The Mystery at Mead's Mountain

yell for Bob and pulling harder on the controls.
    But Bob was already taking over the control wheel. Again without warning, the plane leveled off and seemed to bounce back up into the sky.
    Whew!’ Trixie breathed as she sank back into her seat. She was pale and shaking. “I thought we were goners! You can’t imagine what an awful feeling that is.”
    You did fine, Trixie,” Bob said cheerfully. “That was terrific the way you didn’t panic.”
    Trixie blushed to the roots of her hair. “I was panicking plenty,” she protested.
    “We just ran into a downdraft,” he told her. “That’s a small downward current of air. They aren’t particularly dangerous, but they are scary. They never last more than a few seconds, though.”
    “A few seconds?” Trixie almost choked. “That one had to last at least five minutes!”
    Bob just chuckled. “We are heading into more turbulence. This may turn into a rough ride. Why don’t you go back with the others and have something to drink?” he suggested.
    Trixie gave him no argument. Joining the other Bob-Whites for hot tea, she good-naturedly agreed when they told her they were glad Bob had taken over the controls so quickly.
    “Remind me to leave town the day you learn to drive a car,” Mart needled her. “Your idea of navigation leaves something to be desired.” His eyes told her he admired her spirit, though.
    “Bob didn’t think I was that bad a pilot,” Trixie defended herself.
    “I notice he didn’t give you back the controls,” Brian chuckled.
    “That’s because it looks like we’re heading into a storm,” Trixie told him. “Anyway, I think flying’s great... except for the downdrafts.”
    Jim grinned at her and spoke up. “Before we land, let’s talk some more about what Dad expects of us. He sent along a little notebook and pen for each of us.” He passed them out. “We’re to write down anything that we notice, good or bad, immediately. He also wants us to make two lists: one of the things we like best about the place—”
    “Let me guess,” broke in Di. “The other is the things we like the least.”
    Jim nodded. “But we’re not to share our lists with each other. They are to be made independently. All of our other notes will be combined into one major report that we’ll give to Dad and Mr. Kimball with our recommendations. We’ll also meet with both of them and some of their advisers later, so Dad said to really make sure we know what we’re talking about.”
    “Right,” said Miss Trask, gathering everyone’s plastic cups and stowing them in her flight bag. “This is a case where what you think can make a lot of difference.”
    “Honey and I have decided that we can share the typing of the report,” Jim went on. “But we’ll all have to chip in when it comes to actually writing it.”
    “Especially Mart,” Honey said warmly. “We may need words of more than one syllable.”
    “I don’t see why,” said Trixie innocently. “We don’t want Mr. Wheeler to have to spend years deciphering our report.”
    Before Mart could respond, Miss Trask reached into her bag and pulled out some travel folders. “I thought you all might find these interesting,” she said. “They’re about Vermont.”
    “Swell,” said Brian, taking one. “We Beldens have never been to Vermont.”
    “I did go to the library one morning before class and look Vermont up in the encyclopedia,” Trixie volunteered in a smug voice.
    “Undoubtedly when you should have been studying for your math final,” remarked Mart.
    Trixie ignored him. “The name comes from VertMont, the French words for GreenMountain. Vermont is nicknamed the Green Mountain State, too.” Miss Trask looked pleased. “The Green Mountains are part of the Appalachians, as are the Catskills around Sleepyside,” she informed them. “The mountain scenery makes Vermont one of the most beautiful states in the country.”
    “I hope the mountains aren’t green when we get there,” Jim said lightly. “I’m counting on a little of the white stuff myself.”
    “Don’t worry, Jim,” said Miss Trask. “The Green Mountains get between eighty and one hundred twenty inches of snow every year. The skiing season’s already started.”
    “Say,” broke in Mart, “doesn’t it seem like the plane is losing altitude? We must be getting close.”
    Sure enough, they had begun their plunge through the layers of black clouds. The little plane bounced from air current to air current