The secret of the Mansion

When Mrs. Frayne cried out, Mr. Frayne just picked her up in his arms to rush her to the hospital for the antivenin. Naturally, he took the shortcut, and right in the middle of that deserted upper road, the car broke down. Whether he didn’t know what to do, or was too excited to do anything, I do not know. At any rate, they simply waited there until a car came along. They waited for hours, and, by that time, it was too late."
    "How dreadful, Moms!" Trixie gasped.
    Shading her eyes with her hand, Mrs. Belden glanced up at the old mansion on the eastern hill.
    "Poor Mr. Frayne," she murmured. "He was never the same again. He left his car right there on the road where it had broken down and never allowed another automobile on the place after that." She added slowly, "I wonder what happened to the summerhouse. You used to be able to see it quite plainly from here."
    But Trixie was no longer looking at the Frayne mansion. She was looking in the opposite direction.
    "Moms, Moms!" she cried. "Something’s going on up at the Manor House. See all those vans?"
    Mrs. Belden turned and glanced up at the huge estate which bounded Crabapple Farm on the west.
    "Why, yes, Trixie," she said. "I meant to tell you last night, but you were too excited about that horse to listen. A family named Wheeler moved in yesterday. Your father met Mr. Wheeler at the bank. He has a daughter about your age and told Dad he hoped you’d run up and see her."
    "Oh, Moms," Trixie interrupted excitedly. "Do you see what I see? Horses! Horses being led out toward the stables. Couldn’t I go up right now and meet Mr. Wheeler’s daughter?"
    Mrs. Belden smiled. "Well, I guess it’s all right. But what about your job?"
    Trixie saw her little brother racing across the lawn with Reddy at his heels.
    "I’ll take Bobby with me," she said quickly, "so you won’t have to worry about him. Come on, Bobby, hurry up." Trixie pulled open the gate so hard she almost tore it off its hinges.
    "Heyl" Bobby shouted as he started down the path to the gate. "Where’re you going? Can I go, too? Wait for me, Trixie."
    The middle of the path was rough with partially exposed tree roots, and Bobby tripped, as he often did, and sprawled in the red-brown dust. Trixie stared at him with disgust. "Oh, Bobby, Bobby," she cried, "now you’re all dirty. You can’t go calling on rich people looking like that!"
    Bobby scrambled to his feet, rubbing the dirt into his moist skin as he tried to brush it off. "Hey!" He grinned. "What rich people? Do I look all right now, Trixie? I wanna go calling on rich people."
    Trixie turned to her mother in despair. "Do I have to take him, Moms? Do I have to?"
    Mrs. Belden shrugged her shoulders. "That depends on whether or not you feel a horse is worth working for. You could, of course, finish thinning the carrots instead, and there’s an hour’s dusting to do indoors."
    "Oh, all right, Moms." Trixie grabbed Bobby’s grimy hand. She was tired of working in the garden, and she despised any kind of housework. "But first I’ll wash you up," she told the little boy, "and put a clean sunsuit on you. And for heaven’s sake, Bobby, when you meet these people, don’t tell them I said they were rich, and please try to stop yelling ‘Hey’ all the time."
    Ten minutes later, Trixie and Bobby began the long climb up the Manor House driveway with Reddy racing ahead of them. At the turn in the road, a fat little cocker spaniel rushed down to meet them. Right behind the puppy was a tall, thin girl whose pale face was framed in shoulder-length, light-brown hair. She cringed as Reddy, disdainfully ignoring the black puppy, raced around her in circles, barking furiously.
    "Don’t pay any attention to him," Trixie cried quickly, seeing that her new neighbor was really frightened. "He’s just showing off. He wouldn’t hurt a fly. I’m Trixie Belden," she went on hurriedly. "My kid brother and I live in the hollow in that little white frame house—Crabapple Farm, you know." The girl stared solemnly from Trixie to Bobby and back again. "How do you do?" she said, holding out her slender hand. "My name is Honey—Honey Wheeler."
    Trixie shook hands, feeling rather foolish at such a display of formality. Oh, my, she thought, almost side with disappointment, she’s stuck-up. Who would go around in a white linen dress and stockings and sandals unless there’s a party? Aloud she asked, without much hope, "Do you ride horseback?" Honey smiled, then. "Oh,