The Mystery of the Emeralds

that,” Brian commented. “I like to think of the woods creatures living without fear of man or dog.”
    “Reddy hasn't been trained to do anything, but the old boy is faithful,” Mart said. “I don’t think he’d let anyone get near Bobby if we weren’t here. And remember how he came for help when we were lost in the blizzard?”
    Reddy sensed that he was being praised, and his tail thumped the floor in appreciation. Suddenly he let out a big woof, leaped off the porch, and raced up the driveway. Almost immediately, the Belden station wagon turned into the yard, and Mr. Belden got out.
    “Hello, everybody! Is dinner ready? I’m starved!” he called out as he came up the porch steps, lifting Bobby and kissing him.
    Bobby wiped his cheek on his sleeve as he mumbled, “I’m too big to get kissed. You don’t kiss Mart and Brian. Only girls get kissed. I’m a big boy now.”
    “Okay, Bobby.” His father laughed. “I’ll kiss two of the prettiest girls in Sleepyside—that is, if they have my dinner ready.”
    “Coming up, sir,” Trixie answered, bowing low, then following her mother into the house to help set the table.
    It was not long before the family was seated around the big kitchen table, where they preferred to eat most of their meals. After everyone had been served the roast lamb, mashed potatoes, and peas,
    Trixie turned to her father and, trying to make her voice sound casual, said, “Dad, have you any idea how an old canteen and some other stuff got up in that space over the kitchen?”
    “What space over the kitchen, Trix?” her father asked, obviously puzzled by her question.
    “Well, I sort of backed into it today.” Trixie giggled as she thought how ridiculous she must have looked —sitting on the floor, with a drawer full of clothes on top of her and that old bonnet on her head. “While Moms and I were up in the attic, I was trying to get a drawer open, and I fell and broke into a funny little space, and there was this canteen—”
    “This canteen? What canteen, Trixie?” Mr. Belden interrupted.
    “Oh,” Trixie laughed ruefully. “I’m going too fast, as usual. I’ll start at the beginning and go get it— the canteen, I mean.”
    She sprang up from the table and ran out of the room, returning a moment later with the old canteen. Mr. Belden laid down his fork, pushed himself back from the table, and took it in his hands.
    “Hmmm, that’s an old one, all right,” he said as he turned it over and over. “I’m sure I don’t know about the room over the kitchen or how this got in it, but I’ll take a look at it after dinner.”
    “Couldn’t you come up now and see it?” Trixie urged.
    “And miss your mothers chocolate cake? We’ll go up as soon as we’ve finished eating,” he promised.
    Trixie managed to control her excitement and ate two pieces of cake herself before she got the flashlight and, followed by her father, Mart, and Brian, went up to the attic.
    Mr. Belden crawled through the broken board and examined every comer of the hidden room. He found that Trixie hadn’t overlooked a single thing. There was nothing there now except cobwebs and the dust of years.
    “What do you think, Dad? Could it have been a secret hideaway?” Trixie asked.
    “Yes, it could have been,” Mr. Belden answered slowly. “You know, while I was in there, something began to come back to me, something my grandfather used to talk about when I was a little boy. I’d forgotten all about it until now.”
    “Jeepers, Dad, you’ve just got to remember!” Trixie cried. “Think hard!”
    “Why all the interest in an old canteen, Trixie?” he asked, looking at her quizzically.
    “Oh, I suppose she thinks if she rubs it hard, like Aladdin’s lamp, a mystery may pop out of it,” Mart teased.
    Trixie was grateful to her brother for emphasizing her interest in the canteen, because she didn’t want anyone but the Bob-Whites to know about the letter, at least not until she had had more time to investigate it.
    “I guess I’m turning into a Civil War fan.” Trixie laughed. “Tell me what your grandfather said, Dad.”
    “Well, when I was about Bobby’s age, I used to love to climb up on his lap. He had a fascinating gadget on the end of his gold watch chain, and while he talked to me, he’d take it out of his pocket and clean his pipe with a little silver spoon and scraper, and then, after he’d fill the pipe with wonderful, sweet-smelling tobacco, he’d press it down