The Mystery on Cobbett's Island

of the tree. Under Peter’s direction, the boys took turns using it but manfully insisted that it was too heavy for the girls to manipulate. They had to content themselves with piling the big pieces of wood near the wall, to be split later on, and with taking the smaller ones to the rear of the house, where the fireplace logs were stored.
    “Honestly,” said Trixie, throwing down an armful of wood with unnecessary vigor, “boys think they know everything.”
    “Well, it doesn’t hurt to let them think they do sometimes,” replied Diana with a knowing smile.

The Letter ● 5

    IT WAS WELL past the usual lunchtime when the lawn was finally cleared, but Honey had asked the cook to make a lot of sandwiches so they could eat whenever they got hungry. She invited Peter to stay for lunch, and he telephoned his mother to say that he wouldn’t be home until later.
    As they were eating, he said, “How about all of you coming over to my house? It’s sort of interesting because it’s the oldest house on the island. Would you like to come?”
    “I can’t think of anything that would be more fun!” exclaimed Honey. “I love to explore old houses!”
    “Watch out for Trix and Honey, Peter. They’re always exploring something and coming up with a mystery.” Brian added, “Is your house haunted, by any chance?”
    “Oh, there’s some story about Aunt Cornelia coming back to try to find a lost fan,” Peter answered, “but I never saw any signs of the old girl. Let’s go back by way of the Shore Road. It’ll be easier than going through the underbrush,” he added.
    They walked a short way down the road, then turned in at a beautiful wrought iron gate. As they were going down the long driveway, through thick woods where pink and white dogwoods were in bloom, Peter told them a bit about the history of the Oldest House, as it was called on the island. It dated from 1713, when Peter’s ancestors first settled on the island, and it had been in his family ever since.
    “Unfortunately, Uncle Jasper, who was the last to live here before we came, was a sort of oddball.” Peter chuckled as he continued. “He wasn’t interested in the house or the gardens, and he had just enough repairs done to keep things halfway livable. He spent all his time on some crazy research project. I think it was about the eating habits of some remote African tribe, but he never even got around to writing the book about it. So the place went to pieces while he lived here.”
    “What are those rocks over there?” asked Di, pointing to some crudely carved stones lying under a huge oak tree.
    “That’s a slave cemetery,” Peter answered. “We found it last year when the tree surgeons were working on that old oak, and later, Dad found a list of the slaves who are buried there, written in an old ledger.”
    The driveway made a graceful curve a little farther on and revealed the house, set among stately trees and bushes of syringa and lilac. It was a two-story house with an enormous central chimney. The only thing about it that was not perfectly simple was the main doorway, which was dark red and flanked on each side by narrow leaded windows. Overhead was an arched panel bearing a beautifully carved eagle.
    “Oh, how lovely!” cried Honey as they went through the gate of the picket fence. “I can hardly wait to see what it’s like inside.”
    Peter called his mother, and she soon appeared in the large central hall to meet them and be introduced.
    “I’m so glad to see all of you. It’s always a pleasure to have Peter’s friends here, and I want you to feel welcome at any time,” she said with a warm smile that was very much like her son’s. “And now, if you will excuse me, I’ll let Peter give you what he calls the fifty-cent tour of the house. I’m trying to get ready for a garden party I’m giving later this week, but the storm has really put a crimp in my plans.” With a friendly wave, she was gone.
    “A garden party! What a perfect place for one,” said Trixie, “but the storm sure came at the wrong time.”
    “I’ll say it did!” said Peter. “We’ve been working for days to clean up the gardens, and we’d hoped to get the old gazebo in shape before the party, but I’m afraid now we’ll have to let that go and just get this fallen stuff cleared up. I guess Mother will have to serve tea on the porch.”
    “Look, I have an idea,” said Trixie, her eyes shining. “Why can’t the Bob-Whites help you clear