The Mystery on Cobbett's Island

here’s my theory. See what you think of it. Remember what El said about Mr. C working out a kind of game with Ed? Well, since they couldn’t go out on Sapphire anymore, maybe the game was a sailing game, like Brian mentioned, laid around the neighborhood, where they took their walks. Does that make any sense?”
    “I don’t quite see it,” said Jim, scratching his head. “Why put the buoy mark on the chart if it’s a land course? Wouldn’t it be simpler just to put down a tree or a rock or whatever?”
    “Sure, it would be simpler, but it wouldn’t be half as much fun or take half as many brains to figure out that kind of map,” Mart answered loftily.
    “Well, it’s a possibility,” Honey answered, a little skeptical. “It won’t do any harm to explore it. Everything else has led to a dead end. But why were you so interested in the letter?”
    “Look here a minute,” said Trixie quickly, beckoning Honey to the table. “Notice how Ed has set off the words ‘start sailing’ in quotation marks? Why would he do that if he really meant sailing? I think it’s a cue to follow the course on land instead of on sea.”
    “By Jove, I think you’ve got something there!” Peter exclaimed. “Let’s have a look at the chart. Now, let’s assume that they started out from the same place on the porch that we did the first time when we plotted our course to the gazebo.”
    Everyone raced around to the other side of the porch, led by Trixie, carrying the chart and the letter. She jumped up onto the railing and, looking toward Peter’s house, let out a delighted scream. “There it is! The spire! It’s the one on the gazebo!”
    Jim caught her as she jumped down and spun her around and around, while the others joined in what looked like an impromptu war dance.
    Just as they were about to head for the gazebo, Celia came out to announce lunch. “Oh, jeepers, do we have to eat?” cried Trixie.
    “No, but if you don’t, you’ll miss your favorite dish, macaroni and cheese,” Celia answered.
    “Mac-a-chee!” yelled Mart. “Not on your life we don’t miss lunch.”
    “Our compliments to the chef, and we’ll be in in a minute,” Honey said. She invited Peter to stay, but he explained that he had to go off the island that afternoon to get some plants that his mother had ordered from a nursery in Amagansett.
    “Gosh, I’d much rather stay here,” he said dismally. “Now I’U miss all the fun of testing Trixie’s theory.”
    “You won’t miss a thing,” Trixie quickly reassured him. “We wouldn’t think of going on without you. We’ll wait until tomorrow morning so we’ll have a . whole free day.”
    Peter started to protest, but all the other Bob-Whites agreed with Trixie that the project should be postponed.
    “Say, why don’t you all come along with me, then?” Peter suggested. “I have to go right through Easthampton, and we can stop at Ethel’s Bakery.”
    “Wonderful!” Trixie agreed enthusiastically. “Maybe we’ll get some leads if we go in to buy something and get chatty with whoever waits on us.”
    “I’m a great customer in a bakery,” Mart remarked. “I can taste those ephemeral doughnuts now.”
    “Ephemeral?” Jim repeated quizzically.
    “Yes, it means anything that’s short-lived or lasts only a day, and when I’m around, jelly doughnuts are sure ephemeral,” Mart chuckled.
    Everyone groaned loudly at Mart’s attempted wit. “You go ahead and have lunch, and I'll go home and grab a sandwich while Mother and I go over the list of stuff I’m supposed to pick up,” Peter said. “She’s going to let me take the station wagon, so there’ll be plenty of room for us and the plants, too. See you pronto!” He hurdled the low porch railing and dashed home as the Bob-Whites went in to lunch.
    This time, instead of taking the Greenpoint ferry, they drove to the south side of the island and boarded a smaller ferry that carried them over the narrow sound to the mainland. The trip took only a few minutes, and then they were on their way to Easthampton.
    “Maybe we’d better go right on to the nursery and pick up the plants. Then we won’t have to worry about time,” suggested Peter in his usual well-organized way. “There might even be time to visit the Whaling Museum in Sag Harbor on the way home.”
    “Oh, I hope there’ll be time,” Trixie said. “You know, we usually have to write something interesting about our vacations for English class, and that