The Mysterious Visitor

changed a lot, although gradually, during the last year. She had shiny blue-black hair that flowed around her slim shoulders, and violet eyes fringed with thick, curly lashes. She was so pretty that she was always the heroine in the grade-school plays, although she usually got her lines and words mixed up. But nobody minded, not even the teachers, because Di always laughed when she made a mistake and somehow managed to turn even the most serious play into a comedy.
    "It’s true," Trixie said suddenly. "She never laughs now, and she sort of hunches herself in a comer of the bus as though—as though she were ashamed of something. But why?"
    "I don’t know exactly," Honey said. "I’ve tried to make friends with her over and over again, but every time I speak to her, she looks more embarrassed than ever. See? There she is now, standing all alone at the bus stop over there. Can’t we do something about her, Trixie?"
    Trixie didn’t have a chance to reply because they were joined then by her brothers and Jim. Brian was sixteen, a year older than Jim, but they were both juniors because Jim had skipped a grade. Brian had inherited his father’s dark eyes and hair. Except that he was two inches taller, Mart looked enough like Trixie to be her twin, and they both had their mother’s blue eyes and blond hair. Jim, although not related to the Wheelers, had the same red hair and green eyes that Honey’s father had.
    Mart was eleven months older than Trixie and often treated her as though she were Bobby’s age. He was very fond of big words, too, and, because he knew it annoyed Trixie, used them frequently. He greeted his sister now with:
    "Do my old eyes deceive me? Is that a notebook which you have crammed so unattractively into your skirt pocket? Am I to deduce from this evidence that you plan to spend a small portion of the forthcoming weekend in the pursuit of knowledge?"
    Trixie gave him a sour look. "The answer to your simple question is yes. We have to write a theme for our English class!"
    Mart made a tent of his hands and rocked back and forth on his heels, as though he were a lecturer on a platform. "And what, pray tell, is to be the theme of your - theme?"
    "None of your business," Trixie said.
    "So?" Mart elevated his sandy eyebrows. "I was about to offer my services, for a small fee, a dollar to be exact. With my superior knowledge of all the subjects, my extensive vocabulary, and—" "We know; we know," Trixie interrupted. "We also know why you wear your hair in that funny-looking crew cut. Your little brain would collapse under the weight of a normal amount of hair." "Children, children," Brian said, grinning. "Must you quarrel from morning to night? It does get a bit dull after a while."
    Suddenly Honey reached out her hand and, tucking it in the crook of Di’s arm, drew her into the group. "I was just thinking, Di," she said impulsively, "that it would be wonderful if you could spend the weekend with me and Jim. Here comes the bus now, but there’s plenty of time for you to go back into the school and telephone your mother. You won’t need any clothes. We’re just about the same size, and I have loads of jeans and all kinds of T-shirts and sweaters."
    Di stared at her for a moment without speaking. Then she blurted, "I don’t believe it, Honey Wheeler. I don’t believe you ever wear sloppy clothes. I’ll bet you don’t even own a pair of jeans."
    "But I do," Honey said, smiling. "We all live in sloppy clothes after school and on weekends. I didn’t used to own any of them, but when I met Trixie, Miss Trask got me some so we could dress alike and have fun all the time. Miss Trask is my governess, you know."
    "Your governess?" Di shook her head. "That’s one thing I’ve been lucky enough to escape so far. How do you stand it?"
    "Miss Trask isn’t really a governess," Trixie put in hastily. "She runs the Wheeler place the way your butler does your place, Di. And she’s a grand person. We all love her."
    Di sniffed. "I can imagine! The way I love our butler. The stupid old thing! I can’t even ask a few friends home for cookies and milk after school without Harrison hovering around with silver trays and fancy lace doilies. I hate him."
    "Well, never mind," Honey said soothingly. "I know how you feel. We used to have butlers, too, and they were an awful bore. But now they’re all gone and we have Miss Trask and Began—"
    "Who’s Regan?" Di asked, and then she flushed with embarrassment. "Oh,