The Mystery of the Castaway Children

their desserts.
    “There. I heard it again,” said Bobby abruptly. “Sounds like a baby crying,” commented Brian.
    “That’s what I thought,” Bobby said. “Impossible,” Mart scoffed. “Except for Di Lynch's twin brothers and sisters, you’re the youngest child in the area.”
    “That’s what it sounds like,” insisted Bobby. “A scared baby.”
    By then, Trixie was taking her little brother seriously. “What else would sound like a baby?” she wondered aloud. “A mockingbird, maybe? It copycats sound.”
    “Babies sound most like babies,” said Bobby. Brian tousled Bobby’s fair hair. “True, but it’s just been pointed out that there are no babies to be heard around here.”
    “The ‘cat’ in Catskill comes from catamount recalled Mrs. Belden. “Could the storm have driven one in from Wheelers’ game preserve?” Her hand moved instinctively toward Bobby’s shoulders.
    “Possible, but I doubt it,” Mr. Belden said. He stood up and reached for the screen door. “I’m off for a shower. Anybody using water at the same time had better be sure she doesn’t use all the hot water.” Pretending to scowl darkly, he squished into the house.
    “Who’d want hot water on a night like this?” Bobby asked sensibly.
    “Or any water, period,” added Trixie. “I’m perfectly comfortable just the way I am.”
    “Who am I to mention that you’re perfectly unkempt, too,” teased Mart.
    “You’re my almost twin,” retorted Trixie, “so you’d better watch what you say about me.”
    Mart grimaced, then reached for a strand of Trixie’s sandy curls. “With this hair, you can just shake yourself dry, like Reddy,” he taunted.
    “Thanks for the tip,” said Trixie, and she leaned over to Mart to do just that.
    Mart scooted to safety, and Mrs. Belden laughed. “I’m afraid I have to side with Mart,” she said. “You’re all going to need showers.”
    She went inside to check on the towel supply, while the younger Beldens remained on the porch to enjoy the breeze that had followed the rain.
    Trixie and Mart were about to resume their friendly bickering, when a prolonged, thin wail arose. Reddy, resting beside Trixie, perked up his ears. After a few tail thumps, the dog padded to the edge of the porch. The sound stopped as abruptly as it had begun, yet Reddy jumped from the porch, sniffing the air. Trixie got up to follow him, while Mart and Brian exchanged glances behind her. Curiosity might as well have been Trixie’s middle name.
    She saw Reddy approaching his doghouse. When he reached the opening, he ducked his head, then backed away. Trixie was puzzled when the setter made a few uncertain circles around his own house, peered in, then sat down.
    Then she remembered that this was copperhead country. Snakes were one of the few things that really made Trixie nervous. She knew Reddy would have sense enough to respect squatter’s rights if a copperhead had moved into his house. So she, too, stayed a safe distance from the low, unpainted shelter. Even from there, she could see a white mass that contrasted with the dim interior of the house. What, could that be? Reddy slept on an old rug on a bed of straw. The rug had long since lost most of its color. It wasn’t white, and it never had been.
    Frowning, she returned to the porch, where her three brothers looked up at her expectantly.
    “What’s with our capricious canine?” inquired Mart.
    “I couldn’t get close enough to find anything,” Trixie admitted. “Reddy wouldn’t go inside his « own doghouse, so I didn’t go near it, either.”
    “Admirable caution,” cheered Mart lazily.
    Brian took a closer look at his sister’s concerned face and rose from the porch swing. “I’ll get the pitchfork and see what’s moved in,” he said.
    Trixie followed Brian to the backyard and waited for him to bring a pitchfork from the garden shed.
    “See? Reddy isn’t afraid,” she pointed out. “He just won’t go in.”
    “Maybe it’s a skunk,” Brian said without enthusiasm. “Well, let’s get this over with.” He strode toward the doghouse, pitchfork ready for action. Reddy turned his sleek red head in the direction of his home.
    Trixie was prepared for anything, but still she couldn’t believe it when Brian suddenly dropped his pitchfork and actually stretched his arms inside the doghouse. He was down on his knees, paying no attention to the mud. Trixie gasped with surprise as Brian started to rise. He was lifting a