The secret of the Mansion

can swim, Trixie," she wailed. "What’ll we do?"
     

Jim’s Discovery • 9
     
    TRIXIE SHUDDERED AS she glanced swiftly at those dangerously close yellow eyes and savage jaws. "Hit him on the head with an oar, of course," she answered grimly. Suddenly she remembered that Jim had said the dog was really a coward, and she crouched forward as she reached behind her for the rubber cushion on the stem seat. Then she threw it with all her might and main right into the dog’s ugly face. The cur yelped in astonishment, lost his balance, and toppled backward with a loud splash into the shallow water. The bow of the boat bumped against the rock as the dog floundered to shore, shook himself, and darted off through the trees with his tail between his legs.
    Trixie was too weak to move for a minute, and it was Honey who pushed the boat out of the cove with the oar. "You are simply wonderful, Trixie," she gasped.
    Trixie splashed cold water on her face and felt better. "You’re the real heroine," she said. "You went after the boat. I couldn’t have made it."
    "A lot of good that did," Honey insisted. "I’ve simply got to learn to row." She giggled as the boat began to move in circles again. "I think this thing is bewitched."
    "I do, too." Trixie reached out and scooped up the rubber cushion as it floated past. "I’m getting dizzy all over again."
    "That gives me an idea," Honey interrupted. "Let’s name it the Witch. The Water Witch."
    As though chastened, the Water Witch suddenly began to behave, and Honey rowed back across the lake without further trouble.
    "Now it’s your turn to put iodine on me," Trixie said as they climbed up the rustic steps from the boathouse.
    Miss Trask met them on the wide veranda and supervised Honey’s first-aid treatment. While they were changing into their clothes, Trixie said, "I know what let’s do. Let’s go down to your mailbox and see if the village paper has been delivered yet. The postman usually leaves it with the mail about this time of the day. There might be something about old Mr.
    Frayne in it, you know. Come on."
    "But what about that dog?" Honey said hesitantly. "Won’t he come back?"
    "I’ll never be afraid of him any longer," Trixie answered. "He’s a coward, just as Jim said. But let’s take along a good strong stick or something."
    Honey got two of her father’s heavy walking sticks from the stand in the huge hall, and they hurried down the driveway.
    On top of the mail in the Wheeler box was a copy of The Sleepyside Sun. Honey unfolded it quickly and gave a little gasp. Trixie peered over her shoulder and read:
     
JAMES WINTHROP FRAYNE
SERIOUSLY ILL
 
James Winthrop Frayne, 82, of Ten Acres, Glen Road, is seriously ill of pneumonia. Mr. Frayne, who was one of the founders of the Sleepyside Hospital, was found yesterday morning, unconscious, at the foot of his driveway by a neighbor, Mr. Peter Belden, employee of the First National Bank. Mr. Belden drove the aged man to the hospital where his condition was pronounced serious. Today doctors said Mr. Frayne was failing rapidly. Authorities are making every effort to locate and notify Mr. Frayne’s relatives, but so far no record of any living relative has been found.
     
    "Honey," Trixie said, "we’d better tell Jim about this right away. If the story gets into the New York
    papers, the place will be swarming with reporters."
    "Oh, I don’t think it’s important enough for that," Honey said dubiously.
    "You never can tell," Trixie insisted. "If a New York paper heard the story about half a million dollars being hidden up there, they’d send photographers out, and when they saw all those piles of junk, the story would be all over the front page."
    "Well, maybe so," Honey admitted. "But I honestly don’t believe that story and neither does Jim."
    "I do," Trixie said stubbornly. Her concern about Jim had made her forget her aching head for a few minutes as she continued. "And, anyway, Jim ought to try to find a will or something. I’m going straight up there now and tell him he really ought to search the place thoroughly while he still has a chance." Honey stuck the paper back in the mailbox. "I'll come with you, but don’t you have to water your garden?"
    "Oh," Trixie moaned, "I forgot all about that."
    "I’ll help," Honey offered.
    Later, as they filled two big watering cans at the cistern, Trixie complained, "This is almost the worst part of having a garden. I wish it would rain. Everything’s so dry