The Mystery off Glen Road

Congratulations! Unless this storm delays everything, your registration plate should arrive in the mail tomorrow.”
    “And then,” Brian said dreamily, “I can drive my car home. Gosh, I just can’t believe it, Dad. My car.My very own car!”
    “You deserve it,” his father said, placing one hand on Brian’s shoulder. “You started out with two dollars and slowly but surely built it up to fifty. That took courage and perseverance.”
    “It was more than fifty dollars,” Mrs. Belden pointed out, and even in the dim light of the kitchen, Trixie could see that her mother was very proud of Brian. “You’re, forgetting that he had to earn the money for the registration plate and the insurance, too, Peter.” She smiled up at her husband. “Do you remember the ancient car we bought for our honeymoon?”
    Mr. Belden roared with laughter. “If only we’d had Brian along to tell us what was wrong with it when it kept breaking down!”
    Brian’s handsome face was flushed with pleasure. “Ah, gee, Dad,” he mumbled, “I’m not that good a mechanic.”
    But he was, Trixie knew, and he had worked very hard to earn the money so that tomorrow he could drive his car home from Mr. Lytell’s store. She began to hope then that the registration plate would arrive, and that the old saying about the men who carried the United States mail was true: Neither rain nor snow nor gloom of night can stay these couriers from the swift completion of their appointed rounds.

A Box of Toothpicks ● 4

    BOBBY WAS the only member of the Belden household who slept well that night. Every hour or so the wind swooped down into the hollow and seized the little white frame house in its teeth. At times it seemed as though the panes would be rattled right out of the windows.
    Trixie dozed fitfully and every now and then was startled into wide-awakeness by the sound of crashing trees. Around midnight, the furiously lashing tail of the storm left that section of the Hudson River valley and went northward to create more havoc. The temperature rose, and a gentle, soothing rain began to patter on the roof.
    Trixie slept soundly after that, and when she awoke, the sun was streaming through her bedroom window.
    Trixie scrambled out of bed, thinking, Creepers! We've all overslept! I'll bet the school bus has already gone by.
    But just then Bobby came dancing into the room, singing at the top of his lungs: “No school today. No school today!”
    “How do you know?” Trixie demanded. “Did the siren blow?”
    He nodded his curly blond head up and down emphatically. “It blewed while I was having dry cereal with so much ’densed milk on it, it wasn’t dry anymore.” He made a face. “It was awful gooky stuff, Trix, so I gived it to Reddy. Reddy just ’dored it.” Trixie laughed. Any time Bobby was given something to eat that he didn’t like, the Beldens’ beautiful but harum-scarum Irish setter was called in to lick the plate or bowl clean. Mrs. Belden was the only one in the household who was not aware of this scheme, and so she was often amazed when Bobby frequently complained of hunger such a short while after supposedly finishing a huge meal. On those occasions, Bobby demanded—and got—thick sandwiches made of bread, butter, peanut butter, and jam. Trixie and her older brothers liked these delicious snacks just as much as Bobby did, and they
    had named the sandwiches the Crabapple Farm Specials.
    Right now Bobby was gripping in both of hi.s plump hands a partially eaten “special,” and a great deal of the filling was on his eyebrows, cheeks, and chin. In spite of that, Trixie gave the little boy a big hug. “You’re a fiend, Bobby,” she said, “but you’re so cute. Did you really hear the no-school siren? Are you sure it wasn’t a fire-alarm siren?”
    Bobby crammed a large portion of the “special” into his mouth and said something unintelligible. As though in answer to Trixie’s question, Mart came in then. He was wearing a heavy wool sweater, jeans, high wool socks, and rubberized hunting boots. Trixie suddenly realized that, dressed as she was in nothing but flannel pajamas, she was very cold. Her teeth began to chatter, and she popped back into bed, drawing the covers up to her chin.
    “Go away,” she said to Mart. “If there’s no school today, I may as well sleep some more.”
    “Not so,” he said, and yanked the blankets and comforter from her bed. “Rise and shine, slave. Or perhaps I should say