The Mysterious Code

it, Trixie,” said Mrs. Vanderpoel, turning the stool to the right
height. “It has a pretty tone, hasn’t it? Land, you’ve seen it a dozen times,
and the rest of the furniture, too.”
    “It’s different now,
though,” Trixie said. “I’ve always thought it was beautiful, but now...”
    She told Mrs.
Vanderpoel about the antique show they were planning. She told of the reason
for the show, of the need for money for little children far across the oceans.
    She didn’t have
enough courage to ask Mrs. Vanderpoel if they could exhibit some of her
heirlooms. She did not need to ask. Mrs. Vanderpoel offered them to the
Bob-Whites.
    “You say you only
want to borrow them overnight and for one day?” she asked.
    “That’s all,” Trixie
told her. “I’ll come after them myself, with Tom and Regan, and watch to see
that there isn’t a scratch on them.”
    “Mercy, I don’t
worry about that,” Mrs. Vanderpoel said. “Children have played around my
furniture for several generations. They’ve never done any harm that a little
rubbing with cabinet-maker’s wax won’t cure. Just tell me what you want for the
show, and I’ll have it ready and shined. I’m going to give you this small
carved oak lap desk,” she said. “It belonged to my father. I’d like to think
the money for it would be used to help children.”
    “That’s wonderful!”
Trixie exclaimed. “Why, our tickets won’t go begging when people hear about
these beautiful things!”
    “There are some
pieces in the lean-to kitchen, too,” Mrs. Vanderpoel went on. “I’ve been
wondering what to do with them. They need a touch here and there to repair
them, and, from what you tell me, Brian and Mart and Jim can do that. Brom
would do it if he could, but he’s forgetful.”
    “I’ve never seen him
before,” Trixie said. “I’ve heard of him, though, but I didn’t think he was
real. People say he’s another Rip Van Winkle.”
    “He lives in a small
cottage on the property that used to belong to his family, a very old Dutch
family, older than my own. The wooded land is part of Mr. Wheeler’s game
preserve now. He is so proud he never asks for anything. Sometimes, when he
gets hungry, he comes to my door. I am proud to be able to offer him my
hospitality.”
    As she finished
talking, they walked back to the kitchen. Bobby was sitting on Brom’s knee. The
old man’s arm was tight around him. Bobby seemed to be his dear newfound
friend.
    “Mr. Brom knows the
wonderfulest stories,” Bobby explained, “about witches an’—well, one witch
anyway. Mr. Brom is goin’ to come and see me someday.”
    “Then you really are his friend, Bobby,” Mrs. Vanderpoel said.
    “Please do come to
see us,” Trixie said. “We’d all love to have you come, Mr. Brom.” Through the
window Trixie could see the snow. “It’s snowing hard, Mrs. Vanderpoel,” she
said. “I think Bobby and I had better start home. Do you think we could take
the lap desk on the sled? I want
    Mart to see it, and
the rest of the Bob-Whites. Maybe I should wait till later.”
    “No, go right ahead
and take it, Trixie. Brom, do you think you could carry it out to the sled for
Trixie?”
    The old man jumped
up quickly. “I’ll call that young man who’s shoveling the walk to help you
settle it on the sled,” Mrs. Vanderpoel said to Brom. “Young man, come here,
please!” she said as she opened the door.
    “Now, Trixie, come,
and I’ll show you the things in the lean-to shed—just a once-over look, so
you’ll know what to tell the boys,” Mrs. Vanderpoel said.
    “You be careful of
that desk, now,” Bobby warned the big boy as he lowered Mrs. Vanderpoel’s gift
onto Bobby’s lap. “It’s a andteek for the Bob-Whites to sell at their show.”
    “For how much?” the
big boy asked.
    “About a hunnerd
dollars, I guess,” Bobby boasted. “An that’s not all. There’s lots of other
things Mrs. Vanderpoel’s goin’ to let the Bob-Whites take for their show next
month. They’re worth zillions of dollars.”
    Old Brom bent down
and rubbed his hand over the oak desk. “It’s pretty,” he said.
    “Yeah,” the big boy
said thoughtfully. “Yeah, it is, now, ain’t it?” He propped the snow shovel
against a tree and ran off across the yard and into the woods.
    It was snowing
heavily, but Trixie started off briskly on the mile journey home. It was
drifting on the wood path, but she knew the going would be better when she
reached Glen Road.
    “Sing