The Secret of the Unseen Treasure

Trixie and Honey relaxed in the rowboat. “It’s a scientifically proven medical fact that women require less oxygen than men, so—”
    Mart hooted. “Never mind the facts! It’s a simple matter of predilection to loquaciousness. Trix and Honey just couldn’t stand to keep quiet long enough!”
    Trixie reached up over the gunwale and grabbed Mart’s leg. Honey reached for his other leg.
    “Give him a push, Di!” Trixie screamed.
    The rowboat rocked wildly. With too many struggling people on one side, the gunwale dipped under, and water poured in. The boat capsized, spilling everyone in a laughing, splashing tangle.
    Rolling the boat over upright, the Bob-Whites reached in with cupped hands and began bailing. Much of the water went back into the boat as they slapped it at one another.
    “This’ll go faster if I can work with both hands,” Mart panted. He started to hoist himself into the boat. The gunwale went under again and the boat filled up once more.
    “Big help you are!” Trixie declared.
    “Let’s take it into the shallows,” Jim suggested. “Everybody grab hold with one hand and swim. Somebody get the oars.”
    Brian and Honey each got an oar and stowed them in the swamped boat. Kicking and stroking with free arms, they gradually moved the waterlogged boat toward shore.
    When the water was only hip-deep, they stood up and began bailing again with cupped hands. They were too exhausted and breathless for any more horseplay.
    Trixie felt her feet sinking into the soft bed of the lake. Something beneath her right foot gave way slightly, and a rush of bubbles brushed her ankles. Trixie shuddered.
    “What’s the matter?” Jim asked.
    “Nothing,” said Trixie. “It’s just squishy on the bottom.”
    Standing together on one side of the boat, the young people tipped it on its side to dump out most of the remaining water.
    “Be careful getting aboard,” Jim advised. “I’m too pooped to go through that again!”
    “Wait.” Brian waded toward something in the water. It was a brown envelope. “Who does this belong to? Was it in the boat?”
    “I didn’t bring it,” said Trixie.
    “It’s not mine,” said Honey.
    Di shook her head.
    Brian turned the envelope over to see if it was addressed. “We’ll soon find out—” He gaped in amazement at the envelope. “I can’t believe this.”
    “What?” Trixie asked. “Who’s it addressed to?”
    “Charles Hartman,” Brian said slowly, still staring at the envelope.
    “He lives up on Glen Road,” said Trixie in disbelief. “What would an envelope addressed to him be doing in the Wheelers’ lake?”
    “Here, you take a look for yourself,” Brian said. He extended the soggy brown envelope to Trixie.
    The envelope was imprinted in black with the words DELIVER BY THIRD DAY OF MONTH. Charles Hartman’s name and address showed through the little window in front. There was no stamp; the envelope had a postage-paid impression. When Trixie’s eyes shifted to the return address in the upper left comer, she yelped.
    “This is from Social Security!” she exclaimed. “It’s Mr. Hartman’s Social Security check!”
    Di screamed with excitement, pointing. “There’s another one!”
    Jim plunged into the water and held up another brown envelope. “This one still has the check in it, too!”
    “Where are they coming from?” Honey asked.
    “The bottom of the lake,” Trixie cried. “I stepped on something when we were bailing out the boat. Where were we then?”
    “Out there,” Brian said. “About where Jim is.
    Jim, hip-deep in water, squatted and put his face below the surface. Trixie pushed forward, sweeping herself under. She opened her eyes and peered through murky water stirred up by all the activity. Tiny fish glinted like diamonds in the sunlight filtering into the water. Trixie pulled herself deeper, searching the bottom. Honey, her hair streaming, appeared beside her. Trixie surfaced to gulp air.
    “We’re too far out,” she called.
    Before she could plunge under again, Jim shouted. “Wait! Let’s get organized. Mart, over here, to the right of Trixie. Di, Honey”—he pointed—“form a line, about an arm’s length apart. Everybody ready? All right, let’s work our way in.”
    The line of B.W.G.’s dipped below the surface, and the young people swam toward the shore, scanning the lake bottom.
    Now were getting too far in, Trixie thought. Then she spotted something. Her legs propelled her outstretched hand