ground." Trixie suddenly sobered. "Do you know what I think? I think Sally took your locket. She may have thought the babies’ faces in it were her brother and sister. Baby pictures do look pretty much alike, you know."
"Impossible," Mrs. Smith declared. "She couldn’t have reached up to the top of that highboy."
"She could have pushed something over and stood on it," Trixie argued.
Mrs. Smith smiled for the first time that morning. "You don’t know my parlor. There’s not a stick of furniture in it that a child of six could so much as budge. They’re all massive mahogany pieces that belonged to Nat’s parents." She heaved herself to her feet. "Come on. Look for yourself."
Trixie followed her hostess down a long hall to an enormous room that ran from one end of the house to the other. It was crowded with early Victorian furniture, and Trixie had to admit that she herself would have a hard time moving any of it.
Mrs. Smith slapped at a wasp. "I air the room every morning," she said, "and Nat hasn’t put the screens up yet, although I nag at him to do it all day long. I was telling Mrs. Darnell when I showed her the locket yesterday morning that now Nat had somebody to help him with the beans, I hoped he’d have time to do some chores around the house." She sighed. "Such a grand worker that Darnell man was, too. And I’d already grown to love the children. If only they’d stayed with us, I would have cheerfully given Mrs. Darnell that locket, after I’d taken my lambs’ pictures out, of course."
Trixie was staring through the glass doors of a ceiling-high corner cabinet. Some of the heavy antique silver on display looked as though it belonged in a museum. "Is this cabinet locked?" she asked.
"Heavens, no," Mrs. Smith told her. "Nat and I never lock up anything. And in spite of all the tramps I’ve fed and sent away again in warm clothing, we’ve never before had a single, solitary thing stolen." She sank down on a tapestry-upholstered sofa. "I suppose I should notify the police, but somehow I keep hoping that family will come back. Mr. Darnell was very worried about that trailer. He only borrowed it until he was able to get steady work on a farm where his family could live. But he as good as promised Nat he wouldn’t return it until the beans were in. Do you think they might have borrowed that locket and pawned it, planning to redeem it later? I mean, to cover their expenses while they returned the trailer?"
Maybe that is the answer, Trixie thought. "If they ‘borrowed’ the trailer, why not a piece of jewelry, too?" she wondered out loud and then bit her lip. She mustn’t let Mrs. Smith guess now that the Robin had been stolen. Borrowing without permission amounted to practically the same thing as stealing. But if Mr. Darnell, assured of a job and a home for his family, was returning the trailer to its rightful owner, shouldn’t he be given a chance to correct his original mistake?
I can't give him away now. Trixie silenced her conscience. On top of the locket’s disappearance, even kindhearted Mrs. Smith would feel she had to notify the police, and even if she didn’t, Mr. Smith would never give Mr. Darnell his job back.
Trixie looked up suddenly and realized that Mrs. Smith’s sharp black eyes had been trying to read her mind. She felt her cheeks grow hot, and for a moment she was tempted to blurt out the whole story and leave the decision up to someone else. But before she could open her mouth, Mrs. Smith said soothingly, "Now, now, dearie, you mustn’t worry any more about my troubles. You’ve cheered me up so I think I can get through the day. I’ll keep right on believing the Darnells just borrowed my album locket and that they’ll bring it back soon."
"But what about the bean crop?" Trixie asked, anxious to change the subject. "Is Mr. Smith down in the garden trying to pick them all by himself?"
"Heavens, no," Mrs. Smith said as she led the way back to the kitchen. "They’d be
"Impossible," Mrs. Smith declared. "She couldn’t have reached up to the top of that highboy."
"She could have pushed something over and stood on it," Trixie argued.
Mrs. Smith smiled for the first time that morning. "You don’t know my parlor. There’s not a stick of furniture in it that a child of six could so much as budge. They’re all massive mahogany pieces that belonged to Nat’s parents." She heaved herself to her feet. "Come on. Look for yourself."
Trixie followed her hostess down a long hall to an enormous room that ran from one end of the house to the other. It was crowded with early Victorian furniture, and Trixie had to admit that she herself would have a hard time moving any of it.
Mrs. Smith slapped at a wasp. "I air the room every morning," she said, "and Nat hasn’t put the screens up yet, although I nag at him to do it all day long. I was telling Mrs. Darnell when I showed her the locket yesterday morning that now Nat had somebody to help him with the beans, I hoped he’d have time to do some chores around the house." She sighed. "Such a grand worker that Darnell man was, too. And I’d already grown to love the children. If only they’d stayed with us, I would have cheerfully given Mrs. Darnell that locket, after I’d taken my lambs’ pictures out, of course."
Trixie was staring through the glass doors of a ceiling-high corner cabinet. Some of the heavy antique silver on display looked as though it belonged in a museum. "Is this cabinet locked?" she asked.
"Heavens, no," Mrs. Smith told her. "Nat and I never lock up anything. And in spite of all the tramps I’ve fed and sent away again in warm clothing, we’ve never before had a single, solitary thing stolen." She sank down on a tapestry-upholstered sofa. "I suppose I should notify the police, but somehow I keep hoping that family will come back. Mr. Darnell was very worried about that trailer. He only borrowed it until he was able to get steady work on a farm where his family could live. But he as good as promised Nat he wouldn’t return it until the beans were in. Do you think they might have borrowed that locket and pawned it, planning to redeem it later? I mean, to cover their expenses while they returned the trailer?"
Maybe that is the answer, Trixie thought. "If they ‘borrowed’ the trailer, why not a piece of jewelry, too?" she wondered out loud and then bit her lip. She mustn’t let Mrs. Smith guess now that the Robin had been stolen. Borrowing without permission amounted to practically the same thing as stealing. But if Mr. Darnell, assured of a job and a home for his family, was returning the trailer to its rightful owner, shouldn’t he be given a chance to correct his original mistake?
I can't give him away now. Trixie silenced her conscience. On top of the locket’s disappearance, even kindhearted Mrs. Smith would feel she had to notify the police, and even if she didn’t, Mr. Smith would never give Mr. Darnell his job back.
Trixie looked up suddenly and realized that Mrs. Smith’s sharp black eyes had been trying to read her mind. She felt her cheeks grow hot, and for a moment she was tempted to blurt out the whole story and leave the decision up to someone else. But before she could open her mouth, Mrs. Smith said soothingly, "Now, now, dearie, you mustn’t worry any more about my troubles. You’ve cheered me up so I think I can get through the day. I’ll keep right on believing the Darnells just borrowed my album locket and that they’ll bring it back soon."
"But what about the bean crop?" Trixie asked, anxious to change the subject. "Is Mr. Smith down in the garden trying to pick them all by himself?"
"Heavens, no," Mrs. Smith said as she led the way back to the kitchen. "They’d be
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