The Mystery of the Headless Horseman

that long, dark ride back through the woods.
    “What a perfect idea!” Honey exclaimed. “Let’s, Trixie! Jim could drive back here early tomorrow morning, before the bazaar, to pick up the bikes in the station wagon.”
    Trixie grinned.
    “How can I refuse?” she told them all. “And thank you; the hot chocolate sounds delicious.” The two girls made their telephone calls and received permission to stay a little longer.
    “As long as you’re sure,” Trixie’s mother added, “that Mrs. Crandall won’t mind bringing you home.”
    “I’m sure, Moms,” Trixie answered. “And say, before you go, how did Mart and Reddy get along with the lessons?”
    “Not well, I’m afraid,” Mrs. Belden said, chuckling. “I think that Reddy taught Mart, instead of the other way around. As far as I can see, that dog delights in doing exactly the opposite of what he’s told.”
    When Trixie hung up, Rose Crandall and her sister hurried to the kitchen. Soon Trixie and Honey could smell the mouth-watering fragrances of hot chocolate and cinnamon toast.
    Trixie wandered over to the bookshelves, and soon Honey joined her.
    “I’m glad we got to stay,” Honey whispered. “But why wouldn’t you let me tell Mrs. Crandall about the headless horseman?”
    “I think,” Trixie said quietly, “that she’s already worried enough. Besides, I have an idea she’s seen him before.”
    Honey looked startled. “You mean tonight
    wasn’t the first time the ghost appeared?”
    Trixie looked thoughtful. “I’m sure it wasn’t,” she said.
    “How do you know?” Honey shivered and looked apprehensively toward the window.
    Trixie said, “Remember I wanted you to see something I found on the ground? Well, it was the strangest thing.”
    Honey was almost afraid to ask. “What was it?”
    “I found a footprint,” Trixie said slowly. “Well—it was a hoofprint, really. And Honey, you’ll never guess what! It looked as if it had been made by a horse wearing socks!”

Trouble Ahead ● 9

    WHEN TRIXIE ARRIVED HOME, she went first to find her mother. Then she hurried away to talk to Mart and Brian. She found them in the farmhouse kitchen.
    The large room looked even more cozy by night than it did by day. The polished maple furniture and gleaming copper utensils glowed softly in the lamplight. Treasured china waited on plate racks and cup hooks. Trixie liked this room almost better than any other in the old house.
    “I’m glad you’re still up,” she told her brothers. “I’ve got such a lot to tell you.”
    “I’ll bet,” Mart answered over his shoulder.
    He was busy at the refrigerator. “What you want to tell us is how sorry you are that you weren’t here to help Bobby get ready for bed.”
    “No,” Trixie said guiltily, “that isn’t it. As a matter of fact, I forgot all about him.”
    “Tut-tut!” Mart drawled. “Then what a very good thing it is that you have a kindhearted brother who did it for you.”
    Trixie pretended to misunderstand. She turned to her eldest brother, who was seated at the table, watching her.
    “Did you do that for me, Brian?” she asked, her blue eyes twinkling. “Did you really help wash Bobby and put him to bed?”
    Brian chuckled. “And don’t forget the telling of the all-important bedtime story. I believe it involved sisters who don’t do their chores and dogs who won’t do as they are told.”
    With the toe of his shoe, he gently nudged Reddy, who lay sprawled on the rug by his chair.
    Reddy didn’t move. He was sound asleep. He had had a very enjoyable, though tiring, evening.
    “Did the bedtime story have a happy ending?” Trixie asked Mart. Then she gasped. “You’re not going to eat all that!”
    Mart had turned away from the refrigerator, his arms full. Trixie saw packages of ham, bologna, and three different kinds of cheese. She saw a jar of mayonnaise and one of peanut butter. She saw two tomatoes, a head of lettuce, a bottle of catsup, and a jar of homemade sweet pickles.
    Mart carefully deposited all of it on the kitchen counter. He reached into an upper cupboard for a large bag of potato chips. Then he turned to find the bread.
    “To answer your question about the required happy ending to the bedtime story,” he said at last, licking his fingers, “suffice it to say that the sister was irretrievably lost in the woods. The disobedient dog was made into frankfurters. And the small boy to whom the story was told went to sleep with a gratified grin