Bob-Whites are on the trail of another mystery,” Mr. Lynch said. “Am I right?”
“Well, maybe,” Trixie replied evasively. “They say old houses always have ghosts in them, you kaow. So who can tell what we might turn up?”
“Then I’ll be patient,” Di’s father said with a laugh. “I’ve seen how you all work too often to try to get any information out of you. Just be careful you don’t get into any trouble.”
“Oh, we won’t!” Jim reassured him. “Nothing could possibly happen to the Bob-Whites.”
As they were approaching Cliveden the next day, Trixie suggested they stop and see Lizzie.
“We can buy some stamps or candy or postcards,” she said, “and tell her we saw her old friend.”
“From what you and Mr. Carver said, I guess she’d welcome any business,” Honey commented, “and besides, I’d love to have a look at her. She sounds a little weird.”
“Well, I’ll admit that if she had a black cat and a broomstick, she could easily pass for a witch,” Trixie replied, “but she’s really only kind of pathetic.”
Brian, who today was taking his turn driving the station wagon, pulled up in front of the sagging stoop.
“All out and make it snappy,” Mart urged them. “I want to get to Green Trees.”
There was no sign of life around the place, and as Trixie neared the door, she saw a sign that she was quite sure had not been there before. On a large piece of cardboard, in crude letters, were the words: KNOCK ON THE DOOR FOR SERVICE. Trixie tried the door and found it locked tight.
“Jeepers! That’s funny,” she said. “I just walked in before. I wonder what’s up?”
“Maybe she’s afraid of shoplifters.” Mart chuckled. “Although, from your description of her merchandise, I can’t imagine who would want to lift anything.”
“Go ahead and knock, Trix,” Di urged impatiently. “We’ll never get to see Lizzie, just standing here.” Trixie gave a loud rap on the door. There was no response, so she knocked again as hard as she could. Then she pressed her nose against one of the small windows in the top of the door. Finally she made out the figure of Lizzie coming around the counter toward the door. The old woman peered out, and Trixie waved her hand, hoping Lizzie would remember her. She apparently did, for she unlocked the door. Poking her head out, she asked suspiciously, “Are all them friends of yours?”
“Yes, Miss James, all friends,” Trixie answered. “We need some stamps and postcards and things, and so we thought we’d stop and get them from you. We found the door locked. I hope we didn’t disturb you.” Lizzie didn’t answer, but she opened the door wide, and they all went in. It was then Trixie noticed that the old woman was carrying a short length of lead pipe.
“Gleeps!” she exclaimed, pretending to draw back in alarm. “What’s the matter, Miss James? You look as though you expected a burglar.”
“It's worse than that,” the old woman replied, locking the door behind her. “It’s that Jenkins man. He came around here yesterday with fire in his eye, asking me all sorts of questions about Rosewood Hall, and when I couldn’t tell him anything, he got even madder and did this here.” She pushed up the sleeve of her dress and revealed an ugly black and blue mark on her arm, where he had grabbed her.
“Oh, what a horrid thing to do!” Trixie exclaimed as the others gathered around. "Whatever did he want to know?”
“He raved on about hidden jewels and was sure I knew something about them,” Lizzie explained. “I guess if I knew where there was any hidden treasure, I wouldn’t be in this miserable town.”
“Have you ever heard any such stories?” Trixie asked.
“Oh, yes,” Lizzie replied. “Everybody’s heard about the lost emeralds, but no one believes they’re still at Rosewood. I believe the Yankees stole them, before they burned the house down, along with everything else they could get their hands
“Well, maybe,” Trixie replied evasively. “They say old houses always have ghosts in them, you kaow. So who can tell what we might turn up?”
“Then I’ll be patient,” Di’s father said with a laugh. “I’ve seen how you all work too often to try to get any information out of you. Just be careful you don’t get into any trouble.”
“Oh, we won’t!” Jim reassured him. “Nothing could possibly happen to the Bob-Whites.”
As they were approaching Cliveden the next day, Trixie suggested they stop and see Lizzie.
“We can buy some stamps or candy or postcards,” she said, “and tell her we saw her old friend.”
“From what you and Mr. Carver said, I guess she’d welcome any business,” Honey commented, “and besides, I’d love to have a look at her. She sounds a little weird.”
“Well, I’ll admit that if she had a black cat and a broomstick, she could easily pass for a witch,” Trixie replied, “but she’s really only kind of pathetic.”
Brian, who today was taking his turn driving the station wagon, pulled up in front of the sagging stoop.
“All out and make it snappy,” Mart urged them. “I want to get to Green Trees.”
There was no sign of life around the place, and as Trixie neared the door, she saw a sign that she was quite sure had not been there before. On a large piece of cardboard, in crude letters, were the words: KNOCK ON THE DOOR FOR SERVICE. Trixie tried the door and found it locked tight.
“Jeepers! That’s funny,” she said. “I just walked in before. I wonder what’s up?”
“Maybe she’s afraid of shoplifters.” Mart chuckled. “Although, from your description of her merchandise, I can’t imagine who would want to lift anything.”
“Go ahead and knock, Trix,” Di urged impatiently. “We’ll never get to see Lizzie, just standing here.” Trixie gave a loud rap on the door. There was no response, so she knocked again as hard as she could. Then she pressed her nose against one of the small windows in the top of the door. Finally she made out the figure of Lizzie coming around the counter toward the door. The old woman peered out, and Trixie waved her hand, hoping Lizzie would remember her. She apparently did, for she unlocked the door. Poking her head out, she asked suspiciously, “Are all them friends of yours?”
“Yes, Miss James, all friends,” Trixie answered. “We need some stamps and postcards and things, and so we thought we’d stop and get them from you. We found the door locked. I hope we didn’t disturb you.” Lizzie didn’t answer, but she opened the door wide, and they all went in. It was then Trixie noticed that the old woman was carrying a short length of lead pipe.
“Gleeps!” she exclaimed, pretending to draw back in alarm. “What’s the matter, Miss James? You look as though you expected a burglar.”
“It's worse than that,” the old woman replied, locking the door behind her. “It’s that Jenkins man. He came around here yesterday with fire in his eye, asking me all sorts of questions about Rosewood Hall, and when I couldn’t tell him anything, he got even madder and did this here.” She pushed up the sleeve of her dress and revealed an ugly black and blue mark on her arm, where he had grabbed her.
“Oh, what a horrid thing to do!” Trixie exclaimed as the others gathered around. "Whatever did he want to know?”
“He raved on about hidden jewels and was sure I knew something about them,” Lizzie explained. “I guess if I knew where there was any hidden treasure, I wouldn’t be in this miserable town.”
“Have you ever heard any such stories?” Trixie asked.
“Oh, yes,” Lizzie replied. “Everybody’s heard about the lost emeralds, but no one believes they’re still at Rosewood. I believe the Yankees stole them, before they burned the house down, along with everything else they could get their hands
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