The Mystery of the Emeralds

Mrs. Lynch laughed—“and I also agree that most parties do need a woman’s touch.”
    “I give up!” Mr. Carver said. “I’ve known Carolyn too long to cross her, so I’ll relax and enjoy my own party. Until tomorrow, then.”

Happy, Happy Birthday! • 18

    THE BOB-WHITES, after arranging to meet Mr. and Mrs. Lynch in time for dinner, strolled across the lawn to Rosewood Hall.
    “Doesn’t it seem funny to be able just to walk in?” Trixie commented as they made their way to the stables.
    “I’m dying to see the horses I” Honey exclaimed. “The one Jenkins was riding the other day looked like a thoroughbred.”
    “I know,” Brian said, “but after what Neil told Trixie about the way Jenkins treated them, I’m wondering what shape they’ll be in.”
    They found the dilapidated stables a sad contrast to the beautiful ones Honey’s father maintained in Sleepyside. The doors were sagging, some of the broken windows had been stuffed with bits of burlap, and the roof was badly in need of new shingles. It was with real trepidation that they went through a small side door hanging ajar on one hinge. Soft whinnies and the sound of hooves pawing the wooden floor came from the main part of the building. Entering it, they saw that only three of the several stalls were occupied.
    “Oh, you poor thing!” Trixie cried as she looked into the first space and found Honey’s fears were justified. Both the water bucket and the feed trough were empty. The horse, a lovely roan, shied away from her at first, tossing his head high. She spoke softly to him, and presently he put his head down and let her rub his soft, velvety nose.
    “Brian, bring some water, will you?” she asked. “And, Jim, will you and Mart look around and see if you can find the feed bins? Let’s hope there’s some grain left in them. These horses are hungry!”
    Honey and Di, in the meantime, had been soothing the other two horses, one a black stallion with a white star between his eyes, the other a piebald mare. The boys were soon back with pails of water and a bucket of feed.
    “I don’t think we should give them very much at first,” Trixie warned. “No knowing how long it’s been since they were fed last. We don’t want to run the risk of making them sick.”
    “You’re right,” Honey agreed. “We’ll give them a small ration now and then come out tomorrow morning again.”
    “Maybe by then Neil will be able to take over,” Jim said hopefully. “Obviously, someone has given them tender, loving care, even if Jenkins didn’t. Did you notice how their coats have been curried? I’ll bet that’s Neil’s work.”
    “And the saddles and harnesses are beautifully polished,” Mart added, “even though they’re practically worn out.”
    Their chores over, Trixie gave each horse a farewell pat as she went by.
    “I wish we had some sugar for you,” she said. “But we’ll see that each of you gets some tomorrow.” They went back to Green Trees to pick up the station wagon, going by way of the gardens. The warmth of the sun had brought many of the flowers into bloom, and the air was heavy with their fragrance. A soft breeze had come up during the last hour, bringing welcome relief from the heat of the day.
    “Just think,” Trixie sighed, pushing back the curls which stubbornly refused to stay off her forehead, “tomorrow is our last day.”
    “Who would ever have thought a week ago that our trip would turn out to be so exciting?” Di said.
    “You should know by now that where Trixie goes, there goes excitement!” Jim said.
    “I guess if any of us wants peace and quiet, he’ll have to resign from the Bob-Whites,” Mart said.
    “Never!” Brian cried. “United we stand, divided we’d be miserable!”
    As they drove past Lizzie’s store, Trixie suddenly said, “You know, I feel bad about not being able to do something for poor Lizzie. Mr. Carver’s going to walk again. Neil’s back on the right track, and Rosewood’s going to be saved, but I can’t figure out a thing to do for Lizzie.”
    “You can’t cure all the world’s ills, Sis,” Mart said affectionately. “And it isn’t as though Lizzie weren’t used to the kind of life she lives.”
    “Oh, that’s not the point,” Trixie said sadly. “She may be used to it, but that doesn’t make it any more pleasant. You can learn how to carry a twenty-pound pack on your back, but it still weighs twenty pounds.”
    “Something may turn up so we can