The Mystery of the Castaway Children

Belden, Di said, “My mother said to tell you that if she’s omitted something essential, I’ll call our butler to drive over and drop it off. She also said to tell you, ‘Congratulations!’ ”
    “I’m sure she thought of everything,” Mrs. Belden said, hastily sorting out a change of clothing for the baby. “Thank you!”
    Honey, Trixie’s best friend and her partner in mystery-solving, set down a grocery sack, from which she took cans of formula and packages of disposable bottles and diapers. “When Mart called, Jim and I were at the Lynches’,” she explained. “Jim drove us straight to Mr. Lytell’s store for the formula. We didn’t think you’d have any. Oh, Trixie, isn’t this exciting? The Belden-Wheeler Detective Agency has found a lot of lost articles, but never a baby before!” She turned to Mrs. Belden. “How much formula do I put in this bottle?”
    “Here, let me help you,” Brian offered. At the kitchen counter, the two bent to the important task of serving the waif’s first full-fledged meal at the farm. ,
    Mrs. Belden dressed the baby while Mart went to the laundry room for ’the clothes basket. Bobby ran upstairs and returned with his own soft blanket to be used as a mattress. Honey handed the bottle to Brian, who took charge of the feeding. At once the infant set to work.
    For a moment, the watchers were so quiet that they could hear the occasional intake of air and smack of lips.
    “The boy’s a bottomless pit,” Mart commented in amazement.
    “Mart, I think you’ve met your match,” Brian said dryly.
    Freckle-faced Jim Frayne, Honey’s adopted brother, shook his head in wonder. “I’d forgotten babies were that small.”
    Already Bobby felt possessive. “He’s not finished yet. See? No hair and no teeth!”
    Brian took the half-emptied bottle from the baby.
    “Please, may I burp him?” Trixie asked.
    “Don’t drop him,” warned Bobby, “and don’t get him wet again.”
    “I’m dry now,” Trixie assured him. She raised the towel-wrapped baby to her shoulder and patted him carefully. She was so thrilled that she didn’t even flinch when warm milk trickled onto her shoulder.
    “Maybe it’s time to relinquish the cherub,” Mark teased gently, “before he develops an allergy to schoolgirl shamuses!”
    Trixie ignored him and continued her patting.
    How could anyone abandon this sweet creature? she thought.
    Pretty Di felt left out. “Let me hold him,” she begged.
    “He needs rest,” Mrs. Belden decided. “Di, you and Mart may carry that basket to the guest room. With the door open, we’ll be able to hear him if he cries.”
    The guest room was dimly lighted. Even though it was a hot August night, Trixie rushed ahead of Di and Mart to find a spot where the baby wouldn’t be bothered by a draft. Cautiously, Di and Mart set the basket down where Trixie indicated. Leaving the door ajar, the three tiptoed from the room.
    In the kitchen, they found family and friends enjoying fruit punch and cookies and discussing the baby.
    “Trixie, tell us all about it!” Honey demanded. “I never heard of anything so mysterious in my whole life.”
    At the word “mysterious,” Trixie’s round blue eyes began to shimmer. She and Honey constantly found themselves involved in mysteries. They had solved so many of them that they were planning to form their own detective agency eventually. In their sleuthing, they usually had the loyal support of the Bob-Whites of the Glen, a club that, besides Trixie and Honey, included Di, Jim, Brian, and Mart. The seventh member, Dan Mangan, was frequently too busy with other responsibilities to take part in the mysteries. Mysteries just seemed to drop-into Trixie’s and Honey’s lives as if by a miracle... like this baby.
    Trixie jumped up and rummaged through the baby’s things.
    “Did my mother forget something?” Di asked.
    “I’m looking for clues,” Trixie explained. “But there aren’t many. There’s a diaper, a blanket, and a knitted shirt—not much to go on.”
    “That blanket and shirt are of very good quality,” observed Di.
    “Maybe there’s a note in the doghouse,” Mart suggested.
    “The what?” Di squeaked.
    “Did you say doghouse?” Honey put in.
    “That’s where we found him,” Brian answered. He was already on his way out of the kitchen. Soon he came back to report that there was no note, and that the heavy rain had washed away all tracks except his own.
    “How in the world did you