The Mystery of the Castaway Children

person who let these things happen to Moses.”
    “I’ll help you,” Mart said simply. Usually he teased Trixie mercilessly about her mysteries, but this case had obviously aroused his sympathetic concern.
    “Has Moms started the laundry?” Trixie asked abruptly.
    “Not that I know of.”
    Trixie hurried to the laundry room. She took a second look at the pitifully small heap of dirty clothing that had been tossed into the hamper. This time she noticed that the diaper had been fashioned from a T-shirt. It felt as if it had been washed without soap. The blanket and knitted shirt were soft, but both were dirt-smudged. When she turned the shirt inside out to check once more for a tag, she found a dried leaf she had missed before. She’d have to ask Mart, the future agriculturist, to identify it. She placed the baby clothing back in the hamper and headed once more toward the guest room. She knew her mother wouldn’t wash the things until Sergeant Molinson had examined them.
    By now, Brian was trying to take command of the guest-room nursery, but it was Mart who cradled Moses in his arms and gave the baby the feeding he had promised. Trixie didn’t try to interfere. She watched, her thoughts racing.
    She was familiar with the nursery routine in the Lynch mansion. Although they were no longer infants, Trixie remembered how those privileged Lynch babies had squirmed with energy. They had kicked and snatched and howled.
    Moses did none of those things. He moved feebly. Plainly he was hungry, but sucking seemed to tire his throat and tongue. He rested Often, fretted, and tried again. Once his eyes focused on Trixie. They seemed sad and filled with pain.
    “Is he sick, Brian? ” Trixie faltered.
    “Just weak, I think. Moms is going to ask the investigator to see about a thorough checkup.”
    Moses dozed off without finishing his bottle. Mart covered him up, Brian left the door ajar, and the group returned to the kitchen. Trixie showed Mart the leaf she had found.
    “Alfalfa,” Mart informed her.
    “That’s no help,” muttered Trixie. Alfalfa meant Moses could have come from the country, and tar and machine oil meant he could have come from the city. How would she ever be able to narrow down the field?
    As the Belden family and Jim were finishing breakfast, Sergeant Molinson .tapped on the door and called through the screen, “Can you spare a cup of that good-smelling brew?”
    “Come on in, Sergeant,” Mr. Belden invited. After the burly policeman had taken a sip of Mrs. Belden’s coffee, he said gruffly, “This sure beats station-house ink, believe me.”
    “What have you turned up about the baby?” asked Brian.
    The sergeant accepted a piece of buttered toast and replied, “South of here, a couple of boys are missing. I’m going to run over there this morning and see what’s going on. I’ll get a picture of them.” He requested that all of them relate what they knew about the baby, then he cast a shrewd look at Trixie. “I presume you’ve made a thorough search for clues concerning the baby’s identity?”
    “Yes, sir,” Trixie answered.
    “Any objections if I go over the place again?”
    Trixie reddened but shook her head. As if he thinks he’s going to find something I missed, she fumed silently.
    The sergeant opened a notebook and ambled into the yard, where he spent a long time pacing around and examining possible routes. Trixie looked smug when he, too, theorized that the woods path had been used.
    “I found hoofprints and a horseshoe on the path,” she told him.
    The sergeant shrugged. “Who walks around here when it’s just as easy to straddle a horse?” He closed his notebook with a snap. “I’ll check the path to Glen Road Inn before I go to Saw Mill River.”
    SawMill River, Trixie thought. Where have I heard that recently?
    After the sergeant had gone, Mary Goodley, a social worker from the county, arrived with her long list of questions. Mr. Belden had left for work, but everyone else stood in an interested circle while she examined Moses. Miss Goodley, a tall blond woman, agreed that Moses was pitifully thin. “I’ll have a doctor sent out as soon as possible to check him over,” she informed them.
    He’ll want to have a look at those abrasions, of course, but I notice that baby oil and an antiseptic have already been applied. Good thinking on someone’s part.”
    Brian smiled faintly.
    After inspecting the guest room, Miss Goodley sat down at the desk, by the