The Mystery on Cobbett's Island

“It’s just a simple bar of music, but it doesn’t mean a thing to me. There isn’t any time indicated, and the notes are all whole notes. Listen.” She whistled the elusive little tune.
    “Well, the main thing is that we’ve found the chart,” said Trixie excitedly. “We were so busy cleaning up this place that we never even thought the gazebo might be the building Ed said was in line with the chain tree.”
    “Look; now you can see our porch from here,” added Honey, pointing toward The Moorings.
    “Yes, and an imaginary line running from the tree through the gazebo would end right where Jim stood on the railing yesterday,” said Trixie, her voice tense with excitement. “Now all we have to do is follow the chart and find the money!”
    “Hey, not so fast,” cried Peter, who had been studying the chart while the others were talking. “This isn’t going to be as simple as it looks.”
    “What do you mean?” Trixie asked. “It looks simple to me, with all those landmarks, or rather seamarks, on it.”
    “I know it does,” answered Peter, “but the funny thing is, it doesn’t say where to start sailing. If you take off from the dock at The Moorings, which seems the logical place, and follow these directions, you end up somewhere in the vicinity of our own cabbage patch! Something’s obviously wrong with that.”
    “Oh, bother!” cried Trixie. “Are you sure?”
    “Let’s all puzzle over it tonight, and maybe by tomorrow it will make some sense,” suggested Diana.
    “You were right yesterday when you said we should wait awhile, so I’ll go along with your suggestion again,” Trixie replied warmly.
    “Maybe we’ll get some leads on our sail,” Peter said. “It may help us to see what it’s all about when we get out in the boat. I think I’ll make a copy of the chart, and you can take this one to The Moorings with you.”
    “Okay,” agreed Jim as the Bob-Whites gathered up the tools and headed back to the shed. Peter drew the chart on the back of an old calendar that had been hanging on the wall, then walked as far as the gate with his friends.
    “What time do you want to get started, and where shall we meet?” Trixie asked.
    “I’ll pick you up around ten—that is, if the Icebox cooperates. Sometimes she acts as though she resents my going sailing and refuses to start,” he answered with a chuckle.
    “If you have any trouble, call me up, and maybe I can give you a hand,” Brian offered.
    “Oh, Brian can make any car run, no matter how old it is,” Honey said, looking admiringly at him.
    “The Bob-Whites are full of hidden talents,” Trixie added laughingly, “but when it comes to sailing, we are complete landlubbers.”
    “Don’t worry. I’ll give you the Special Kimball Sailing Course tomorrow,” Peter assured them, “and by the time we get home, you’ll be old hands!”

A Sailing Lesson ● 8

    IT WAS A FEW minutes before ten when they heard Peter’s car chugging up the driveway, and they all ran out to greet him. Although the Icebox coughed and hiccoughed as it turned under the porte cochère, it was running.
    “Should we bring sweat shirts or anything extra?” Trixie called out from the porch.
    “It’s a good idea to have something along to put on,” Peter answered. “Even if it’s boiling hot when you start out, it may turn cold, or the sea can get rough and toss a couple of buckets of water into the boat.”
    Celia came out carrying two baskets packed with food and handed them to Jim, who stowed them in the trunk along with the sail bags.
    “Yes, Jim,” Trixie teased. “You’d better take charge of the food and keep it away from Mart, or there won’t be anything left by lunchtime!”
    They waved good-bye to Miss Trask, who had come out to see them off, and were away in a cloud of smoke from the exhaust.
    As soon as they were on Shore Road, Trixie burst out, “You know, I had an idea about the chart last night just before I went to sleep, and the more I think about it, the more sense it makes.”
    “I’m glad someone had an idea,” said Mart, shaking his head disconsolately, “because my cranial cavity was as empty as a broken drum.”
    “As usual,” Trixie flung at him.
    “Mother had so many things for me to do when I got home, I never did get a chance to look at the chart again,” Peter confessed. “What did you figure out, Trix?”
    “You know how clear it was last night,” she began. “Well, I was standing by the window