The Marshland Mystery

astonishment.
    “It does look like gold, now that it’s shined up,” Trixie’s dad conceded. “Tell you what. We’ll take it to a jeweler some day next week and let him tell you.”
    “But, Dad, if it is gold, it would be wonderful to know before Miss Rachel has to move to the Home tomorrow. It could change everything!” she argued desperately.
    “It could be just gold-plated, dear,” her mother said sympathetically. “Don’t build your hopes up too high, with so very little to go on.”
    “Wait, Moms! Dad! Remember the letter we found in the desk out there? It spoke about the ‘thing’ that was so strange-looking that he was sending her. It could be the fighting dragon! And he mentioned the scent of sandalwood. Moms, you know how sandalwood smells! Doesn’t this have that smell?”
    Mrs. Belden bent swiftly over the open box and then straightened with wide-eyed surprise. “Why, so it does, dear!”
    “Then why can’t this be the anniversary gift ‘of great price’ that he was sending her?” Trixie’s blue eyes sparkled.
    “Trixie, you really may have solved another puzzle! We’ll drive in to see my friend Sam Lee Fong tomorrow morning and show that box to him. If anybody can tell us what it’s worth, it will be Sam. He has an A-one standing with the Metropolitan Museum of Art as an expert on Chinese art,” Mr. Belden said.
     
    The next morning, Honey went with Trixie and her father to the city. Tom Delanoy drove them, and Trixie carried the box in her lap all the way.
    But when they came back, except for a short stop to pick up Di, they went directly to Miss Rachel’s, where the boys were hard at work loading furniture on a rented truck.
    The Chinese expert’s verdict was soon told to Miss Rachel, though Trixie found it hard to speak over the lump in her throat. The Museum would pay several thousand dollars for such a perfect specimen of the art of the T'ang Dynasty of a thousand years ago.
    It was an afternoon of happiness for the Bob-Whites. To make it complete, the mayor and his four councilmen came out to call on Miss Rachel and explain a bit sheepishly that they had acted hastily in ordering the work on the road to commence so soon.
    “You are welcome to stay till next summer now,” the mayor told Miss Rachel. “We have found that we were misinformed as to conditions here.”
    “You’re very kind,” Miss Rachel told the gentlemen with great dignity, “but I would like to move into a small home in town, with a shop of my own, as soon as possible—to start my own business again. Thank you, just the same.”
    To cap the whole adventure, after school on Trixie’s birthday, there was a gay party for her in the clubhouse, complete with a gorgeous birthday cake. Miss Rachel was there, and there was a box with a beautiful orchid corsage and a card that said, “With love, Gaye and Aunt Della.”
    Best of all, the Bob-Whites were all there, and to make the day practically perfect, Mart pulled her curls and called her his “twin” in front of everyone, because now, for a whole month, they were both fourteen.
    It was a happy but tired Trixie who tumbled into bed much later. So much had happened in the last few days that her head was whirling. But she wasn’t too sleepy to wonder what adventure lay ahead—and whether her life at fourteen could possibly be as exciting as it had been during this wonderful year just ending.