The Mystery of the Emeralds

the people for whom he saved the Union the memory of Abraham Lincoln is inscribed forever.”
    Walking out between the tall columns that supported the roof, Trixie said, “Just think, the Civil War hadn’t even begun when Ruth and John went to Virginia.”
    “And since then we've been involved in one war after another,” Brian added. “I wonder where it will end.”
    “Well, I hope it ends in peace for the whole world!” Mart said with unusual seriousness. Then, looking toward the White House, which they were approaching, he continued, “I’d sure hate to be President of the United States. It must be the hardest job in the world.”
    “I don’t think you have to worry about that,” Trixie said, giving her brother a good-natured pat on the shoulder. “At least not for quite a while.” The walk back to the motel ended on a lighter note.
    They spent the next day sight-seeing. The boys wanted especially to see the airplanes at the Smithsonian Institution, so in the morning they took leave of the girls, who went to the National Gallery of Art. The Bob-Whites had decided the evening before, while talking with Mr. Lynch, that it would be a mistake to try to visit too many places in the one day they had in the city. Everyone agreed, however, that the newly decorated White House was a must, so they arranged to meet after lunch and all go there together.
    Trixie had somehow imagined they would be able to stroll through the White House in much the same way that her class had done at Washington Irving’s restored home, but she found this tour quite different. Later, when told that over half a million people had already visited the White House that year, Trixie understood why there was little time to linger in any one room. In the Lincoln bedroom, however, she could not resist hanging back for a longer look. Jim, who had stayed in the forefront of the group to catch every word their guide had to say, came back to where she was solemnly gazing at an intricately carved rosewood table that Mrs. Lincoln had bought.
    “Why so glum, Trixie?” he asked. “Are you getting tired?”
    “Oh, no! I’m fine!” she answered, her face brightening. “I was only thinking about Rosewood Hall. Do you suppose we’ll find it’s one of the lucky places that someone has loved enough to preserve like this?”
    “I hope so, but we may not even find it, you know,” Jim replied. “As Mr. Lynch said, many beautiful old homes were either burned during the war or fell into ruins afterward.”
    “I’ll simply die if we don’t find something left at Rosewood,” Trixie said.
    For answer, Jim patted her shoulder, and they hurried on to join the others in the next room.

“Get Out of Here!” • 7

    WILLIAMSBUBG is only a hundred and fifty miles from Washington, so by noon the next day everyone was settled into a comfortable Colonial cottage near the Inn. Trixie, of course, was eager to drive out to Cliveden without delay, but she cheerfully fell in with the plan of the others to walk around the old streets of the town and become familiar with the layout before going through any of the buildings. They had great fun outside the Public Gaol, taking turns being locked in the pillory and the stocks. Honey had brought her camera and took pictures of them and the “gaoler,” a guide dressed in Colonial garb. The whole village occupied an area only a mile and a half wide, so even though they walked slowly and absorbed all the sights, they were through with their tour early in the afternoon.
    “Don’t you think we might drive out to Cliveden this afternoon and just have a look at the place?” Trixie asked. “We can easily get back in time for dinner.”
    “Why not?” Di asked eagerly. “Daddy and Mummy will be at a tea until six, so we’ll have plenty of time.”
    They stopped at the large brick restoration that, from 1699 to 1780, had served as the capitol of the Virginia colony and asked one of the guides the way to Cliveden.
    “It’s not far out on the dirt road south of here,” he told them. “But you’ll have to watch out, or you’ll drive right through without knowing it. I don’t reckon there’s more than a couple of hundred people in the whole township, and they’re pretty well scattered.”
    “That doesn’t sound too promising, does it?” Honey asked as they walked back to their cottage to pick up the station wagon and leave a note for Mr. and Mrs. Lynch.
    “But there’s bound to be a post office in the