The Mystery on Cobbett's Island

dubiously. “Let’s not tell them anything about what we’re going to do, and after they get to work, we can ask Mrs. Kimball if she’ll let us try our plan.”
    “Quiet, here come our unsuspecting victims now,” said Trixie as she got up and sauntered into the dining room.
    “What’s up?” asked Jim as he and the others came in. “You look like three cats that have just swallowed three fat Canaries.”
    “Why, nothing’s up,” answered Trixie, her eyes innocently wide. “We were just trying to figure out what to do with ourselves this morning while you boys are fixing that broken board and the pillar in the gazebo.”
    “You’re going to help us. That’s what you’re going to do,” said Mart. “What else?”
    “We’d love to. You know we would, but that’s a job for experts, and we’d just be in the way,” Di commented, looking helplessly feminine.
    “Yes, you know how clumsy girls are with tools,” Honey went on, “so it would be much better if we left the whole thing to you. The job will get done quicker that way.”
    “Okay,” said Jim, looking quizzically at Trixie. “It’s quite obvious the girls have something up their sleeves, and we might as well try to get water out of a rock as to get secret plans from any of these three.”
    “Trixie probably lured them into some private sleuthing,” said Brian. “Wait till they come running back to us for help.”
    “Are you going over to Peter’s with us, or do your clandestine activities lead you to more distant fields?” inquired Mart.
    “If you must know, dear brother, we’re going over to see if we can help Mrs. Kimball get things ready,” answered Trixie with a toss of her head. “It really wouldn’t be fair not to help, after all Peter has done for us.”
    “So any more work on the chart will have to wait until after the party,” Jim commented.
    When they arrived at the Oldest House, Mrs. Kimball greeted them warmly and said Peter was out in the toolshed getting ready to finish the repairs on the gazebo.
    “And I’m polishing extra spoons and washing more china, just in case we have an overflow crowd,” she added.
    “We’d better step on it, or Peter’ll think we’ve left him in the lurch,” Jim said as he headed out the door.
    “See you squaws later,” Mart called out to the girls, and don’t take any wooden wampum!”
    Trixie threw him a withering glance and then, turn-mg to Mrs. Kimball, asked, “Isn’t there something we could do to help you get ready?”
    That’s sweet of you to ask, but my committee is coming any minute now, and I think we have things pretty well under control, especially since you’re going to help out as hostesses,” she answered. “Thank goodness the weather’s cooperating, too.”
    “If you’re sure we can’t help right now, would you mind if we—” Trixie hesitated and felt the color rising in her cheeks.
    “What, Trixie?” Mrs. Kimball replied. ‘Tm sure any- J thing you have in mind is all right with me. Out with it!” 1 Her gay laugh reassured Trixie that she wasn’t being forward, so she went on. “We thought that maybe up in your attic we might find some old-fashioned dresses we could wear this afternoon.”
    “What a charming idea!” exclaimed Mrs. Kimball.
    “I haven’t the slightest idea what’s up there, but you most certainly may look. You can go right up the back I stairs here from the kitchen.”
    The girls could hardly wait to start their search. After thanking Mrs. Kimball, they dashed up the two j flights of stairs to the attic.
    “Which one shall we try first?” asked Honey, looking around at the many boxes and trunks lined up under the eaves.
    “This one looks interesting,” said Trixie, going over to an old brassbound trunk.
    As she lifted the cover, the faint odor of sandalwood mingled with the special scent of the old room, where, long ago, various herbs had been hung to dry. “Oh, this smells just like the Chinese box Miss Rachel gave me,” sighed Trixie as she thought of the Bob-Whites’ adventure in the marshlands.
    In the top of the trunk was a tray that held an assortment of fans, tortoiseshell combs, and bits of lace and ribbons. “Hurry and look underneath!” cried Di as Honey and Trixie lifted the tray out of the trunk and put it carefully down on the floor.
    Trixie’s hunch had been right. There were layers of old dresses, some of soft wool, others of silk. Most of them were so old that the fabric had begun to split.