The Mysterious Visitor

grand times after school and during the holidays, whereas almost all of the bus children were separated from their friends by miles or at least acres. "Who?" Trixie asked again. "Diana Lynch," Honey said, whispering.
    "Di—lonely?" Trixie was so surprised that she almost shouted.
    "Sh-h," Honey cautioned. "She might be right behind us."
    "Why, she’s got everything," Trixie continued in a slightly lower voice. "Next to you, Honey, she’s the prettiest girl in our class. She doesn’t get very good marks, but neither do I. She’s got two sets of twins for brothers and sisters, and her father made a million dollars a couple of years ago. They have a huge place that’s as gorgeous as yours, high on a hill that’s even higher than your hill, with a marvelous view of the river. I’ve only been out there once, but—"
    "That’s the point," Honey interrupted. "Why haven’t you been out there more than once? Why doesn’t she ever sit near you on the bus? I thought you and Di had known each other ever since kindergarten."
    "We have," Trixie said. "And come to think of it, when the Lynches were poor and lived in a nice but rather crowded apartment on Main
    Street, she used to invite me home for lunch an awful lot. Her mother is a wonderful cook. I can still remember how yummy her pancakes and fried chicken tasted. Such a treat instead of sandwiches and milk!"
    "Her mother doesn’t cook at all anymore," Honey said. "She hardly ever goes into the kitchen."
    "Why should she?" Trixie demanded. "When Di asked me to lunch last spring—that’s when I saw their red trailer—the whole place was simply swarming with servants. Two nurses for the twins, if you can believe it. I wish Bobby had two nurses. He could certainly use them."
    Bobby was Trixie’s mischievous six-year-old brother, and more often than she liked, Trixie had to take her turn keeping an eye on him.
    Honey smiled. "You think you’d like a lot of servants, Trixie, but you wouldn’t. I was brought up by nurses, and I can tell you it’s no fun."
    "But the nurses don’t bother Di," Trixie objected. "And the lucky duck never has to wash dishes or dust or make beds the way I do on weekends."
    "Poor overworked you!" Honey’s eyes twinkled with laughter. "I happen to know that Brian and Mart do most of the dishwashing at your house, and everyone but Bobby makes his own bed, and as for all that dusting—well, I’ve seen you do it, Trixie. A lick and a promise is the only way to describe that chore of yours. If you find a spot you can’t blow off a tabletop, you put something on top of it."
    Trixie chuckled. "You’re right, Honey. I’d hate to have a lot of servants cluttering up our place. And nobody could possibly cook as well as Moms does. The funny part of it is that she never makes a big fuss about it, either. When she dons an apron she looks younger and prettier than ever, and she sort of wanders into the kitchen and wanders out again with an enormous meal." "How do you know Di doesn’t feel the same way about her mother?" Honey asked. "I mean, my mother can’t boil water without burning it, and so she never wanders into our kitchen. The other day Miss Trask told her we needed a new spider, and Mother screamed because she thinks all spiders are black widows, the way I used to." Honey giggled. "It took hours for Miss Trask to explain that the spider was a cast-iron frying pan." Trixie giggled, too. Honey’s parents, grandparents, and great-grandparents had been born rich, so it didn’t surprise Trixie to learn that Mrs. Wheeler was probably almost as much afraid of a frying pan as she was of a spider. Honey was most likely the first girl in the family for a long time who had cared to learn how to cook.
    "What did Di say to you?" Trixie asked curiously after a moment. "I didn’t realize that you two were good friends. How can you be so positive that she is unhappy?"
    "She never told me she was lonely," Honey said as they started down the wide front steps of the school. "But I was a new girl when we started school and would have been miserably lonely if it hadn’t been for you, Trixie. That’s how I happened to notice that Di was miserable—and yet, she isn’t a new girl. Haven’t you noticed? She hardly ever joins in any fun or activities and seldom speaks to the other boys and girls in our class."
    Trixie said nothing. Kindhearted Honey always seemed to know when people were unhappy. Conscience-stricken, Trixie realized now that Di had