The Mystery at Saratoga

be impossible. Her thoughts kept returning to the handsome, red-haired man who had left the Manor House so abruptly.
    Trixie had to admit that, as well as she knew Regan, she knew very little about him. He’d lived above the garage ever since he moved to the Manor House with the Wheelers. He went out riding every day, exercising the horses. He probably knew the trails that wound through Mr. Wheeler’s game preserve better than anyone except Mr. Maypenny, who for years and years had owned a little pieshaped piece of land in the middle of what was now the preserve.
    But Regan almost never went into Sleepyside because he hated both driving and riding in automobiles. And as far as Trixie knew, he had only once gone farther away than that since he’d worked at the Manor House. That was when he brought Dan back from New York City, she thought. Maybe his leaving this time is related. She shook her head. If Regan had gone off on family business, surely he would have told Dan about it.
    Trixie searched her mind for some other clue to Regan’s disappearance. He loved sports, but he certainly wouldn’t have left such a mysterious note if he were just going to see a baseball game.
    It would take something really important to get Regan to leave those horses, Trixie thought. But what?
    In her mind, she suddenly heard Regan’s voice. There was something he’d said to her after he’d first seen Jim Frayne. Jim had been hiding from everyone except Honey and Trixie, afraid that the police would return him to his stepfather. Regan had immediately spotted Jim as a runaway, and Trixie and Honey had thought he’d demand that they tell their parents about Jim.
    He hadn’t, though. He hadn’t said why, not in so many words, but— What was it he did say? Trixie thought. She closed her eyes, trying to remember his exact words. Finally they came to her.
    “It wasn’t so very long ago that I was hiding out in barns myself, wondering where in the world the next meal was coming from.” That’s what he’d said. Why had Regan been hiding? It was only now that she realized she’d never asked.
    Bobby’s shrill voice shouting, “Daddy’s home!” interrupted Trixie’s thoughts, and she hurried to help her mother put the rest of the food on the table. “I’ll have to ask Dan if he knows,” she muttered to herself.
    Bobby Belden was very much present during dinner, so Trixie had to force herself to put Regan out of her mind and talk about other things with her family.
    Even so, the talk at the dinner table these days was a far cry from the boisterous, teasing chatter that took place when Mart and Brian were at home. When her brothers had left for camp two weeks earlier, Trixie had breathed an exaggerated sigh of relief. “No more teasing from Mart and no more ‘Now, Trix, be careful’ from Brian. Not for three whole weeks!” she’d rejoiced.
    Her joy had soon turned to loneliness and boredom. Trixie didn’t realize, when her brothers were at home, how dependent she was on their banter for amusement. Also, all the Bob-Whites relied on them to plan activities.
    With Mart, Brian, and Jim at camp, and Dan working for Mr. Maypenny, and Di Lynch visiting her uncle in Arizona, Honey and Trixie had been left on their own. Much as I love Honey, Trixie thought, it would be nice to have somebody else to visit. I’d even help Di baby-sit for her brothers and sisters.
    Di Lynch was the seventh Bob-White. She and her family—which included two young sets of twins, besides Di—had always lived in Sleepyside, but she and Trixie had not become friends until after Di’s father had made a fortune practically overnight and moved his family into the mansion on the other side of the Manor House.
    It's really partly my fault that Di ’ s gone, Trixie thought. If I hadn't discovered that her Uncle Monty was a phony uncle—I mean, that her phony Uncle Monty was a phony—and that her real Uncle Monty was her real uncle, then she wouldn't have had anyone to visit in Arizona this summer.
    Mrs. Belden’s voice broke through Trixie’s confused thoughts. “Time to clear the table, dear.” Trixie started, then stood up. Picking up a half-full bowl of mashed potatoes, she started for the kitchen. “There seems to be a perponderance of leftovers, as Mart would say.”
    “That’s probably what Mart would say,” her mother agreed. “But the word is preponderance. Still, I know what you mean. Mart loves food even more than he loves to use big