The Mystery of the Phantom Grashopper

greeted them. “Trixie, Honey, take your seats, please. We’re ready to begin.”
    As they walked to their desks, Trixie whispered, “Wait till we tell the other Bob-Whites about this!”

    Later that afternoon, Jim rapped the gavel on the table in the Bob-White clubhouse. “The meeting will come to order,” he announced in his most official-sounding tone.
    The six other Bob-Whites stopped talking and sat down in their assigned places around the table. Trixie took her place beside Jim.
    The clubhouse was warm and snug, decorated in cheerful colors and comfortably furnished. It bore little resemblance to the broken-down gatehouse it had been. Trixie and Honey had discovered it at the edge of the Wheeler property, overgrown with vines and bushes. With the Wheelers’ permission, the Bob-Whites had all worked to clean and repair the gatehouse and transform it into a perfect clubhouse.
    Jim scanned the agenda for the meeting. “First thing on our schedule is a vote of thanks to Trixie,” he said.
    The others looked questioningly at Trixie. She reddened with embarrassment.
    Jim smiled. ’Trixie helped to get Sammy a job at Town Hall,” he declared, “so he’ll be staying in Sleepyside, close to Miss Lawler. There’s one club project completed in record time.”
    “That’s wonderful,” Di said.
    “Great!” Brian exclaimed. Everyone clapped.
    “Mr. Copresident,” Mart called out, “I note that a certain member of the club is still in violation of our punctilious appearance rule. An unkempt jacket reflects an unfavorable image of our club, hence I call attention to the right jacket sleeve of Miss Beatrix Belden.”
    Jim turned his head to hide his smile, then coughed and answered pompously. “Thank you, Mr. Secretary-Treasurer,” he said. “Violation is duly noted. And since it was first pointed out on Saturday, said violator now owes the club treasury fifty cents—ten cents a day.”
    The clubhouse erupted with laughter. Trixie tried hard, but she couldn’t keep from laughing herself. “Gleeps!” she said. “I forgot all about the button. I looked for it on Sunday, honest!”
    “Well, it’s not in here,” Mart said, holding out the cashbox. “Fifty cents, please.”
    Suddenly Trixie’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Mr. Copresident,” she announced, “I would like to point out another member of the club who is also in violation of the punk—punkta—whatever that rule is. Look closely, and you’ll see a spot of catsup on the jacket of the secretary-treasurer.”
    “Where?” Mart yelled, jumping to his feet. “Show me!”
    “Right there, Mart,” Honey said, pointing to a dark red spot on the front of the bright red jacket.
    “Yikes!” Mart looked at the spot. “How did that get there?”
    “Well, it didn’t come from here,” Trixie said, dropping her fine into the box and holding it out to her brother. “Pay up, Mart,” she ordered.
    “Nolo contendere,” Mart acknowledged wryly as he dug in his pocket for a dime and dropped it in the box.
    Jim rapped for order. “We may have another club project to contend with now,” he said, looking over the agenda. “Trixie told me about it, and she’ll explain it now.”
    Trixie was serious at once. “When Dad told me about Mr. Johnson needing a helper, he also said something about Hoppy. Mr. Johnson says that Hoppy needs to be replated with new copper. Otherwise, the weather vane may be damaged by the weather this winter. The town council has given Mr. Johnson money to repair the roof, but there isn’t enough money to have Hoppy recoppered, too. That means Hoppy may have to be taken down from his perch—permanently.”
    “No more good luck,” Mart teased, but his tone held regret.
    “Town Hall just won’t be the same without Hoppy on top,” Di said.
    “Di’s right,” Trixie agreed. “I think that a worthy project for the Bob-Whites would be to help raise the money to have Hoppy recoppered.”
    “That’s a good idea,” Dan said quickly. The others nodded.
    Di looked worried. “But what can we do?” she asked. “We’ve already given a winter carnival and had an antique sale. How eke can we raise the money?”
    “How about a walk-a-thon?” Trixie suggested. “We’ve never tried that before.”
    Brian was interested at once. “I like that idea,” he said. “We could get a lot of people from school to volunteer as walkers, and set up a course through town with special checkpoints at various places along the