The secret of the Mansion

bookshelves and stopped to stare a moment at the dried-up body of a baby bird in the ashes of the fireplace. "I guess the desk is our best bet," he said as he combed away the cobwebs with a coat hanger.
    Trixie hung excitedly over his shoulder and sighed in disappointment when he pulled down the flap. There was nothing but dust in the pigeonholes, and the drawers were empty except for a few rusty pen points and paper dips.
    "I imagine that’s the answer," Jim said, pointing his torch to the ashes in the grate. "He must have burned everything before he boarded up the staircase."
    "I won’t give up," Trixie said stubbornly, "until we’ve looked into every nook and cranny of this floor and the attic."
    But there was nothing of value in either the guest rooms or the sewing room, and the low-ceilinged attic was completely bare. At the end of a hot, dusty, discouraging hour even Trixie was willing to give up.
    "No will, no nothing," she told Honey as she climbed backward down the ladder. "I guess that crazy old miser must have burned everything."
    "You were up there so long I was beginning to be afraid something had happened. Be careful of that missing rung," Honey cautioned.
    Jim appeared at the window with a big black book in his hand. "I thought I might as well bring this old Bible along," he said as he started down. "It was on a bedside table in one of the guest rooms. I haven’t any other family possessions except my mug, so I don’t think Uncle James would mind my having it for a keepsake."
    "Watch out for the broken place," both Trixie and Honey cried together. And then they dodged as the heavy Bible slipped from Jim’s hand and hurtled past their heads. A piece of paper flew from the pages of the book and landed at Trixie’s feet. She leaned over to pick it up.
    "Golly, golly!" she shouted. "It’s a will, Jim. The will!"
     

Jed Tomlin’s Colt • 12
     
    TRIXIE HANDED THE yellowed legal paper to Jim. "Read it quickly," she begged. "Are you the heir? The sole heir?"
    Jim read the will carefully before he answered. "Yes, I am, if this is the latest will. It’s only a copy. It says here that a Mr. George Rainsford is the executor, so I imagine he has the original. Do you know who he is, Trixie?"
    Trixie shook her head. "Never heard of him."
    "He might very well be dead by now," Jim said. "This will was drawn up right after my aunt died when Uncle James was still rich."
    "I think he is still rich," Trixie said firmly.
    "Well," Jim said slowly, "the only person who would know about that would be Mr. Rainsford."
    "George Rainsford," Honey repeated to herself. "That name sounds sort of familiar to me."
    Jim slipped the will back into the Bible with a rueful chuckle. "I’m heir apparent to ten thousand dollars’ worth of land, but it won’t do me any good until I’m twenty-one. There won’t be anything left by then—Jonesy'll see to that. If only I could have got here a day earlier! Uncle James would, at least, have told me whether or not Mr. Rainsford is still alive, and he might even have tried to have another guardian appointed."
    "Don’t give up hope," Honey begged. "Your uncle isn’t dead yet. Maybe he’ll pull through after all." Jim shrugged. "I doubt it. Not at his age. But I’ll stick around here a few more days, just in case." Trixie felt a huge lump rising in her throat. "And then what?" she got out.
    "And then I’ll start looking for a job." The boy’s broad shoulders drooped disconsolately. "There goes college and my dream, but it can’t be helped. I wouldn’t live another year with Jonesy for all the money in the world."
    "Oh, you mustn’t quit school now!" Honey was on the verge of tears. "Please wait till Dad gets back from Canada next week, and let me tell him the whole story. Maybe his lawyers can do something."
    "I wouldn’t risk it," Jim said soberly. "The first thing your father would feel he had to do would be to notify Jonesy. And then I’d be right back where I started."
    Abruptly, he turned away as though he wanted to be alone with his problem, and the girls started down the hill as he put away the ladder.
    "We've got to do something," Trixie said mournfully. "I hate to think of Jim wandering around the country without any money. And I’m not too sure he can get a job at a boys’ camp without his stepfather’s permission. Dad wrote several letters and went to see the head of the camp where Brian and Mart are before it was all settled."
    "I know," Honey agreed. "Jim