The Mystery on Cobbett's Island

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    “Take a look at this ankle, Brian,” said Jim as he knelt down in front of Trixie. A spot of blood on her sock was growing bigger, so Brian carefully took off her sneaker and sock. A look of relief came over his face when he saw that the wound was not a deep one but only an abrasion. Peter had already gone to the house for a first aid kit, and on his return, Brian carefully swabbed the wound with antiseptic and put on a sterile bandage.
    “Lucky for us we have an almost-doctor in the house,” said Mart. “Are you prepared to handle an emergency appendectomy?”
    “Don’t mention it!” chuckled Brian. “Don’t think I haven’t imagined such a situation. ‘Brian Belden saves a child’s life with a penknife.’ Can’t you see the headlines? The only hitch is that no one carries a penknife anymore, so my dream collapses.”
    “How long has it been since you’ve had a tetanus shot, Trix?” asked Jim as he was helping Brian put the scissors and extra bandages back in the box. “Do you remember?”
    “Let’s see. It was last year when I had my annual checkup. I loathe needles, even though they don’t really hurt much, but Dr. Ferris said they’re a lot easier to take than the treatment you get if you cut yourself or step on a nail and haven’t been immunized.”
    Trixie, who was never one to brood very long about herself, again turned her attention to the hole in the floor. “We’ll have to fix it before the party, and the steps, too. I wonder why those boards weren’t nailed down.” She knelt to get a closer look. Then she leaned way over and put her arm into the hole so far that her chin was practically resting on the floor.
    “What on earth are you doing?” cried Di.
    As Trixie drew her arm out, she brought forth a dust-covered bottle with the cork still in it.
    “What’s in it?” they all asked at once as Trixie carried it over to the seat and started to blow off the dust.
    “It’s awfully light, and it doesn’t rattle, so there’s probably nothing in it,” she said.
    “One of your ancestors was probably trying to hide an empty rum bottle from his wife,” said Jim to Peter. “Here, let me have a look,” he said, taking the bottle from Trixie. “Holy mackerel!” he cried, after he had wiped it off. “I think there’s a paper all rolled up inside!”
    “The chart, the chart!” cried Trixie. “Hurry and break the bottle and see if I’m right!”
    “Oh, don’t break it here. It’ll get glass all over everything. Take it over to that rock,” Honey suggested, pointing to a large stone, not very far away.
    They all hovered around as Jim broke the bottle. Trixie picked up the tightly rolled paper and carefully spread it out on the ground.
    “It’s a chart, all right,” said Peter. “Look; it has the compass marks up there in the corner. They call that a compass rose, and there’s a black buoy and a red nun.”
    “A what? A red nun? I can’t say that sounds very nautical,” Mart said as he leaned over to get a better look.
    “You’re right; it doesn’t,” Peter answered, “but the red buoys are called nuns because they look something like a nun in her veil. They always have even numbers, so you say ‘N two’ or ‘N eight.’ Notice the harbor buoy the next time you’re near there.”
    “What about the black ones? Do they have odd numbers?” asked Mart.
    “Right you are,” answered Peter. “They’re flat-topped and carry odd numbers. They’re called ‘cans,’ so you refer to them as ‘C five’ or ‘C seven.’ But what’s that down there at the bottom of the chart?”
    “Well, of all things to find on a map,” said Honey as she looked over Peter’s shoulder. “It’s a bar of music!”
    “A bar of music? That’s funny.” Brian was puzzled. “Maybe when Ed was drawing the chart, he had a sudden inspiration to write a sea chantey or something.”
    “Well, he sure didn’t get very far,” said Mart. “Erato and Euterpe must have left him in the lurch.”
    “Who?” asked Trixie, for once falling into Mart’s linguistic trap.
    “The two Greek muses who preside over poetry and music,” Mart answered loftily.
    “Oh, no! You’re not satisfied with English anymore. Now we have to endure Greek!” Trixie moaned.
    “Here, Honey, see if you can make out the tune. You’re our musical authority,” said Jim, picking up the chart and handing it to her.
    After studying it for a minute and humming softly to herself, Honey said,