The Mystery on Cobbett's Island

fact,” said Trixie slowly. “Of course, we’re supposed to be a secret, or at least a semisecret, club, so if you tell anyone about us, tell them not to tell.”
    Peter and the others laughed heartily, and all agreed that, with all the members wearing identical jackets, it was rather difficult to keep the club really secret.
    “But what does the ‘G’ stand for?” asked Peter as he examined the letters B.W.G. that Honey, who sewed beautifully, had cross-stitched on the back of each jacket.
    “That’s for Glen. We live near each other on Glen Road in Sleepyside. It was Jim’s idea to call ourselves the Bob-Whites of the Glen,” explained Trixie.
    “I was in a club called The Owls before we moved down here. Not that we were wise or anything. We just liked to stay up late at night, and we spent most of our time thinking up reasons for not going to bed. It was crazy, but we did have a lot of fun. I miss those old birds,” Peter said, smiling reminiscently.
    “What do you do around here for excitement,” asked Diana with just a suggestion of a flutter of her long lashes, “besides battling the elements?”
    “I can answer that in one word: sailing! I’d rather sail than eat,” Peter answered. “As soon as the yacht club opens, I’m long gone in my Lightning. Do any of you sail?” he asked.
    “Well, Trixie, Honey, and Jim here are pretty good hands with a rowboat,” said Brian, thinking back to the time when the three of them had been caught in a flood in Iowa, “but I can’t say any of us are actually sailors.”
    “I guess we’ve been too busy riding and fixing up our clubhouse and other things to think about boats,” added Honey, “but it must be loads of fun.”
    “Did you say you sailed a Lightning?” broke in Mart. “Last Fourth of July there was a big regatta at Nyack, right across the Hudson from us. I read about it in the paper. I could see all the boats from the hill back of our house.”
    “I know. That was another fleet. But we’ll have a regatta, too, later in the summer. Gee, you should be here. It’s great!” exclaimed Peter, his eyes straying toward the nearby bay. “I was going sailing this morning, but I’ve got to get the mess from the storm cleaned up first. I was just starting when I heard you and decided to investigate.”
    “We were going to do some cleaning up here, too, but this tree has us licked,” said Brian, giving the fallen trunk a hard kick.
    “I should think so, if that’s all you have to work with,” said Peter, looking at the pruning saw that Honey was still holding. “What you need is a power saw. I’ll get ours.” He was off, over the wall, like a deer.
    “Gosh, what a great guy!” said Jim.
    “And did you notice what gorgeous eyes he has?” sighed Diana.
    “I wouldn’t say there was anything so special about his eyes,” said Mart. “You females always flip for someone just because he has broad shoulders or gorgeous eyes or something. Don’t you ever think about brains or character or anything?”
    “When it comes to brains and character, we always have you, dear brother,” Trixie flung back at him, “so allow us our little pleasures.” Becoming serious again, with Peter out of earshot, she continued, “Say, you don’t suppose, since he lives on the island, he might be able to help us with the letter, do you?”
    “Oh, we weren’t going to tell anyone about that,” cautioned Mart. “For gosh sakes, Trix, don’t always be so impulsive.”
    “I know, Mart,” said Jim, jumping to Trixie’s defense, “but he certainly looks like a dependable character if I ever saw one.”
    Stung by her brother’s criticism, Trixie sat down on the tree trunk, cupping her chin in her hands. After a short pause, she said, “I suppose Mart’s right. I know you can’t always trust first impressions. Remember what we thought of Dan when we first met him? We were sure he was a crook, because he wore a black jacket and acted sort of antisocial. So it’s okay with me to wait until we know Peter better.”
    “Good girl,” said Mart, giving her a pat on the shoulder.
    “All those in favor of waiting signify by the usual sign,” said Jim, rapping on the tree, with a stone for a gavel. Everyone agreed.
    Peter was soon back, and after he had handed the saw over the wall to Jim, he himself jumped over. “Now, this is more like it,” he said as he got a firm foothold, adjusted the choke, and pulled the starter cord.
    The saw made short work