The Mystery off Glen Road

the main roads. But private property owners will have to cope individually after that.”
    “Right,” said Regan, “and to hire private crews is going to run into big money. But let’s not cross any bridges until we come to them. Since His Royal Highness Fleagle has quit, you boys help me clear the path to the red trailer.”
    “We’d like to help, too,” Honey said. “Trixie and I—”
    “No,” Regan interrupted firmly. “This weird light
    in the sky is going to fade any minute, and then it’ll be pitch-dark. The velocity of the wind may suddenly increase to what it was before, with gusts of one hundred miles an hour. You girls had better go home.”
    Reluctantly, Trixie and Honey left. “Let’s go down and see if everything’s all right at the clubhouse,” Trixie said, as soon as they were out of earshot. At that very moment, a sudden gust of wind flattened a white birch ahead of them and seemed to blow the gray green light out of the sky. It was, as Regan had predicted, pitch-dark, and, to make matters worse, the lights inside the Manor House went out, indicating a power failure.
    Honey moved closer to Trixie. “I can’t see a thing,” she whispered, “and it feels as though we’re going to have thunder and lightning. Let’s go inside.”
    Trixie giggled. “Let’s. But which way is inside? I feel as though we were in a giant’s pocket.” And then she saw a light in the kitchen, and at the same time one in the apartment over the garage. Both Miss Trask and Fleagle, Trixie could see through the windows, had lighted kerosene lamps. Miss Trask joined them on the path in a few minutes.
    She handed Trixie a flashlight and said, “You’d better run along home, dear. Your mother will be worried. The phones are out of order, too.”
    “Thanks,” Trixie said, accepting the flashlight. She hurried down the stony path to the hollow. She entered the house through the door to the kitchen, where a small kerosene lamp had been lighted. Her mother was trimming the wick of another, and her father was in the cellar, filling a kerosene heater. Logs were crackling merrily in the living-room fireplace, and Bobby was kneeling on the hearth.
    “It’s so ’citing,” he greeted Trixie. “We’re right smack in the middle of a horrorcane.”
    “Horrorcane is right,” Trixie said, thinking about the clubhouse. But, thank goodness, it was down on the same level with her own home, so perhaps the trees around it would still be standing in the morning.
    “Where are the boys?” Mr. Belden asked as he emerged from the cellar. Trixie explained that they were helping Regan, and he said, “Well, all right, but charity begins at home. The temperature is dropping rapidly, and with the electricity off, we are helpless so far as heat, water, cooking, refrigeration, and lights are concerned.”
    “I can’t bear to think about the meat and vegetables in the freezer,” Mrs. Belden said.
    “They’ll be all right for a couple of days,” Mr. Belden told her, “but what worries me is that the water pipes may freeze. We must, at all costs, keep the house warm, and that means fires in all of the fireplaces, because we haven’t a great deal of kerosene on hand.”
    Trixie chuckled. “Well, one thing we do have plenty of is wood. Water, too. Brian and Mart can tote all we’ll need from the brook and the cistern.”
    “It’ll have to be strained and boiled before we can drink it,” Mrs. Belden pointed out. “That means using up kerosene, and, with everyone in the whole county in the same fix, we may not be able to buy any kerosene tomorrow when the stores open.”
    “We can get some the very first thing from Mr. Lytell,” Trixie said. “He’ll probably give us neighbors priority.”
    “That’s true,” her father agreed. “And he’s open on Sundays. I think I’ll drive to his store now and buy several gallons.” He started for the kitchen door. “When the boys get back,” he said to his wife, “send them right out for wood and water. Trixie can help by carrying a light for them. I’ll try to buy some flashlight batteries from Mr. Lytell, too.” After he had gone, Bobby announced, “I’ll holp. I can carry my very own flashlight, ’cept that there’s only one battery in it. Why do flashlights have to have two batteries, Trix?”
    “I don’t know, Bobby,” Trixie said impatiently. “Ask Brian or Mart. The whole business about electricity is over my head. I don’t even understand what makes