The Mystery off Old Telegraph Road

took her place at the table.
    “Now,” Mrs. Vanderpoel said, settling her ample form at the head of the table, “tell me all about how your bikeathon is coming along.”
    Each of the Bob-Whites looked around the table, waiting for someone else to begin. Each of them saw four pairs of expectant eyes and four jaws working on oatmeal cookies. Simultaneously, all five of the Bob-Whites swallowed their first bite of cookie, and then all five began talking at once.
    As everyone burst into laughter, Trixie said, “You can’t expect to get much information when you’ve just fed us these delicious cookies, Mrs. Vanderpoel. But actually, the bikeathon is going wonderfully, so far.”
    They all took turns telling her about their plans and about the success of the first sign-up.
    Mrs. Vanderpoel listened attentively, nodding her approval. “I’ve always said nothing makes a person feel quite so worthwhile as creating something with his own two hands. That goes for the artwork your friends make in school, as well as for these cookies that I make, and the needlework I do during the winter months. That’s why I think the art department should have as much money as it needs, and I’m happy to help.”
    Impulsively, Trixie got up from the table and went over to Mrs. Vanderpoel and hugged her. “You’re the tops, Mrs. V. Not everyone would be willing to serve cookies to a whole yardful of teenagers on a Saturday afternoon. We really appreciate it.”
    “A toast to Mrs. Vanderpoel,” Mart said, raising his glass of milk.
    “To Mrs. Vanderpoel,” the Bob-Whites chorused, raising their glasses.
    The old woman’s eyes glistened, but she replied brusquely. “Oh, piffle! A few cookies and an hour or so of my time aren’t worth very much. I’m glad to help. Speaking of cookies, I was going to wrap some up for you to take to your friends Diana Lynch and Dan Mangan, and to little Bobby. I’d best do that right now.” She got up abruptly and bustled off to the kitchen.
    “I’m afraid we embarrassed her,” Honey whispered nervously.
    Jim shook his head. “She’s pleased, Honey. I could tell. She’s just very touched because we showed her that we appreciate her. I’m glad we did.”
    “Me, too,” Trixie said under her breath.
    “Here we are,” Mrs. Vanderpoel said cheerfully, coming back to the dining room with a plate on which there was another huge mound of cookies covered with foil. “Do you think these will be enough?”
    “That’s more than generous, Mrs. Vanderpoel,” Brian said, standing and taking the plate. “Thank you, in advance, from Dan and Di and Bobby. I’m afraid we have to be going now. We’re supposed to meet Di and Dan at the clubhouse.”
    “We’ll see you on Saturday,” Trixie said as the Bob-Whites walked to the door.
    “We’ll be sure to return your plate then,” Mart added. “Good-bye.”
    “I’ll be here waiting for all of you,” Mrs. Vanderpoel said. “Good-bye!”
    Di and Dan were already at the clubhouse when the others returned. Jim dropped Honey, Mart, and Brian off. “I’ll take the car back to the house.
    I can get some milk to go with the cookies, too. Trix will ride along,” Jim said.
    Trixie looked at him in surprise but said nothing. Honey winked at Trixie as she got out of the car.
    As they walked back to the clubhouse, Jim said, “I haven’t had a chance to talk to you alone, and I just wanted to tell you how glad I am that you and Honey have patched up your differences.”
    Once again Trixie looked at him in surprise. “How did you know—” she began.
    “Oh, Honey didn’t tell me that you two had had a fight,” Jim said. “Although,” he chuckled, “I had a feeling that something was bothering her. Especially after she yelled ’touchdown’ at the baseball game.
    “Seriously, though, Trixie, I knew something was wrong, and I have a feeling that Ben Riker was at the heart of it.” Jim sighed. “I can’t take sides, because the Wheelers are my family now, and I’m ’ grateful to them for all they’ve done for me. But I don’t approve of the way Ben acts, and I sympathize with you for having to put up with him.”
    Jim stopped walking and turned to look directly at Trixie. “Anyway, I’m glad that you and Honey made up. I hope you won’t let Ben upset you any more. I don’t want anything to come between the Beldens and the Wheelers—not ever.”
    “I—I don’t want that, either, Jim,” Trixie faltered. “I didn’t really