The Mystery off Glen Road

an automobile run.”
    “I don’t, either,” Mrs. Belden said with a rueful smile.
    “Oh, Moms,” Trixie cried, “you’re forever making our cars run by doing something to the spark plugs with a bobby pin.”
    “I don’t really know what I’m doing, though,” Mrs. Belden said. “But Brian does. What he doesn’t know about cars isn’t worth knowing. I’m so glad he has at last earned the money to buy that old car Mr. Lytell wants to sell. If ever a boy deserves to own a car of his own, that boy is Brian Belden.” Trixie nodded. “And Tom Delanoy says it’s a wonderful buy at fifty dollars. Mr. Lytell’s jalopy, I mean. If Mr. Lytell sold it to a secondhand dealer, that’s all he’d get, but if Brian wanted to buy it from the dealer, it would cost eighty or a hundred dollars. It’s one of the breaks of a lifetime, Tom says.”
    “And Tom knows what he’s talking about,” Mrs. Belden agreed. “He knows as much about cars as Regan does about horses.” She stared out of the kitchen window. “I’m worried about the honey-mooners, Trixie. They were driving to Canada, you know. The last thing we heard over the radio before the power failed was that falling trees were making most highways so dangerous that motorists were warned to stay off them.” She lowered her voice. “I’m worried about your father and the boys, too, Trixie. I wish they were safe at home.”
    “Home, down in this hollow,” Trixie said, “is the safest place to be. Now that all of the ancient crab apples are gone, I don’t think we’ll lose any more trees, do you, Moms?”
    “I don’t know, Trixie,” her mother replied. “The wind has been rising steadily during the last half hour. Just listen to it! I think we missed the eye of the storm, but we’re going to get the tail end of it, which can be the very worst of all. You know what I mean, Trixie. You’ve played the game crack-the-whip often enough to know that the last person is the one who gets jerked around the most. If we get whiplash from the storm, we’re bound to lose some good, sturdy trees.” She sank down on the kitchen stool and covered her pretty face with her hands. “I don’t think I can bear it if we lose our lovely dogwoods and white birches.”
    Trixie swallowed hard. She realized suddenly that she had been very selfish to think only about what might happen to the clubhouse. The same tragedy, on a much, much larger scale, might be happening to the Manor House and to Crabapple Farm. Mrs. Belden loved the trees and shrubs almost as much as she loved her children. She had cared for a great many of them herself from the day that her husband had brought them home from the nursery. And Mr. Wheeler was probably equally worried about his game preserve. Falling trees could wreck, in a few minutes, all of the bird- and animal-feeding stations Mr. Fleagle had erected. And most of the paths were probably blocked now so that nothing could be done in the way of repair work for weeks and weeks.
    At that moment, Brian and Mart came in. They had groped their way down from the Manor House with the aid of a flashlight that had very weak batteries, and they looked tired, dirty, and depressed.
    Brian went right to the kitchen sink and turned on the tap with the hope of washing his grimy hands. Nothing came out except a gasping, moist bubble. “Oh,” he said, chagrined, “I forgot that we’re completely dependent upon electricity for light, heat, and water. You can’t even cook, can you, Moms? And I’ m starving.”
    “Me, too,” Bobby chimed in.
    “I,” said Mart, “am not starving; I am ravenous.” Mrs. Belden laughed. “What on earth happened to alt of that delicious food you consumed at the wedding breakfast? But it doesn’t matter. We can cook on top of the kerosene heater and broil chops over the fire in the living room. Which reminds me. You boys must bring in some wood and water right away.” She turned away from the window, and Trixie heard her say to herself, “I hate to have you boys go out in that awful wind, but it just can’t be helped.”
    Mr. Belden came back then with a five-gallon can of kerosene and some flashlight batteries. “It sounds worse than it really is,” he said cheerfully. When he and the older boys, with Trixie helping, had brought in a good supply of water, kindling wood, and logs, he said to Brian, “Mr. Lytell showed me your jalopy. It’s a good buy, son, and I’m glad you’re going to get it.