The Mystery on Cobbett's Island

started to read it aloud.

The Neighbor ● 4

    DEAR MR. C,
    ‘Tomorrow I leave again on the bunker boat. I don’t know how long I’ll be gone this time, but it really doesn’t matter. The more menhaden, the more money, you know. As I told you, I’m worried! I know you said, when we talked last week, that I was being foolish, but I can’t seem to help it. You’ve known me all my life, and you know the two big fears I’ve always fought against. I never could get the hang of swimming—guess I started too late—and the other thing is, I just can’t bring myself to trust banks since Dad lost his savings back in ’29. So if anything ever happens to me and I shouldn’t come back, I’ve taken some precautions to save that thousand dollars Grandma left me. I want my boy to have it. You know where we always sit and talk? Well, halfway from there to the golden chain tree is where I’ve hidden a chart that will show where the money is. Several times I’ve thought about giving it to you to keep for me, but I shied away from the problem directly. Besides, I knew you would get some fun out of figuring out another one of my charts. You’ll know how to read it, even if no one else can, because of all the practice we’ve had the last couple of years.
    “ ‘If anything should happen to me, “start sailing,” and when you find the money, please see that young Ed gets it.

    “ ‘Always your devoted friend,
    “ ‘Ed’

    “Well, for goodness’ sake,” said Trixie, looking around at the other Bob-Whites. “What’s it all about? Is it a joke, or was there really an Ed?” Already she was anticipating another mystery.
    “When was it written?” asked Brian, leaning over to get a better look at the letter.
    “There’s no date or address on it, and the envelope just says, ‘To Mr. C.’ That’s no help,” Trixie complained.
    “Read it again, and see if it makes any more sense, Trix,” suggested Honey.
    When Trixie came to the words “bunker boat,” Jim interrupted to ask if anyone knew what kind of boat that was.
    “Never heard of one,” said Brian. “Let’s look it up in the dictionary—must be one around here somewhere.”
    They all started looking among the large volumes on the bottom shelf.
    “Here’s one, right under our noses,” cried Honey, pointing to a large book on a stand in the corner of the room. “Bring the lamp over so we can all see what it says.”
    “Jim, you hold the lamp,” said Trixie, “and be careful not to tip it. We don’t want any fires around here. Remember how awful it was the night Ten Acres burned!”
    “I’ll look it up,” said Brian, opening the dictionary. Reading half to himself, he skipped over some of the definitions that didn’t seem to apply until he came to Bunker, n. [From MOSSBUNKER].- The Mossbunker. See Menhaden.
    “Well, that’s a big help! Anyone know what a menhaden is?” inquired Trixie. No one did, so Brian turned to the dictionary again.
    “Here it is,” he said. “Um. Let’s see now. It says the word is of Algonquin origin. ‘A marine fish of the family Clupeidae , having a large head, a compressed body, toothless jaws, bluish silvery scales, and attaining a length of twelve to sixteen inches. On the Atlantic coast of the United States, it is by far the most abundant of fishes, where scores of millions are taken annually and used for bait or converted into oil or fertilizer. Called also mossbunker or bonyfish.’ ”
    “That’s it, all right,” said Trixie, looking over her brother’s shoulder. “Bunker’s short for mossbunker, and Ed apparently worked on a boat that went out to get the fish.”
    “That explains that, Sherlock Holmes,” said Mart, “but it doesn’t help much in figuring out who Mr. C and Ed really are.”
    “Or were,” added Trixie, disregarding her brother’s sarcasm.
    “Well, personally, I’m too tired to even think straight right now,” said Diana. “Let’s all go to bed, and tomorrow we may have an inspiration.”
    “That’s a good idea,” agreed Honey. “I’m dead for sleep, too. Come on, everybody. Not even the wind, the rain, and a mysterious letter can keep me awake tonight.”
    “Now that you mention it, I’m tired, too,” said Trixie, yawning, “and for once in my life, I’m going to bed and not think about anything, especially that letter.” She paused, and a faraway look came into her eyes. “But it sure makes you wonder,” she went on softly, almost as if to herself,