The Secret of the Unseen Treasure

the checks had been stolen and then thrown away. There was no solution to the arson attempt. Mr. Hartman’s comment about Sam Elliot nagged at Trixie’s mind, but there was no answer for that, either.
    To make things more frustrating, Trixie was grounded—not as punishment, but because Jim and Brian were away as counselors at a boys’ camp. That left the Bob-Whites without a driver, since Dan, who had just got his driver’s license, was usually too busy helping Mr. Maypenny.
    Trixie was doing “overtime” baby-sitting because her mother was organizing the garden club to participate in a flower contest sponsored by a White Plains newspaper.
    Trixie asked about it one day as they prepared lunch. “What’s the contest all about, Moms?”
    “It’s a photography contest,” Mrs. Belden said. “The photographs must have something to do with flowers and horticulture.”
    “In case you don’t know,” Mart said grandly, “horticulture means—”
    “I know what it means,” Trixie said. “It’s what you want to get into. Right, earthworm?”
    “Worm!” Bobby repeated.
    “Bobby,” Mrs. Belden chided. “Don’t call your brother names.”
    “Trixie just did! But I wasn’t calling him a worm. Trixie made me think we ought to dig some worms and go fishing this afternoon.”
    “Later, Bobby,” Trixie sighed. “You said pictures of flowers, Moms?”
    “There’ll be various categories, from views of whole gardens to just a single flower. The contest will run for several weeks, and each week, the best entry will be published in the paper. Those become eligible for the big prizes to be awarded at the end of the contest.”
    “Is it only for amateur gardeners?” Trixie asked.
    “No, because it’s really a photography contest with the theme of flowers. It is restricted to amateur photographers.”
    “Then,” Trixie suggested, “Mrs. Elliot could enter if she wanted to.”
    “Of course. And I hope she does. A photograph of her sweet peas climbing on an umbrella frame would certainly be interesting.”
    “Hey!” Mart exclaimed. “Here’s a title for her entry: Sweet Idea for Sweet Peas.”
    Trixie looked at him. “Sometimes you do say something that makes sense.”
    “That was pretty good,” Mart declared.
    Trixie turned back to her mother. “I’ll bet they’d have won the contest for sure if Sam Elliot were still alive. He was quite a horticulturist, wasn’t he?” she said, giving Mart a look as she used the word.
    “He certainly was,” Mrs. Belden agreed. “He raised several unusual plants and flowers. There was a truck from the city almost every day, picking up orders.” Mrs. Belden frowned. “That’s why it’s so difficult to understand why there wasn’t much left for Ethel after he died. Just the property.”
    Peter Belden came in. “Sorry I’m late for lunch,” he apologized. “Got held up at the bank.”
    “You were held up?” Bobby asked excitedly.
    “Not that way, thank goodness.” His father turned to Mrs. Belden as Bobby, having lost interest in the conversation, left the room. “I heard you mentioning Ethel Elliot. As a matter of fact, she’s why I’m late,” Mr. Belden went on.
    “Did she come to see you?” Trixie asked anxiously.
    “Trixie,” Mrs. Belden said, “that’s none of our
    business.” But she looked inquiringly at Peter.
    He sighed, shaking his head. “Bank business is private, of course. But I know you’re all concerned about Ethel Elliot.” He paused, looking at each of them. “What I say is to stay at this table and go no farther. Ethel Elliot came to me for a loan. She needs a new pump for her well. She wanted something short-term that she could pay off quickly.”
    “What happened to her old pump?” Trixie asked.
    Peter Belden shrugged his shoulders. “It ran dry. It wasn’t pulling water anymore. That can ruin a pump.”
    “Poor Ethel,” Mrs. Belden said. “She’s just barely getting by as it is. Did you grant her the loan?”
    “Not the way she wanted it,” Peter Belden said. “I had to extend it to make the payments smaller, or she wouldn’t have had any money to live on. A one-and-a-half horsepower selfpriming pump costs more than three hundred dollars.”
    “And on top of that, she’s going to have to pay the interest on the loan,” said Mrs. Belden.
    Trixie’s father nodded. “It’s going to be hard, I know. I did the best I could for her. I offered to lend her the money myself, but she wouldn’t hear of