The Mystery off Old Telegraph Road

whole flock of bike riders for half an hour or so.”
    Pulling into the driveway, the Bob-Whites saw a large clearing on which stood a deserted-looking frame house and a shed. The windows were covered with sheets of plywood crisscrossed with two-by-fours that were obviously meant to discourage vandals.
    “It’s perfect!” Trixie said, jumping out of the car. “This clearing is plenty big enough, and it’s just the right distance from Sleepyside for the first rest stop. Since nobody lives here, we won’t have to worry about disturbing anybody if we use it!”
    “Hold on, Trixie,” Brian said. “Just because nobody lives here doesn’t mean we wouldn’t be disturbing anyone. Somebody has to own the place, and we’ll have to get permission to use the clearing.”
    “Brian’s right,” Jim agreed. “Sergeant Molinson will probably know who the owner is. I’ll ask him about it at the same time I ask for a police escort. We can probably persuade the owner to let us use the clearing if we assure him that we’ll clean it up after the bikeathon. Now it’s getting dark. Let’s all go home. Tomorrow’s Saturday, so everybody will have time to carry out their assignments. I hereby invite everyone over to the
    Wheeler boathouse tomorrow evening for a picnic lunch, at which time we will all report our progress.”
    With shouts of “aye, aye” from Brian and Mart, the Bob-Whites got back into the station wagon for the drive home.

A Ruined Picnic • 4

    ASSOON AS TRIXIE awoke the next morning, she thought about calling Nick Roberts to ask for his help with the artwork for the bikeathon. She raced to the phone, looked up the number, and was about to dial when she realized that it was only eight o’clock. It was too early on a Saturday morning to call someone she hardly knew, she decided. Not everyone had the same busy weekend schedule as the Beldens! Trixie wrinkled her nose as she put the receiver back in its cradle. Busy was hardly the word for it. Mrs. Belden managed to run the bustling household without any outside help. That meant not only feeding and clothing the four children and looking after the mischievous Bobby, but also tending a huge garden in the summer and turning the harvest into canned and frozen fruits and vegetables that the family ate all winter.
    Mrs. Belden never complained about the amount of work she had to do, and she was generally understanding when Brian, Mart, and Trixie got involved in projects that made them neglect their chores. After all, she felt, her children were enjoying themselves while helping others; that was hardly something to complain about.
    But on Saturdays, Mrs. Belden demanded—and got—the full cooperation of her three oldest children in tackling the major chores that had to be done around the house.
    This particular Saturday was busier than most, since the week’s fair weather signaled the beginning of spring-cleaning. After breakfast, Brian and Mart went outside to begin cultivating the huge garden behind the house, while Trixie helped her mother clean the inside of the house and tried to keep an eye on her rambunctious younger brother.
    “All right, Moms,” Trixie said. “The breakfast dishes are done, and the kitchen is spick-and-span. What next?”
    “Next,” her mother replied, “you should try to call your friend Nick. And after that....” Her mother held out a handful of rags and a bottle of furniture polish.
    “I know,” Trixie said, “dust. But, jeepers, thanks for reminding me to call Nick. It had already slipped through my sievelike mind.”
    She dialed the number and waited for several rings, but no one answered. “Guess I’ll have to try later,” she said to herself.
    She began polishing the living room furniture, humming to herself as she worked. Trixie always complained about having to do housework, but once she began, she found she didn’t mind it. At least you can see the results of your work right away, getting rid of the dust and seeing the furniture begin to shine, she thought. It’s not like a math problem, where you struggle to get the answer and then have to wait till class the next day to find out if it’s right or wrong.
    Finishing the furniture, Trixie began to dust the frames on the pictures hanging in the living room. She paused in front of a landscape that showed a narrow stream lined with bare-branched willow trees. She’d dusted it every week of her life for years. She’d always noticed the signature, Helen