The Mystery off Old Telegraph Road

invaded the garden.
    As Trixie turned to walk back to her bike, she was forced to admit that this was the most un-mysterious abandoned house she’d ever seen. Even if she hadn’t known the background, about the former owners’ moving to town and Mr. Wheeler’s buying it from them, she didn’t think she would have found a single thing to make her suspect a mystery.
    That’s just as well, Trixie thought as she pedaled back down the drive. My mysteries have gotten me into enough trouble lately. I almost wish I’d never dig up another one, in fact.
    Trixie had ridden only about a quarter of a mile when she saw a piece of paper that had been blown against a hedge along die road.
    There’s the kind of litter I was looking for, she thought. She stopped her bike and walked down the shallow ditch to the hedge. Picking up the piece of paper, she noticed that it was charred around the edges. Exposure to rain and sun had aged it, too, so that it was difficult to read.
    The piece of paper was about the size of one of the coupons that Trixie sometimes clipped from magazines for her mother, the kind that offered five or ten cents off the price of a brand of food or a household cleaner.
    “It’s a lot prettier than a coupon, though,” Trixie muttered, holding the piece of paper close to her face to inspect it. On one side, the paper showed a picture of a quaint-looking man wearing a furry hat, with a furry collar pulled up close around his face. On the other side was a huge castle that looked like something out of a fairy tale.
    “It looks like a picture out of a book, except for those red numerals running across the bottom and the numeral fifty printed in the comers. I wonder what it is and how it got out here in the middle of nowhere.” After staring at the piece of paper for a few more moments, Trixie sighed and put it in her pocket. “I’m not going to be able to figure it out just by thinking about it,” she decided. “I’ll take it home and see if Mart or Brian knows what it is. If not, it’ll make a good addition to Bobby’s ’collection.’ ”
    Trixie smiled as she walked back to her bike, thinking about her younger brothers “collection,” which was actually a random assortment of anything the six-year-old happened to find interesting, including buttons, marbles, bubble gum cards, and any number of other oddities.

    When Trixie returned to Crabapple Farm, she discovered that her bike ride had taken longer than she thought. The aroma of Mrs. Beldens New England boiled dinner, with cabbage and onions dominating the corned beef, carrots, and celery, filled the air.
    “Yipes, Moms, I’m sorry!” Trixie apologized. “I was supposed to help with dinner tonight, and you’ve had to do it all yourself.”
    “I’ve just done the easy part, Trixie,” Mrs. Belden replied. “I chopped up some vegetables and put them in the pot to simmer with the meat and took some rolls out of the freezer and put them in the oven to warm up. I managed to save the hard part for you—getting your younger brother cleaned up and ready for the table.”
    Trixie giggled. “ ’Hard part’ is right,” she said. “It would be easier to put together a gourmet feast than it is to hold Bobby still long enough to get a whole day’s worth of grime off his hands and face.”
    Sure enough, Bobby started to protest with the first swipe of the washcloth. “Ouch, Trixie!” he hollered. “That hurted me! You only have to take the dirt off—not my skin!”
    Trixie sighed. “Bobby, the problem is that you get the dirt so ground in that it’s hard to tell which is dirt and which is skin.” Remembering the piece of paper in her pocket, Trixie said, “I’ll tell you what, Bobby. If you let me finish cleaning you up without saying one more word, and if you eat one whole cooked carrot at dinner tonight, I’ll give you a surprise.”
    “Oh, boy!” Bobby exclaimed. “A s prise! What is it, Trixie?” In his excitement, Bobby had become wigglier than ever.
    “If I tell you, I’ll spoil the surprise. Is it a deal?” she asked, doing her best to sound businesslike, although her little brother’s wide-eyed excitement made her want to giggle, instead.
    “One whole cooked carrot is a lot, Trixie,” Bobby said seriously. “I don’t like to eat even one bite of cooked carrot.” He considered the bargain for a moment. Finally he said, “Okay, Trixie, it’s a deal.” He took a deep breath and shut his eyes so tightly that his