The Mystery off Old Telegraph Road

“although I have seen him around school. But it sounds to me as though Ben was on the defensive because of the way his so-called friends acted. I don’t think Ben is a bad guy. He just needs to do some growing up. Be patient with him, Trix.”
    “Yeah, Trixie,” Bobby, her six-year-old brother, said. “Be nice to Ben. I like Ben. He plays with me an’ tells me funny stories, an’ one time he even taked me hunting with him and we caught a squirrel that looked like a parrot.”
    Trixie sighed. “I know, Bobby. Ben has been nice to you. So I’ll try to be nice to Ben. It certainly is hard, though, the way he’s been acting lately.”
    “I heartily concur, my dear Beatrix,” Mart said, easing the shock of his agreeing with Trixie by calling her by her hated full name. “Ben Riker’s once merely annoying behavior has become downright pernicious. In short, he’s really hard to take.”
    “Well,” Trixie said, “I guess we’d better try to take him for a while longer, if only for Honey and Jim’s sake. After all, he’s Honey’s cousin and the Wheelers’ guest.”
    After dinner, the Bob-Whites met at the clubhouse to plan the bikeathon. Trixie and Honey had already Med the others in on the art department’s need for money and the general plan, so the seven members began immediately to plan the details.
    They quickly decided that the bikeathon should be held as soon as possible, before school let out for the summer and the students were all scattered. The date decided on was two weeks from the following day, a Saturday.
    The Bob-Whites also decided that a route covering twenty-five miles would be the right length to ensure that everyone could ride the distance without getting too tired and also be home before dark.
    “I know just the route we should take,” Dan Mangan said. “Starting at the school, we can go along Old Telegraph Road to the Albany Post Road, then along Glen Road to Lytell’s store. Then we can go along the path through the game preserve to Mr. Maypenny’s and have a rest stop there. Finally, we’ll ride along the other path that goes from Mr. Maypenny’s through more of the preserve, between Di’s and the Manor House, and back out to Glen Road and into Sleepyside.”
    “Gleeps, Dan, that’s perfect!” Trixie told him. “Maybe we could even have a picnic at Mr. Maypenny’s. That would get lots of kids to sign up. We’ll need other rest stops, too. I hadn’t even thought about those. We could stop at Mrs. Vanderpoel’s, I bet. You know how she loves young people. But shouldn’t we have another rest stop somewhere along Old Telegraph Road? Does anybody know of a good place?”
    The other Bob-Whites shook their heads.
    “I’ll tell you what,” Jim said. “Let’s wrap up the other details, then pile into the station wagon and drive along Old Telegraph Road and see if we can find a likely spot.”
    When the others agreed, Jim took charge to finish the meeting quickly. “Dan, why don’t you ask Mr. Maypenny if we can use his clearing for our picnic lunch?” Dan had come to know the Wheelers’ game warden quite well, what with living and working with the old man, and he told the other Bob-Whites that he was sure Mr. Maypenny would agree.
    “Great,” Jim said. “Honey, you call Mrs. Vanderpoel and ask her if we can have a rest stop there. Brian, you ask the principal if we can have a sign-up booth after school to get riders. I’ll ask Sergeant Molinson for a police escort so that nobody will get hurt by cars on the highways. What’s left?”
    “Posters!” Trixie exclaimed. “And pledge cards for the riders to give to the people who sponsor them. There should be no problem getting those done. This is for the art department, after all. I’ll call Nick Roberts and ask him to help. For once we won’t have our usual messy, hard-to-read Bob-White artwork.”
    “Okay,” Jim said. “That’s it. All aboard the Bob-White express. Next stop, Old Telegraph Road.”
    The Bob-Whites climbed into the station wagon that Mr. Wheeler had donated to the club. They drove down Old Telegraph Road, looking for a place that would make a good rest stop. About halfway between Glen Road and Albany Post Road, Di Lynch said, “Look! What’s that?”
    A gravel drive branched off the road to the north. Tall hedges hid what was along the drive. “We’ll pull in and see,” Jim said. “If were lucky, maybe it’s the home of one of our classmates whose folks will put up with a