The Mystery of the Headless Horseman

want to do that?” Honey wailed. “No one knew we were coming here. And how come you’re so brave all of a sudden? This afternoon you saw a cat and had a pink fit. This evening you saw a h-headless h-horseman, and you want to chase him.”
    “This is different,” Trixie answered, though she wasn’t exactly sure why it should be.
    “You’ve obviously forgotten the story of the headless horseman, Trix. I had to read it when I was in the fourth grade.”
    “I did, too,” Trixie said. “But that’s all it was—a story.”
    Honey shook her head vigorously. “But it wasn’t! People say that there really was a ghostly rider. It was a Hessian soldier who died in battle. Now his ghost rides through the woods—”
    “Not these woods,” Trixie said firmly. “That all happened around Tarry town a long time ago.”
    “Maybe it did. And maybe the ghost decided he needed a change of scenery and came here. But whatever he did, I’m scared. Oh, let’s go home, please, Trixie! Trixie? Where are you?”
    But her friend wasn’t there. For one heart-stopping moment, Honey thought that Trixie, too, had disappeared into thin air.
    Soon, however, she could just distinguish the dim outline of her friend ahead of her. She was walking her bicycle down the hill and into the clearing. Honey saw her stop and bend over something on the ground.
    “Honey!” Trixie’s urgent whisper floated up to her. “Come here! There’s something I’ve got to show you.”
    As Honey hesitated, the front door of the little frame house opened. A stream of light illuminated the yellow bicycle that Harrison had left propped against the front porch. It shone on Trixie as, slowly, she straightened up and stood waiting.
    “Is—is anyone there?” called a gray-haired woman who stood in the doorway.
    “Mrs. Crandall?” Trixie said at once, moving toward her. “It’s only us. I’m Trixie Belden, and this—” she waved a hand at Honey, who was coming slowly, reluctantly, to join her—“is my friend Honey Wheeler. We were here this afternoon.”
    “Oh, my dears!” The front door opened wide. “Come in, come in. I knew I heard someone out there. My sister told me I was imagining things, but I knew I wasn’t. Leave your bikes on the porch. They’ll be quite safe.”
    While the girls obeyed, Mrs. Crandall continued to talk. It was as if, Trixie thought, she felt immensely relieved to see them. Trixie wondered if she had been expecting to see someone else—or something else—out there.
    Mrs. Crandall, neatly dressed in blouse and skirt, told them that she had only just returned from Croton-on-Hudson. Her brown eyes twinkled when she told them that she had brought her sister home with her to keep her company for a few days. As for Harrison’s accident—
    “I still don’t understand how the poor man came to shut himself in my cellar,” she declared, leading the way into the cozy living room. “I read your brother’s note, of course, but I never knew that door to slam quite that way before.” Now that she was safely inside the house, Honey also seemed to be relieved. She was still breathing hard, as though she’d been running a race. But she was feeling brave enough, Trixie noticed, to smile at the other occupant of the room, a plump little woman who was smiling at them both.
    “This is my sister, Mrs. Polly Ward,” Mrs. Crandall said. “Polly, you said you wanted to meet the Good Samaritans who were here this afternoon. Well, here are two of them: Trixie Belden and Honey Wheeler.”
    Mrs. Ward shook hands with them warmly. “My, what a treat this is!” she exclaimed. “We were just wondering what on earth could have happened this afternoon. Now here you are to tell us all about it.” She patted the couch beside her. “Come and sit down, both of you.”
    As they obeyed, Mrs. Crandall looked closely at Honey. “Why, child,” she said, “you’re as white as a sheet. Is anything wrong?”
    Just in time, Honey caught Trixie’s warning shake of the head.
    “N-No,” she said. “It’s just that—uh—we— uh— You tell about it, Trix!”
    “We both got a little out of breath riding uphill through the woods,” Trixie said promptly. “That was some ride, wasn’t it, Honey?”
    Honey didn’t answer. She was staring at something that came toward her and brushed lovingly against her ankles. It was the cat, Henry!
    Trixie gasped. “Oh, Mrs. Crandall! I’m so glad to see him!” she cried. “Honey and I came here