shoulder to see what’s behind me. It’s horrid, and I suppose it’s just because I’m such a sissy, but—"
"You’re not a sissy," Trixie broke in. "I wish you’d stop saying that all the time. I think you’re great. Honest. I never heard of anyone going down such a steep hill on a bike the very first day, and the way you swam after that boat when your knees must have been knocking together the way mine were. By the way," she finished, "how is that knee of yours?"
"Oh, oh," Honey said. "I forgot to put another bandage on it after we went in swimming."
"Well, don’t forget to put one on tomorrow morning," Trixie said as she stopped at the mailbox at the end of the driveway. "And you’d better wear a knee-pad, too, if we’re going in for the papers."
Bobby was well enough to sit up and play checkers with his father on Sunday morning. "Hurry up and bring back the funnies," he ordered Trixie from the window as she and Honey set off for the store on their bikes.
The girls stopped long enough at the little Glen Road store to examine the New York papers thoroughly, and they were relieved to find no mention in them of old Mr. Frayne. Trixie introduced Honey to the storekeeper.
"Her family just bought the Manor House on the hill above ours, Mr. Lytell," she explained.
"Is that so?" Mr. Lytell pushed his glasses farther up his nose. "Hear your other neighbor, Mr. Frayne, is pretty sick, Trixie."
"I guess he’s dying," Trixie said and moved away. "Just a minute." The storekeeper came out from behind the counter. "You girls had better pick up a stick on the way home. There’s a stray dog loose around here. A mean-looking cur. Saw him early the other morning when I was riding my old nag through the woods across the road from your place, Trixie. Saw something else, too." He took off his glasses and began polishing them with his handkerchief. "Smoke rising from the Mansion. You girls aren’t fooling around up there building campfires, are you? That old wreck would burn like dry timber if it caught fire."
He looked up suddenly, and Trixie knew her face was bright red. "Oh, no, Mr. Lytell," she said hastily. "I wouldn’t light a match anywhere in the woods or fields after the fire we had summer before last."
He looked at her suspiciously and grunted. "Smoke doesn’t rise by itself."
"Whew!" Trixie gasped as they got on their bikes. "I forgot all about Mr. Lytell. We’d better warn Jim not to build any more fires."
"Its lucky he thought it was us," Honey said. "Otherwise, he might have investigated and discovered Jim."
They coasted down the hill to the Belden driveway, Trixie riding no hands, no feet "At the rate you’re going, you’ll be doing this yourself as soon as your knee heals," she told Honey.
"Well, I’m not going to try it for a long time," Honey said. "So much happened yesterday I’m beginning to think it must have been Friday the thirteenth." She waited in the garage where they parked their bikes while Trixie brought the papers down to the terrace where Mr. and Mrs. Belden were having coffee.
"I’ll take the comics up to Bobby," she said. "Then can I fool around with Honey till lunchtime?"
Mrs. Belden nodded. "It’s much too hot to work in the garden."
"You’ve been doing a good job with the chickens, Trixie," her father said. "And you deserve a day off; but I’d like to take your mother for a drive this afternoon, so will you sit with Bobby?"
"Sure, Dad." Trixie hurried into the house and upstairs.
Bobby was blowing bubbles through a straw into his grape juice, but he handed the glass to Trixie and pounced upon the comics.
As she was leaving the room, Trixie picked up the flashlight which was on top of the bookshelf.
"Hey!" Bobby howled. "Where’re you going with my flashlight? You put that right back, Trixie Belden. You wouldn’t let me play with the one you got for your birthday, so I won t let you play with mine."
"It’s not yours," Trixie said impatiently. "It’s Dad’s.
"You’re not a sissy," Trixie broke in. "I wish you’d stop saying that all the time. I think you’re great. Honest. I never heard of anyone going down such a steep hill on a bike the very first day, and the way you swam after that boat when your knees must have been knocking together the way mine were. By the way," she finished, "how is that knee of yours?"
"Oh, oh," Honey said. "I forgot to put another bandage on it after we went in swimming."
"Well, don’t forget to put one on tomorrow morning," Trixie said as she stopped at the mailbox at the end of the driveway. "And you’d better wear a knee-pad, too, if we’re going in for the papers."
Bobby was well enough to sit up and play checkers with his father on Sunday morning. "Hurry up and bring back the funnies," he ordered Trixie from the window as she and Honey set off for the store on their bikes.
The girls stopped long enough at the little Glen Road store to examine the New York papers thoroughly, and they were relieved to find no mention in them of old Mr. Frayne. Trixie introduced Honey to the storekeeper.
"Her family just bought the Manor House on the hill above ours, Mr. Lytell," she explained.
"Is that so?" Mr. Lytell pushed his glasses farther up his nose. "Hear your other neighbor, Mr. Frayne, is pretty sick, Trixie."
"I guess he’s dying," Trixie said and moved away. "Just a minute." The storekeeper came out from behind the counter. "You girls had better pick up a stick on the way home. There’s a stray dog loose around here. A mean-looking cur. Saw him early the other morning when I was riding my old nag through the woods across the road from your place, Trixie. Saw something else, too." He took off his glasses and began polishing them with his handkerchief. "Smoke rising from the Mansion. You girls aren’t fooling around up there building campfires, are you? That old wreck would burn like dry timber if it caught fire."
He looked up suddenly, and Trixie knew her face was bright red. "Oh, no, Mr. Lytell," she said hastily. "I wouldn’t light a match anywhere in the woods or fields after the fire we had summer before last."
He looked at her suspiciously and grunted. "Smoke doesn’t rise by itself."
"Whew!" Trixie gasped as they got on their bikes. "I forgot all about Mr. Lytell. We’d better warn Jim not to build any more fires."
"Its lucky he thought it was us," Honey said. "Otherwise, he might have investigated and discovered Jim."
They coasted down the hill to the Belden driveway, Trixie riding no hands, no feet "At the rate you’re going, you’ll be doing this yourself as soon as your knee heals," she told Honey.
"Well, I’m not going to try it for a long time," Honey said. "So much happened yesterday I’m beginning to think it must have been Friday the thirteenth." She waited in the garage where they parked their bikes while Trixie brought the papers down to the terrace where Mr. and Mrs. Belden were having coffee.
"I’ll take the comics up to Bobby," she said. "Then can I fool around with Honey till lunchtime?"
Mrs. Belden nodded. "It’s much too hot to work in the garden."
"You’ve been doing a good job with the chickens, Trixie," her father said. "And you deserve a day off; but I’d like to take your mother for a drive this afternoon, so will you sit with Bobby?"
"Sure, Dad." Trixie hurried into the house and upstairs.
Bobby was blowing bubbles through a straw into his grape juice, but he handed the glass to Trixie and pounced upon the comics.
As she was leaving the room, Trixie picked up the flashlight which was on top of the bookshelf.
"Hey!" Bobby howled. "Where’re you going with my flashlight? You put that right back, Trixie Belden. You wouldn’t let me play with the one you got for your birthday, so I won t let you play with mine."
"It’s not yours," Trixie said impatiently. "It’s Dad’s.
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