The Mystery of the Phantom Grashopper

farther down the road from Crabapple Farm. Di was the prettiest girl in school, with long black hair and big violet eyes. But she, too, had been lonely and unhappy until Trixie and the others had made her their friend.
    Dan Mangan, the seventh club member, was the nephew of Bill Regan, the man in charge of the Wheelers’ stable of riding horses. Dan had been a city tough, in trouble with the police, until Regan had brought him to Sleepyside. Now he lived with Mr. Maypenny, the Wheelers’ elderly gamekeeper, and helped care for the wild game preserve. The friendship of the Bob-Whites had encouraged Dan to change his tough ways.
    Together, the seven club members had shared many exciting adventures.

    Scuffing their feet through the red and yellow leaves that covered the common, Trixie, Honey, and Di headed for the Town Hall. The old-fashioned town square always seemed to look prettiest when it was shaded in twilight shadows. The library was dark and deserted, but the lights were turned on in the police station. Even in the fading light, the old Town Hall presented an impressive silhouette against the stately elms behind it.
    Tall and narrow, the two-story white clapboard building was one of the oldest landmarks in Sleepy-side. Three wooden steps led to the heavy front door. There were many tall, small-paned windows, and a slanted roof that rose sharply, coming to a high peak where a cupola was set. The bell that had once hung in the old bell tower had been gone for many years, but the original weather vane, shaped like a grasshopper, was still perched atop the cupola.
    Standing well back from the building, Trixie, Honey, and Di looked up at the old grasshopper. “Hello, Hoppy,” they called softly.
    Trixie flipped her fingertips in a small wave.
    “That old copper grasshopper really is a handsome weather vane,” Honey said.
    “He sure is,” Trixie agreed.
    Mart came rustling through the leaves. “You guys can talk to weather vanes if you like,” he said. “I’ll stick to ambulating through the fallen leaves until I’m an old man.”
    Behind him, Dan, Jim, and Brian laughed. “At fifteen,” Jim said, “you have a long way to go. Right now, we’d better head for the diner, or we’ll never make it to the early show.”
    Minutes later, the Bob-Whites were crowded into one booth beside the window, joking and teasing while they made a meal of juicy double hamburgers and crisp French fries.
    Trixie tapped on the window and waved to someone passing outside. The young woman looked up quickly and, seeing Trixie, smiled and waved before hurrying along.
    “Miss Lawler,” Trixie informed the others, gesturing with an oversized pickle. “I’ll bet she’s going to the movie, too. I like her—she’s nice.”
    Miss Lawler was a new teacher s aide at Sleepy-side Junior-Senior High School. She assisted Miss Craven in social studies classes. AH of the Bob-Whites were in Miss Craven s classes at various times during the day, and they all enjoyed it. Trixie and Honey were together in the same class during the last period of the day.
    “Poor Miss Lawler,” Honey said softly. “She seems so shy. She’s always alone.” For just a moment, a shadow of sadness appeared in Honey’s eyes as she remembered her own days of loneliness, before she met Trixie and the other Bob-Whites.
    “I’ve noticed that, too,” Di said. “She’s very nice, and I think she’s pretty. But she doesn’t seem to have any friends.”
    “Listen,” Brian said, “she’s only been in town for a couple of weeks—just since school opened. Give her time to get acquainted.”
    Trixie looked thoughtful. “I wonder where she comes from,” she said.
    Honey nodded. “So do I. Miss Lawler seems like too good a teacher to be just an aide.”
    “She really can make things interesting,” Trixie said. “She’s been showing the class some of the old coins from Mr. Quinn’s collection and explaining how much you can learn about history from coins. It’s really neat!”
    “Yeah,” Mart said, putting more salt on his French fries, “she’s quite a numismatist.”
    Trixie raised her eyebrows. “A new-miss- what -ist?” she asked.
    “A numismatist,” Mart repeated. “That’s somebody who knows a lot about coins, dear sister.”
    Trixie grinned. “Well, that’s Miss Lawler,” she said. “I’m sure glad that Dad talked Mr. Quinn into lending his coin collection to the school. Those old coins really are interesting.”
    “Some of