The Mystery of the Antique Doll

about you, Trixie Belden,” Honey said. She threw an arm around Trixie’s shoulders and gave her a brief hug. “If it wasn’t for you, our lives would be so dull and boring!”
    “I don’t think up things that are fishy, Honey Wheeler,” Trixie said, defending herself. “I only notice them!”
    “Well, I’m beginning to notice a strange cold feeling in the area of my feet,” Honey said. “I’m going to run the rest of the way home. Beat you!”
    And with that, Honey started to run as fast as she could along Glen Road. It was a long way, however, and she soon slowed to a walk. Trixie caught up to her, and together they walked until they came to the driveway of the Manor House where Honey lived.
    They were panting with exertion from the brisk walk, but feeling a good deal warmer.
    “Why don’t you come to our house for dinner?” Trixie asked.
    “Great idea,” Honey replied. “I’ll call Miss Trask from your house.”
    Miss Trask was Honey’s governess, and she also managed the Wheeler estate. Honey adored Miss Trask, as did all the Bob-Whites.
    “Good thinking,” Trixie said. “Race you to the front door!”
    The two girls set off again. They clambered up the steps of Trixie’s house, and fell against the door in unison, laughing.
    Moments later, the door was opened by Brian Belden, but he wasn’t quick enough to protect the girls from their greatest admirer—Reddy!
    “Down boy!” Trixie shouted, but it was too late. Reddy, the Belden’s handsome Irish setter, leapt on them, and showered the girls with dog kisses. Trixie’s books fell to the floor, and the papers in her loose-leaf notebook went flying for the third time in two days.
    “Is that you, Trixie?” Mrs. Belden called from the kitchen.
    “Yes Moms. Sorry we’re a little late,” Trixie called back, bending down to pick up her books. Reddy trampled through the papers excitedly.
    Trixie went into the kitchen. “Hi, Moms, Hi, Dad,” she said, giving each a kiss. “May Honey stay for dinner?”
    “Of course, but wash up first,” Mrs. Belden answered. “Dinner will be on the table in three minutes. Call Miss Trask, Honey. She’s waiting to hear from you.” Honey quickly sidestepped the mess Reddy had made of Trixie’s papers, and went to phone Miss Trask for permission to stay for dinner. By the time she’d completed the phone call and washed her hands, the family was seated at the table.
    “And then Willy, the dog, stole the carrots,” Trixie was saying, as she picked up her fork.
    “Pass the mashed potatoes, please,” Mart mumbled, as he set down the platter of fried chicken.
    “And Mrs. De Keyser taught us how to make the greatest stew,” Trixie continued. “She’s teaching us how to cook. We’re going to prepare meals for her in advance, so she can heat things up when she gets hungry.”
    “Well, isn’t that nice, dear,” Mrs. Belden said. “And did you get a chance to look at the antique store?”
    “I was just getting to that, Moms,” Trixie said. “We paid Mr. Carl Reid of The Antique Barn a visit all right, but he doesn’t know a thing about antiques! Can you believe it? We asked him quite a few questions about the dolls and toys in his window display, and he couldn’t answer one of them!”
    “Oh no,” Brian groaned. “Here we go again!”
    “Is our inquisitive sibling trying to initiate another second-rate series of innuendos?” Mart muttered. But he smiled affectionately at his suspicious sister. “Who knows what evil lurks in the hearts of antique dealers—or where it will lead.”
    “Mart!” Trixie said, feeling insulted. “My innuendos are never second-rate! How dare you!”
    “Crooks, beware!” Mart intoned in a somber voice. “The schoolgirl shamus is on the trail again!”
    “Trixie thinks it’s highly irregular and cause for suspicion if a person who knows nothing about antiques is in the antique business, that’s all,” Brian said.
    “Well, I know how you feel, Trixie,” Mr. Belden said. He had been listening with interest. “But nowadays, there are a lot of people in business who know nothing about what they’re trying to make or sell. Many people believe that any business can be reduced to numbers, and columns of figures. It’s what is called ‘the bottom line.’ ”
    “You mean, Daddy, that lots of people go into businesses just for the money?” Trixie asked.
    “That’s right, sweetie,” Mr. Belden said. He paused briefly. “So, even though you think