Read Online The Mysterious Code by Kathryn Kenny - Free Book Online

us, you will. Some girls just never seem to know their place.”
    “And some boys think they know everything,” Trixie said and strode off through the woods, the boys close after her.
    There was definite evidence that someone had gone over the path recently. Their steps were fresh in the banked snow. The boys followed the path till it opened onto Glen Road. Then, dejected, they turned back home.
    “That’s a warning for us,” Trixie said. “Someone has read in the
Sun
about the jewel box and the antiques we have in the clubhouse. We’ll have to guard them night and day.”

    “You know we can’t do that,” Jim said.
    “We
can
, with a burglar alarm,” Trixie said. “One that would sound in Regan’s quarters, maybe.”
    “Say, I’ll ask him about it—right away!” Jim said. “See you tomorrow.”
    “Wait a minute, Jim,” Trixie said. “We’d better not say anything about what happened tonight except maybe to Regan. Moms might not want us to work at the club at night if she thought anyone might try to break in. We can keep a sharp lookout ourselves.”
    When they got back to Crabapple Farm the house was nearly dark. The family had gone to bed. “We don’t have to answer any questions tonight,” Trixie said, relieved.
    The next morning after breakfast Mrs. Belden said, “Trixie, I have a book Mrs. Vanderpoel wants. It’s about herbs, and she’s going to try to grow some indoors this winter. Will you please take the book over to her? Take Bobby with you on his sled, please.”
    “Yes, Trixie, take me, I want a ride!” Bobby cried and went to get his coat and cap.
    “All right, Moms,” Trixie said, “but I thought it would be a good chance today to go out and try to locate some more furniture for the boys to repair, and maybe list some of the antiques we want to borrow to exhibit at our show.”
    “It is possible that Mrs. Vanderpoel may let you exhibit some of her antiques,” Mrs. Belden said. “Don’t you remember? Her house is full of them. She’s lived in that one place for ages. Her parents, and their parents, too, lived there before her.”
    “I don’t know why I didn’t think of her,” Trixie said. “Hurry, Bobby, let’s go.”
    Mrs. Vanderpoel’s home was of yellow brick. The bricks were small handmade ones, brought over from Holland by early Dutch settlers. The house was surrounded by trees, on a wandering road that led from Glen Road back about a mile through the woods, to the fringe of the game preserve Mr. Wheeler had recently bought.
    “Giddyap, Trixie!” Bobby called. He imagined she was his trusty black horse carrying his sled over the snow. Trixie galloped on at his bidding, and, when rosy-cheeked old Mrs. Vanderpoel opened her back door to her knock, Trixie was too breathless to speak for a moment.
    “Come in, children,” Mrs. Vanderpoel said. “There are some oatmeal cookies—I’ve just finished baking. Sit down here beside Brom, Bobby, and I’ll give you a glass of milk. There, there, Brom, these are the Belden children from Crabapple Farm.”
    An old man sat at the table, his face almost hidden in a bush of whiskers.
    “Are you Rip van Winkle?” Bobby asked, as he scrambled into a chair and filled his mouth with a big cooky.
    The old man laughed till he shook. “No, sir, Bobby, I’m not,” he said. “I’m not Ichabod Crane either,” he added, in a firmer voice. Trixie and Mrs. Vanderpoel had gone into another room. Brom was shy, but not with little boys.
    “I know you’re not Ichabod Crane,” Bobby said. “He was as thin as a skeleton and you’re—”
    “I’m certainly not skinny,” the old man said. “My name is Brom—just Brom. There’s another name, too, but it’s a long Dutch name and you wouldn’t remember it.”
    “It’s Vanderheidenbeck,” Mrs. Vanderpoel said to Trixie in a whisper. “He’d close up like a clam if he knew we were listening. Stay right here with me behind the door, Trixie. When Brom talks it is worth