    “I taught him myself, of course,” came Gaye’s reply. “He wouldn’t learn from anyone but me.”
    As the girls looked into the clubroom, they were astonished to see Mr. Poo waltzing around on his hind legs and balancing a small, brightly painted stick across his aristocratic nose as he danced. Gaye, sitting cross-legged on the table, was guiding him with motions of her hand, while Jim, Mart, Brian, and Bobby watched with approval.
    “He can do lots more tricks,” Gaye said in a bored voice, “but that’s enough for now.” She stopped waving her hand, and the poodle dropped to all fours, picked up the fallen baton with his teeth, and went to lie down with it across his paws. He kept bright eyes on his little mistress, alert for another signal to