The Mystery of the Missing Heiress

kitchen table.”
    It wasn’t long till Spider’s wish was fulfilled.
    When they dropped the knocker at the little, yellow brick house, Mrs. Vanderpoel opened the door, cried out with delight, and put her arms around Spider.
    “You’re my wish come true, Spider!” she said. “Do you know what I have in the oven?”
    “Cookies!” Mart said.
    “Oh, those! I always have those. No, sir, it’s Spider’s favorite food. Mr. Maypenny brought me three pheasants today, all dressed so nice and pretty. I cut them up, browned them, covered them with sour cream, and popped them in the oven. I was going to freeze them, because they wouldn’t keep till Juliana and I finished eating them. Come right in, all of you. Do you smell them cooking?”
    “Mmmm! Mmmmm. I’m back where I belong,” Spider said, drawing in his breath. “Does that ever smell good to me!”
    “There’s enough for everyone,” Mrs. Vanderpoel said hospitably. “Stay for dinner, all of you. I was afraid there would be nobody but me. Juliana’s not here for dinner; she’s working on those dolls,” she added, looking at the girls.
    “I should be at home helping Moms,” Trixie said. “And I should be at home with you, helping you help your mom,” Honey said. “Oh, Trixie, that divine smell!”
    “If I call Moms and she says yes, and if you’ll let us help get dinner, and if you really want us—”
    “Trixie means yes, we’d love to stay, and when
    do we eat?” Mart said. “I’ll call Moms.” Soon he reported, “She said yes.”
    “I’ll call Miss Trask and tell her where I am and not to look for me. If she knows we’re with you, Spider, she’ll want to visit with you, too,” Jim said.
    “Later on.Later on. Soon we eat, though,” Mrs. Vanderpoel said. “Set the table, please, girls. Here’s the cloth.”
    “One, two, three, four, five, six, seven of us,” Trixie counted. “Jeepersl Nobody else in the world could have six extra people walk in on them and provide a banquet.”
    “In the old country, yes,” Mrs. Vanderpoel said. “My mother told me that many a time on Sunday, after church, someone would say, ‘Come to dinner,’ and they’d come, and welcome, too. My mother was a good cook. Her mother was, too.”
    “They’d have to have been, to have taught you,” Spider said. “I’m telling you the truth. I wake up in the night, and I can'taste chicken and dumplings and apple pie and Gouda cheese—thin slices of it on toast in the morning instead of butter— mmmml I’ll bet when Tad writes to you, Mrs. Vanderpoel, he always mentions food.”
    “He does. I do miss both my boys, Spider. Even Old Brom looks around the comers hunting for you whenever he comes into the house. As soon as I whip up these potatoes, we’ll be ready to eat. There’s new late corn from my garden in that pot on the back of the stove. My, but it seems good to have all of you herel”
    “I wish Janie could be with us, too. She’s so thin, but she’s never hungry.” Trixie sighed.
    “There’ll be plenty of pheasant for you to take home to her, Trixie, and some for Bobby, too, the little darling. There, now, you can fill the mugs with milk, Honey. Spider, you can'take this platter to the table. Put it right in the middle, and you can all help yourselves. See what a big pan of pheasant I have?”
    They all ate till they could hardly push back from tibe table. Mrs. Vanderpoel wouldn’t let the girls help with the dishes. “It’ll keep me busy after you’ve all gone,” she said. “The evenings are too long. I’ll just fix up a bit for you to take to Janie and Bobby, and I’ll put the rest away... maybe leave a little in the warming oven for Juliana, if she comes.”
    She scurried about the kitchen, and in no time at all the big table was cleared and the dishes scraped and piled for washing later.
    A delicious bouquet of odors filled the big old-fashioned kitchen—an aroma that never left it— made up of scrubbed cleanliness, lingering spices, tangy pickles, ripe apples, crumbling aged cheese. Over all, and enhancing all, was the spirit of wholehearted hospitality and love.
    Afterward, in the cozy parlor, Mart picked out lively rock music on Mrs. Vanderpoel’s beautiful little melodion. They clapped and hummed and shuffled their feet.
    “Dance, if you want to,” Mrs. Vanderpoel urged. “Nothing can harm an Axminster carpet. Nothing has for forty years.”
    So Spider swung the rotund little Dutch woman to her feet and