The Marshland Mystery

of the barn dressed in the other little girl’s clothes. He makes it sound as if Miss Martin weren’t quite sane!”
    “And Miss Martin was just surprised when she saw Gaye in a dress she recognized as Emily’s, that’s all,” Trixie said. “She knew it wasn’t little Emily’s ghost!”
    “I don’t think anyone will take his word for it, especially anyone who has ever talked to Miss Rachel,” her father said lightly. “She was an excellent businesswoman until the highway took away the passing cars and left her high and dry out there.”
    “What did she sell?” Trixie asked, surprised. “Marvelous hooked rugs that she made herself,” her mother said quickly, “and old-fashioned patchwork quilts that people came from all over the valley to buy. You children each have one of her double-wedding-ring quilts on your bed.”
    “But if she doesn’t sell anything anymore, how can she live, all alone out there? Doesn’t it cost money?” Trixie was always practical.
    “You wondered the same thing about Mr. Maypenny, your ‘poacher,’ who turned out to own a nice piece of land in the middle of the Wheelers’ game preserve. He raised most of the food he needed. He trapped otter and mink in the streams and sold their skins for sugar, salt, and coffee—things that he couldn’t grow. Miss Rachel gets along without those things now, I imagine, just as our pioneer ancestors did,” Mr. Belden explained.
    “Yikes!” Brian said, looking at his wristwatch. “Bobby’s bus is just about due, Trix. Better move!”
    For the time being, there was no more talk about either the brash young reporter or Miss Rachel Martin.
    But that afternoon, as Honey, Di, and Trixie got off the bus at the Wheeler stop, one of their schoolmates-called out through the open window jokingly, “G’bye, Miss Sherlock Holmes Belden!” There were noisy giggles from several others as the bus pulled away.
    “Don’t pay any attention to those dopes,” pretty, violet-eyed Diana Lynch told Trixie, glaring after the bus. “They’ll forget that silly article by tomorrow.”
    “Golly, I hope so,” Trixie said unhappily. “That’s all I’ve been hearing all day—that and people making believe they’re ghosts and going ‘whoo-whoo’ at me!”
    When they reached the stable, the prospect of taking a ride in the bright spring sunshine wiped out Trixie’s annoyance. Regan had saddled Lady, Strawberry, and Starlight, and the horses were standing waiting.
    Mrs. Belden had sent a basket of preserves and jellies over earlier with Mr. Belden, who had -dropped it off on his way to work at the bank.
    “Don’t ride off and forget the present,” Regan reminded them. “I guess the' old lady’ll be glad to get it. Give her a change of diet. ’Specially the crab apple.” Honey reminded the girls, “Let’s hurry and change to riding things so we can get started. I’m dying to get better acquainted with Miss Rachel.”
    “I want to meet her, too,” Diana seconded as they started up toward the house to change.
    After just a few steps, they were surprised to see Tom Delanoy, the chauffeur, backing Mrs. Wheeler’s big car away from the house, turning it on the driveway, and coming down toward them. From a distance, the car looked empty, except for Tom.
    The girls stepped aside, but to their amazement, he stopped the car beside them.
    “Hi!” He grinned. “Your mom says you’re to go along to Miss Martin’s with us, Honey.”
    “Us?” Honey asked. She stepped to the car and looked inside. Gaye was huddled in the rear, as far in the corner as she could get. She had Mr. Poo tight in her arms as she stared unsmilingly at Honey. The delicate white dress from Miss Rachel’s barn was very carefully arranged on the driver’s seat next to Tom.
    “But we were going to ride out that way, all three of us. Can’t we take the dress in a package on one of our saddles?” Honey frowned.
    “Well, your mother said—” Tom looked uneasy.
    Gaye leaned forward, scowling. “You don’t need to come with me! I’m not afraid of that mean old witch!” she said defiantly—but with a telltale quaver.
    It was Trixie who noticed that little quaver in Gaye’s voice. She said quickly, “Maybe we can all three go in style! Let the boys exercise the horses this afternoon. We can take their turns tomorrow afternoon, as a swap. How about it, Honey?”
    “Why not? They’re always asking us to take their turns for some excuse or other!” Honey agreed