Smith yesterday. Now it’s too late! "I took the locket out of its case to show Mrs. Darnell how my boys looked when they were her baby’s age," Mrs. Smith continued when Trixie had stopped coughing. "It’s an album locket, you see, and Nat had it especially made for me so I could have all seven of my lambs’ pictures together, with Nat himself as a baby in the extra space. And now they’re all gone." Mrs. Smith burst into tears and covered her face with her voluminous apron. She sobbed loudly for several minutes, her great shoulders heaving, while Trixie tried to guess what had happened.
"What makes you think Mrs. Darnell took the locket?" she asked when Mrs. Smith’s sobs had subsided. "Have you accused her?"
"Accuse her?" Mrs. Smith demanded. "How can I accuse her when they sneaked out in the night and were gone without a trace when we woke up this morning?"
"Oh," Trixie gasped. "That’s terrible. Whatever made them run away?"
"I don’t know; I don’t know," Mrs. Smith moaned. "And if they just stopped here to steal from us, why didn’t they take the silver, too, and my teapot that’s filled to the brim with my egg money?" She reached up on a shelf above the table and brought down a larger pewter teapot that was literally crammed with bills and small change. "They both knew about this," she explained. "They saw me put five dollars in it when Lalla Stern came over to pay her bill. The chickens are mine, you see. Nat gave them to me as a present, and I pay for the feed and everything out of my egg money. I like to have a bit of cash that’s my very own, and I told Mrs. Darnell that. And now, will you tell me why she took that locket and left all this loose cash?"
Trixie shook her head. "Maybe she didn’t take it. Maybe you misplaced it."
Mrs. Smith placed her hands on her broad hips. "Do you think I look like the kind of woman who would misplace her babies’ pictures? No, after I showed the locket to Mrs. Darnell I put it right back on top of the highboy in the parlor where I always keep it because that’s where it catches the morning sun and looks so pretty gleaming against the shiny mahogany."
Trixie thought for a minute. Now was the time to tell Mrs. Smith what she should have told her yesterday—that the Darnell family had stolen their trailer. But was it necessary? "Have you notified the police?" she asked.
"I can’t," Mrs. Smith wailed. "In spite of what they did to me, I can’t bear to cause that poor family any more trouble. The frail little woman fainted yesterday after picking all those beans. And I think that’s why they left. She felt she was too sickly to earn her bed and board, although I’m sure she knew I didn’t want her to do a thing but get her strength back. I was fixing her a nice cup of hot tea when the little girl, Sally, came running in, chattering the way she always does.
" ‘Oh, Mommy,’ she said. ‘Guess what! When I was taking my nap, I looked out of the window, and I saw those girls riding away from here. You know, the ones that live in the big silver trailer with my black puppy.’ And that," Mrs. Smith finished, "was when Mrs. Darnell fainted. She turned as white as my apron and pitched forward into my arms." Mrs. Smith glanced sharply at Trixie. "You never told me you knew the Darnells, but Sally insists that Honey has her puppy." Trixie flushed. "We didn’t know it was the same family," she explained. "We thought it might be the one we parked beside at a trailer camp farther down the river. That’s why we asked you if their trailer was red. Remember?"
Mrs. Smith rocked back and forth, pursing her lips thoughtfully. "I do remember now. And what’s the story of the black puppy? Every time Sally mentions it her parents get very upset."
Trixie laughed. "Sally thinks all black puppies are hers because she had one once that died. She took Honey’s dog with her when they left the camp, and we didn’t get him back until we caught up with them at a picnic
"What makes you think Mrs. Darnell took the locket?" she asked when Mrs. Smith’s sobs had subsided. "Have you accused her?"
"Accuse her?" Mrs. Smith demanded. "How can I accuse her when they sneaked out in the night and were gone without a trace when we woke up this morning?"
"Oh," Trixie gasped. "That’s terrible. Whatever made them run away?"
"I don’t know; I don’t know," Mrs. Smith moaned. "And if they just stopped here to steal from us, why didn’t they take the silver, too, and my teapot that’s filled to the brim with my egg money?" She reached up on a shelf above the table and brought down a larger pewter teapot that was literally crammed with bills and small change. "They both knew about this," she explained. "They saw me put five dollars in it when Lalla Stern came over to pay her bill. The chickens are mine, you see. Nat gave them to me as a present, and I pay for the feed and everything out of my egg money. I like to have a bit of cash that’s my very own, and I told Mrs. Darnell that. And now, will you tell me why she took that locket and left all this loose cash?"
Trixie shook her head. "Maybe she didn’t take it. Maybe you misplaced it."
Mrs. Smith placed her hands on her broad hips. "Do you think I look like the kind of woman who would misplace her babies’ pictures? No, after I showed the locket to Mrs. Darnell I put it right back on top of the highboy in the parlor where I always keep it because that’s where it catches the morning sun and looks so pretty gleaming against the shiny mahogany."
Trixie thought for a minute. Now was the time to tell Mrs. Smith what she should have told her yesterday—that the Darnell family had stolen their trailer. But was it necessary? "Have you notified the police?" she asked.
"I can’t," Mrs. Smith wailed. "In spite of what they did to me, I can’t bear to cause that poor family any more trouble. The frail little woman fainted yesterday after picking all those beans. And I think that’s why they left. She felt she was too sickly to earn her bed and board, although I’m sure she knew I didn’t want her to do a thing but get her strength back. I was fixing her a nice cup of hot tea when the little girl, Sally, came running in, chattering the way she always does.
" ‘Oh, Mommy,’ she said. ‘Guess what! When I was taking my nap, I looked out of the window, and I saw those girls riding away from here. You know, the ones that live in the big silver trailer with my black puppy.’ And that," Mrs. Smith finished, "was when Mrs. Darnell fainted. She turned as white as my apron and pitched forward into my arms." Mrs. Smith glanced sharply at Trixie. "You never told me you knew the Darnells, but Sally insists that Honey has her puppy." Trixie flushed. "We didn’t know it was the same family," she explained. "We thought it might be the one we parked beside at a trailer camp farther down the river. That’s why we asked you if their trailer was red. Remember?"
Mrs. Smith rocked back and forth, pursing her lips thoughtfully. "I do remember now. And what’s the story of the black puppy? Every time Sally mentions it her parents get very upset."
Trixie laughed. "Sally thinks all black puppies are hers because she had one once that died. She took Honey’s dog with her when they left the camp, and we didn’t get him back until we caught up with them at a picnic
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