The Mysterious Visitor

not think that his work began and ended with driving the cars. He was perfectly willing to help Regan with the horses and, in his spare time, to serve as a general handyman on the big estate. He and Regan got on very well together and shared comfortable bachelor quarters above the garage. In a way, Tom, although he had been hired only a short time ago, was almost as important a member of the Wheeler household as Regan was. Regan knew everything worth knowing about horses; Tom knew everything important about cars and gundogs. He was full of fun, too, and very handsome with his black, wavy hair and blue eyes.
    "Tom likes springers all right," Jim was saying, "but his favorite breed is the pointer. If Patch were his dog, I’ll bet he could train him to point. I just haven’t got that much patience."
    "It’s your red hair," Trixie said, grinning.
    Di, who had been sitting forlornly on the edge of the glider, said, "Oh, let’s not talk about red hair. It reminds me of Regan and what Uncle Monty may be saying to him right now."
    Jim quickly changed the subject. "Where are Brian and Mart, Trixie? It’s getting on to the time we set for initiating Di into our club."
    "They’ll be here pretty soon," Trixie told him. "They have to stack all of our junk that’s in the garage into the station wagon. Then Brian’s going to drive it to the clubhouse. Maybe they’re down at the clubhouse now waiting for us."
    "Let’s go," Jim said, leading the way down the sloping lawn to the cottage.
    "What’s my initiation going to be like?" Di asked nervously. "I’m sort of scared."
    "I don’t know," Trixie said. "Honey and I left it up to the boys. What does Di have to do, Jim, to become a member of our club?"
    Jim shrugged. "I left it up to Brian and Mart. We talked about it on the way home from the movies last night, but I couldn’t think of a thing. Except," he added to Di, "make you try to eat a dozen eggs in as many minutes. How would you like that?"
    "Ugh," Honey gulped. "I was in a pie-eating contest at boarding school last year. The girl who won ate five blueberry pies in only thirty minutes. She was awfully sick afterward."
    "I don’t like to eat either eggs or blueberry pie," Di wailed.
    "Never mind," Trixie said. "If my brothers have anything to do with it, it won’t be that kind of initiation. Mart will probably make you walk barefoot on a mile of tacks. Or make you try to put up his pup tent all by yourself. That’s the kind of torturer he is."
    Di shuddered, and Honey quickly tucked her hand through the crook of Di’s arm. "Don’t pay any attention to Trixie," Honey said. "Mart is an awful tease, but he’s really very kindhearted." When they arrived at the cottage, they found that Brian and Mart were already there, neatly stacking the winter sports equipment they had brought from home. To Trixie’s surprise and dismay, Bobby was there, too, "holping," as he proudly told them.
    Trixie put her thumbs in her ears, waggled her fingers, crossed her eyes, and stuck out her tongue. "Do we have to have you-know-who here in our clubhouse?" she asked Mart sourly.
    "Whom," Mart corrected her. "And we do, unless you want to go home and play in the sandpile with whom." He moved closer and peered intently at Trixie’s face. "Someday your eyes are going to stay crossed, Sis. And your thumbs will stay in your ears, and your tongue will be permanently stuck out. But I wouldn’t worry if I were you, Sis. Somehow, you look better that way. And think of the money you’ll save. You won’t need a mask for Halloween. Not that you really do, anyway, with the funny face you were born with!"
    "Oh, is that so?" Trixie demanded. "Have you forgotten that we are supposed to look exactly alike except for that weird haircut of yours? And in case you’re interested, I do not have to stay home and play with you-know-whom today. Moms said that, after I did the dishes and the dusting, I could have the rest of the day off. She canned the last of the tomatoes yesterday, so—" "Trae," Mart interrupted, "but because of which, our paternal parent feels that our maternal parent needs a vacation." Holding his thumb and index finger to one eye in the form of a monocle, he said with a very pronounced British accent, "The pater and mater have gone off on a motaw trip, old thing. Thus we are saddled with the younger generation until evening, or at least until late afternoon."
    "We!" Trixie sniffed. "You mean you and Brian are. And, in case you’re