The Mysterious Code

anyway—then I saw
something.”
    “A raccoon,
perhaps,” Brian said, “maybe a wolf, or, more likely, a big lump of your overly
vivid imagination.”
    “It wasn’t that,”
Trixie said as she wrapped her wool scarf tight around her head. “Let’s hurry
and get started for home.”
    She stepped briskly
out into the snow. There in the path, almost close enough to trip over it, lay
a bundle wrapped in a tattered quilt.
    “What do you suppose
it is?” Trixie asked. “And where in the world did it come from?”
    Jim poked it
gingerly with his toe. “A raccoon couldn’t have left it, Brian,” he said. “As
impossible as it seems, Trixie, you. really must have heard someone outside
this schoolhouse toward morning.” He pulled back the quilt and there, good as
new, lay the carved oak lap desk!
    Even as they lifted
it up to be sure it was real,
    Reddy, barking
furiously, bounded up.
    Close behind him
came Regan, then Tom, struggling through the drifts.
    “Are you all right?”
Regan called. “Is Trixie all right? Jim? Brian? All well?”
    “Were fine,” Trixie
called out happily. “We were just starting for home. How did you find us?”
    “I was worried
because Jim hadn’t come back with Jupiter,” Regan said. “I knew he wasn’t
riding around in the heavy snow. Just about that time your mother called,
Trixie, and said that Reddy had come back and was barking and acting
strangely.”
    Trixie put an arm
around Reddy’s neck and rubbed her face against his warm coat. “Moms must have
been frantic,” she said.
    “She was pretty
worried,” Regan admitted. “She didn’t know which way to turn. She thought we
should call the police and organize a searching party, but I persuaded her to
let just Tom and me hunt for you. I was sure Reddy was trying to lead us to
you.”
    “How about my mother?” Jim asked anxiously. “I didn’t tell her you had Jupiter,” Regan said,
“until after Mrs. Belden called. Then she wanted to call your father in New York.”
    “Gee, I hope she
didn’t do that,” Jim said. “There wasn’t anything he could do about it.”
    “I finally convinced
her of that and asked her to let Tom and me have a try first,” Regan said. “Tom
took Celia down to Crabapple Farm to stay with your mother, Trixie, and we
picked up Reddy. We had a hard time keeping Mart from coming, too. I guess we
should have let him, but you realize we had to do some wandering around before
we found you.”
    “Poor Moms,” Trixie
said. “She’s had a worse night than we’ve had, and Mrs. Wheeler and Honey, too.
We’d better get started right back so she’ll know we’re safe.”
    “Better than that,”
Regan said. “I arranged a signal to let them know at Crabapple Farm and at the
Manor House just as soon as we found you and knew you were all right. Stand
back, everyone!” They all crowded back against the log school-house, and Began
took his shotgun from under his arm, aimed it high in the air, and fired three
times. Then he repeated it.
    “They’ll all be glad
to hear that,” Began said. “You kids had better eat something before we start
back. Mrs. Belden sent along some hot soup in this Thermos and some
sandwiches.”
    “We can’t be very
far from the valley,” Jim said, “if they could hear that gun.”
    “You’re not,” Began
said. “You must have wandered around in a circle. We did the same thing hunting
for you. You’re just at the edge of the pieshaped clearing Mr. Maypenny owns.
Bight across there, not more than three hundred yards away, is Maypenny’s
house, waiting and ready to give you shelter, even if he is away.”
    Jim pulled off his
cap and threw it down in disgust. “A fine woodsman I am,” he said, “after all
that time I lived in the forest, too, when I ran away from my stepfather. Good
Reddy,” he said to the red setter who had been running around, jumping up on
all their knees, and licking their hands. “Good Reddy! We started out to try to
find you, and you saved us instead.”
    “Do they give
Carnegie medals to dogs?” Brian asked, his voice husky. “Here’s one that rates
one, if they do.”

The
Mask Comes Off • 11
     
    A few days after
the storm Trixie was helping her mother clear away the breakfast dishes. Bobby,
in his robe, still sat at the table.
    The big kitchen was
fragrant with the aroma of coffee, buttered toast, and steaming oatmeal.
    The night of the
blizzard, faced with only primitive necessities for comfort, Trixie had