The Mystery of the Castaway Children

imperceptible movements.
    “We’d better go home before we starve to death,” Trixie declared finally. She tried to concentrate on the task at hand—wobbling back over the ruts to Crabapple Farm.
    “There’s one point we’ve been overlooking,” Honey said from behind her.
    Instantly Trixie turned her whole attention to what Honey was saying.
    “The rider couldn’t have been far from a milk supply,” Honey said. “Milk spoils fast in this weather.”
    “What a brilliant deduction,” began Trixie. Then she almost fell off her bike. “Jeepers, there’s a convention at our house!” Three extra cars were parked in the turnaround. Dan’s Spartan munched grass along the orchard fence, and Jim’s bicycle was propped against a porch post.
    When the girls pedaled closer, they saw a picnic being organized in the backyard. Eileen and Di were setting the table. The three Belden boys, plus Jim and Dan, carried food that Mrs. Belden handed through an open kitchen window. Miss Goodley sat in a garden chair, writing her report with Dodgy on her lap. Observing Dodgy were Dr. Ferris and Sergeant Molinson, who in turn were closely watched by Reddy.
    “My goodness!” Honey gasped. “What if— Do you suppose the police have found Davy, and we’re the only ones who don’t know?”
    “I—I hope so,” Trixie managed to gulp. She was too ashamed to admit the truth to Honey. How could she explain that she wanted to be the one who solved this mystery, who led a healthy boy to a pair of frantic parents?
    “Slowpokes!” Di sang out.
    “Coming,” Honey called.
    “What’s going on?” Trixie asked when she came face-to-face with Mart and a huge tray of sandwiches.
    “Other than an acute attack of inanition,” replied her brother pompously, “not much. Everybody except you was still working here at noon, so Moms asked them all to stay for lunch.”
    Trixie was unaccustomed to munching salad while sitting between a doctor and a police sergeant. Nor was she used to facing a social worker while she ate a juicy sandwich. However, her hunger overcame her shyness.
    “More salad?” she asked Miss Goodley, who nodded.
    Mart went to the kitchen to refill the salad bowl. When he appeared again, he was trying to balance the bowl in one hand and a large pitcher of lemonade in the other.
    Trixie ran to his aid. “What did you say you were having?” she asked sweetly. “An attack of the clumsies?”
    “Help me, you fiend,” growled Mart.
    Trixie grabbed the heavy pitcher. By the time she and Mart made sure that everyone had more salad and lemonade, Dr. Ferris was speaking.
    “You young people have done a great job with this baby,” he said. “His weight is nearly back to normal, and those bruises and pin stabs are clearing up just fine.”
    Brian glanced over to where Dodgy’s basket sat in the shade. “How do you think he got the bruises, sir? It’s puzzling that they’re just on his stomach and under his arms, and that they don’t reach his back, don’t you think?”
    Dr. Ferris shook his white head. “I’ve seen a lot of battered children in my day. This one doesn’t fit the pattern. His injuries are neither serious nor permanent, and there’s nothing to suggest that abuse took place prior to his present bruises. It’s my opinion that those bruises were accidental and inflicted quite recently.”
    “But he’s so thin!” Trixie burst out. She blushed. Who was she to argue with a doctor who’d dealt with injuries most of his life?
    Dr. Ferris didn’t seem to mind a difference of opinion. “At this age, weight seems to fall away overnight when something goes wrong,” he explained. “Weight can be regained just as quickly.
    He’s an alert, strong infant. He’ll be plump and rosy in no time.”
    Eileen Dodge smiled widely while winking back tears.
    Trixie turned to the sergeant. “Any news about Davy?”
    “I followed up on that tip you gave me about the horseshoe. I had a farrier check it. It belongs to a Shetland.”
    “I know,” Trixie said impatiently.
    The sergeant raised an eyebrow. “We’re checking out the Shetlands in the area to make certain the shoe belongs to Wicky.” He helped himself to sliced tomatoes and glanced at his watch. “I’m standing by for a call from Saw Mill River. It may be from David Dodge.”
    “Oh, I hope so,” Eileen began, then added hesitantly, “I—I think.”
    She looked so frightened by the possibility of bad news that Trixie offered the first