The Mystery at Mead's Mountain

thought.
    As if he were reading her mind, Eric assured them, “It may seem a bit boring now, but once you learn to run uphill on the skis, you’ll really start to enjoy cross-country.”
    “Run uphill on skis! You must be kidding!” said Di, her violet eyes opening wide.
    Eric smiled. “It’s not that hard. That’s why waxing the bottom of your skis is so important. It helps you stick to the snow when you’re going uphill.”
    “But how about coming back down the hill? Don’t you stick then, too?” worried Trixie.
    “No, friction from the speed of going downhill melts off the snow sticking to the wax. Some skis have commercial finishes so you don’t have to wax, but we purists prefer to wax. That way you can get the best finish for the day’s weather conditions. Besides, waxing is almost a ritual. Linda helped you wax already, didn’t she?”
    “Yes,” Jim answered. “She said to tell you she had us put on green wax. Is that right?”
    “Green’s a good choice for today with the new snow and perfect sunny weather. Since you’re new to the sport, though, maybe we should add a blue kicker.”
    “A blue what?” asked Trixie.
    “Sounds like an illegal drug,” commented Mart.
    “A blue kicker—that’s an extra layer of wax right underneath the boot area. It gives a bit of added grip going up hills,” Eric explained.
    “Well, I’m all for that,” said Trixie, grinning.
    Eric demonstrated how to run uphill, and then how to herringbone up steeper grades by placing skis in a V-shape, leaning forward, and waddling uphill like a duck. He made it all look easy, but the Bob-Whites soon discovered how deceiving looks could be. The first few times they tried running uphill, they found themselves slipping backward instead. When herringboning, they were inclined to trip themselves up by getting their skis crossed behind them.
    Just when they felt that they were finally getting their skis under control, little Rosie came skiing downhill at a breakneck speed, traveled all the way around the Bob-Whites, and quickly ran back up the hill until she was standing right over them.
    “Hi!” she said, not the least bit out of breath. With her black curls peeking out from under her pink stocking cap, her cheeks flushed bright red, and her blue eyes shining innocently, Rosie looked more like a Kewpie doll than an expert skier showing up people three times her age.
    “Who let that kid on the slopes?” Mart demanded. “She’s a menace to my morale.”
    Eric chuckled. “Rosie’s going to be vying for my job soon. It will be a while before you kids have her control and speed.”
    “I’m going to take Miss Trask for a walk,” announced Rosie. “She told me to tell you we might not be here when you’re ready for lunch, so you can go ahead and eat if you want.”
    “Have a good walk, Rosie,” called Honey, as Rosie took off again at top speed.
    Mart dug his ski into the snow. “Well, I’ll bet I have a bigger vocabulary than she does.”
    “Sure, but she can probably spell better than you,” teased Trixie.
    “What’s next, Eric?” asked Honey.
    “Now you’re ready to take off on your own.” He hesitated, then said, “Mead’s Mountain is really special. Your first experience should be a dramatic one. I think the most exciting thing would be for you to take the chair lift to the top. From there, you’ll have quite a climb through the trees to get over the crest. It won’t be an easy climb for you beginners, but it’s worth it. When you get to the top, take one of the trails off to your right. You should have a super time in the fresh snow we got last night.”
    “Are there any paths up there,” asked Jim, “or do we forge our own?”
    “The whole state of Vermont is honeycombed with trails and paths,” said Eric. “Old Indian trails, animal paths, hiking trails. Even the Appalachian National Scenic Trail isn’t too far from here.”
    “What’s that?” asked Di.
    “It’s a hiking trail that extends the length of the Appalachian Mountains, almost two thousand miles,” explained Eric. “I’ve skied on it in Massachusetts, where I go to school, and I hiked on it through the Shenandoah Valley one summer. Someday I’d like to travel the entire length. I understand there’s another trail that runs the length of Vermont, from Massachusetts to Canada, called the Long Trail.”
    “Somehow I don’t think we’re ready to tackle the Long Trail today,” Jim said. “But it sounds like we