The secret of the Mansion

ruefully, "you’ll never touch Jupe without a curb bit."
    "I wouldn’t," Jim said. "Not until he got used to me, anyway. Gee, do you think you could fix it so I could ride him, sometime? I haven’t ridden anything but Jonesy’s big old farm horses since Dad died. That’s not really riding."
    "I’ll fix it somehow," Honey promised impulsively. Then her hazel eyes sparkled. "I tell you how we can arrange it. Regan always has Sunday afternoons off, and Miss Trask always takes a nap after Sunday dinner. Mother and Dad are leaving tonight for Canada, so I’m pretty sure I can lead Jupe up here for you to ride tomorrow as soon as Regan leaves."
    Jim’s face flushed as he said, "Gosh, Honey, that would be swell. Thanks." He turned to Trixie, then. "How’s your kid brother?" he asked. "Honey told me he was bitten by a copperhead."
    Trixie shuddered. "I can’t bear to talk about it. But he’s all right now."
    "It’s a good thing you know your first aid," Jim said approvingly, and Trixie realized with relief that he really had forgiven her for doubting the story he had told the day before.
    "Let’s tie up Lady and look inside the Mansion some more for your uncle’s money," she said, turning toward the big house. "I just know that we’re going to find something if we try hard enough."
    "That’s what I did all yesterday afternoon," Jim said. "I’ve just about given up hope."
    "Well, I haven’t." Trixie determinedly led the way through the thicket. "And I’ll bet that brass key has something to do with it."
    They were halfway across the clearing when Trixie heard a dog barking down in the road below the Mansion. "It doesn’t sound like Reddy or Bud," she said thoughtfully. "But there aren’t any other dogs around here."
    "You girls had better get inside the house," Jim interrupted quietly as the barking came nearer and they could hear the animal running up the hill. "There is a strange dog around here. I saw it this morning, a vicious-looking mongrel." They climbed quickly in through the window. "I don’t know whether it’s the same one that got tangled in the vines yesterday or not," Jim said, picking up his gun. "But I’m not taking any chances. A stray dog that’s been running wild for a long time can become very ugly."
     

A Hew Hiding Place • 7
     
    THE GIRLS CROWDED around Jim at the window. Suddenly, with a loud squawking, Queenie burst out of the woods and flew into the clearing. Right behind her was a thin, mean-looking cur whose yellowish coat was matted with burrs. It wore no collar, and its cruel mouth was flecked with foam. Jim raised his gun to his shoulder.
    Trixie grabbed his arm. "Don’t shoot," she begged. "You might miss and hit Queenie."
    At that moment, the plucky little game hen turned in midair and came down, clawing and scratching, on the mongrel’s nose. The dog skidded to a stop, struck out at Queenie with one paw, then, with its tail between its legs, slunk into the thicket. At the same moment, Queenie, squawking as though in pain, and dragging one wing, darted across the courtyard and disappeared under a clump of thickly matted bushes.
    They could hear the dog running away through the woods in the opposite direction, and Trixie cried out, "Oh, oh! It’s hurt poor little Queenie. We must try to catch her and fix her wing."
    She was out of the window and across the clearing in a second, tearing at the vines and branches which cut off her view of Queenie’s hiding place. Then she got down on her hands and knees and began crawling after the game hen. Sharp twigs scratched her face and pulled her curly blond hair, but she struggled on.
    Jim was right behind her. "Let me go first, Trixie," he argued. "Queenie may fly in your face and scratch you badly."
    At that moment, Trixie tripped and plunged forward, bumping her head against something hard. She scrambled quickly to a crouching position and, with Jim’s help, pulled at the overhanging boughs and vines until they could see the lower half of the doOr which was blocking their path.
    "It's the summerhouse," Trixie cried excitedly. "We’ve found it at last!"
    "I guess you’re right," Jim said, as together they tugged away at the heavy branches which covered the rest of the door. "And we’re in what once must have been a little arbor leading to it."
    They tried the rustic door but it was locked, and the windows on either side were so thickly covered with dirt they couldn’t see inside. "The key!" Trixie suddenly shouted.