The Mystery off Old Telegraph Road

treasury. Honey and Di, who always took care to be well groomed, rarely had to pay the fine. Mart, with his love of food, was frequently caught with some remnants of his last meal or snack on his jacket. Trixie, who hated any kind of sewing chore, seemed always to be caught with a tom seam or a missing button. Jim, Brian, and Dan were less concerned with keeping their jackets clean and in good repair than they were with outgrowing them. Honey had already let the sleeves down as far as she could on all three of their jackets, and she’d told Trixie secretly that new jackets might well be good Christmas presents for the boys.
    Trixie chuckled to herself as she walked down the street, thinking of Jim, Brian, and Dan all frequently tugging the sleeves of their jackets down over their wrists. Their sleeves don’t seem to stay down much longer than the buttons stay on my jacket when I replace them, Trixie thought. She wished she had Honey’s love for sewing. But Trixie couldn’t even master simple things like buttons, much less the kind of beautiful needlework that Honey could do.
    Just then Trixie passed the yard goods store, and she stopped for a moment to look through the window at the bolts of brightly colored spring fabric that had just come in. It was all so beautiful, and Trixie thought about the beautiful spring and summer clothing that Honey could make from it. I’d just go wild if I had to sit still long enough to sew even the simplest skirt. Besides, the beautiful things Honey sews look wonderful on her, but all of my things get wrinkled or stained the minute 1 put them on. I guess that’s why they call me “Tomboy Trixie
    Walking a little farther down the street, Trixie came to the sporting goods store. Here she lingered for quite a while, looking longingly at the tents and sleeping bags, the shiny ten-speed bikes, and the well-stocked shelves of camping supplies. The Bob-Whites all loved camping out, especially since Jim had taught them so much about woodcraft and the outdoors. Most of their equipment
    was worn or makeshift, though, since their strict rules about making their own way prevented taking the expensive gifts that Mr. Wheeler would have been happy to give them. The Bob-Whites always hoped that there would be enough money in the treasury for some of the new equipment they wanted, but whenever they had managed to put something aside, they had found some good cause to donate it to.
    Trixie sighed deeply and continued on her walk. This doesn’t seem to be cheering me up very much, she thought, although it certainly is distracting.
    Soon Trixie had walked past the section of town where the nicer, busier stores were located and was in an area where the shops were smaller and not as clean or well decorated.
    She looked into store windows where the displays featured plumbing fixtures and used appliances. In one window, a huge leather shoe, at least two feet long, drew attention to the shoe repair shop inside. Trixie smiled as she looked at it. Imagine trying to find the owner of a shoe like that! she thought. It would be like the story of Cinderella, only in reverse: Whose foot is big enough to fit inside this shoe?
    In the next window, Trixie saw an elaborate display of trophies and ribbons. Some of the trophies were for special activities and had bowlers, baseball players, or even cats and dogs perched on the tops. Others were plain loving cups that could be given out for any special honor. There were also huge ribbons in many colors, some with fancy rosettes on the, top. Trixie stared at them, imagining the speeches that would be made as they were presented to their winners and the speeches the winners would make as they accepted the awards.
    I wonder how much they cost, Trixie thought. It would he nice to he able to give something to the riders who finish the whole bikeathon route, or at least to those who earn the most money in pledges. There’s only one way to find out. Trixie opened the door and walked in.
    The store looked deserted when Trixie walked in, but a small bell hanging above the door tinkled to tell the owner that someone was in the shop.
    For a few moments, no one appeared, and Trixie amused herself by looking at other trophies on display inside the store and at newspaper photographs of people presenting awards to other people.
    At last a man emerged from the back of the shop. Trixie saw a look of disappointment cross his face when he saw her standing in his shop alone, and she