The Secret of the Mansion

by Julie Campbell

  "Oh, please, Trixie," Honey pleaded. "Let's go home. She may come back any minute."

  Trixie burst into laughter. "Don't be such a fraidy cat, Honey. She wouldn't have come near us if she hadn't thought we were after her eggs. She must have a nest somewhere around here, and she won't come near this spot again for a long time for fear we might find where it's hidden."

  She led the way across the clearing. "Come on, let's peek through a window." Honey followed reluctantly. There was something so gloomy and forbidding about the weather-beaten old house that even Trixie found herself whispering as they approached it. The downstairs windows were almost as dirty as the upstairs ones, and she had to wipe a spot on the glass in order to peer inside. "Honey," she said, "this must have been the dining-room, once. Look at that sideboard-it's white with mold, and did you ever see so much junk in all your life?"

  The room was piled high with yellowed newspapers, tin cans, and cardboard cartons of every description. Stacked on the sideboard, table, and chairs were dirty bottles and jars of all sizes and shapes.

  "I'll bet all those boxes and cans and jars are full of money," Trixie said in an awed voice. "I wish we dared go inside." Honey shuddered. "I wouldn't go in there for anything in the world. It's probably full of spiders and rats. And this is the very window where I saw a face early this morning."

  Trixie stared thoughtfully. "Did you really and truly see someone, Honey? Are you sure you weren't just imagining?"

  "Cross my heart and hope to die," Honey said. "Someone or something was staring at Daddy and me as we rode away."

  "It might have been a tramp," Trixie said slowly. "And one way to find out is to see if any of the doors or windows are unlocked. If they are, we ought to lock them to make sure nobody breaks in here while Mr. Frayne is in the hospital."

  She ran up the rickety front steps, which sagged dangerously beneath her weight, and twisted the doorknob back and forth. "That's locked," she said as she jumped off the porch. "Let's check the windows."

  The front windows were all either locked or warped out of shape, but the first one Trixie tried on the east side of the house opened rather easily. "I'll have to go in and lock it from the inside," she said, climbing over the ledge.

  "Then how will you get out again?" Honey demanded.

  "The key to the back door is probably in the lock," Trixie said. "After I've checked all the windows, I'll let myself out that way, then lock the back door from the outside and give Dad the key to keep for Mr. Frayne. Come on in and help me."

  "I don't think we ought to go in," Honey said nervously. "As you said yourself, it's against the law."

  "I'm not breaking any law," Trixie said exasperatedly. "I'm only doing what any neighbor would do for another. If Mr. Frayne were conscious, he'd probably ask us to make sure his house was all locked up."

  Something scuttled across the floor as Trixie jumped down from the window sill. "Nothing but a field mouse," she told Honey, with a mischievous grin. "He's more scared of us than you are of him. But you'd better climb inside. That hen might come back any minute."

  Honey glanced fearfully over her shoulder. "I guess you're right," she said. "It wouldn't be neighborly to leave the place unlocked." She swung herself gingerly through the window. "But suppose that face I saw belonged to a tramp," she whispered. "And suppose the tramp is still here?"

  Trixie shrugged. "Then we'll tell him to get out or we'll call the police. Come on, let's be sure the key is in the back door before we check the windows."

  This room, which had once been the luxurious study, was as cluttered as the dining-room. The pictures and prints on the walls were thickly coated with dust, and a barricade of barrels blocked the other windows.

  The huge roll-top desk was fuzzy with mold, and mice had obviously been nesting in the upholstery of the leather-covered sofa. A green fly droned monotonously against a windowpane, but there was no other sound to break the eerie, empty silence of the old house. It was like the threatening hush that comes before a thunderstorm. The girls picked their way across the room, walking on tiptoe, hardly daring to whisper. At the entrance to the next room, Trixie stopped with a gasp of surprise.

  The enormous paneled living-room was filled with debris, and lying sound asleep on an old mattress in the middle of the floor was a tall, redheaded boy. Close beside him was a shotgun, and near his head was a silver christening mug that gleamed in the sunlight which poured in through an open window.

  Honey pointed a trembling finger at the boy. "That must be the face I saw this morning," she whispered. Trixie looked at her blankly. "At least, it wasn't a ghost," she giggled. "But who in the world can he be? He must be about Brian's age-fifteen, don't you think?" Honey nodded. "I'm scared. Suppose he wakes up and finds us here? He might shoot us with that awful looking gun."

  Trixie was not at all sure that the boy wouldn't do just that, but she took a cautious step forward, hoping to read the inscription on the silver mug. The floor board creaked suddenly, startling her so that she lost her balance and clutched at the stack of mildewed books. The pile swayed for a minute in midair, then the books toppled to the floor with a loud crash.

  The girls stood frozen in their tracks as the boy woke up in a flash and grabbed the gun. There was no sign of friendliness on the boy's freckled face, and his green eyes were dark with suspicion.

  Honey found her voice first. "Oh, please, don't shoot us," she almost sobbed. "We didn't mean to spy on you. Really we didn't."

  The boy frowned and set his jaw. "What are you doing here?" he demanded sullenly. "You have no business in this house."

  Trixie came out of her shocked trance then. "Neither

  have you," she said hotly. "This place belongs to Mr. James Winthrop Frayne, our neighbor. My father took him to the hospital this morning. We were just checking to be sure all the doors and windows were locked. But

  you," she finished tartly, "seem to have moved right in."

  The boy got slowly to his feet, still clutching the "Tun. The hospital?" he repeated dazedly. "Where and why?"

  "The Sleepyside Hospital," Trixie told him. "He's got pneumonia and he's half-starved, too. Not," she added, "that it's any of your business, but the doctors don't think he'll get well."

  The boy's broad shoulders drooped disconsolately as he carefully laid the gun on the mattress at his heels. "I thought he was dead," he said, more to himself than to the girls. "When I got here this morning and found the place deserted and filled with junk, I figured Uncle James must have died a long time ago."

  "Uncle James!" Trixie and Honey stared at him, wide-eyed. "Was-is- Mr. Frayne your uncle?"

  For answer the boy reached down and picked up the silver cup. He held it out so that Trixie could see the engraving. She read the words out loud in an astonished voice: "James Winthrop Frayne II."

  "My great-uncle," the boy explained. "I walked most of the way from Albany to find him. But I guess I got here too late." He shrugged. "Well, I'll stick around for a while, anyway. There's a vegetable garden in the back and plenty of chickens and rabbits and squirrels. And," he went on in a sullen, threatening voice, "if you girls tell anyone I'm here, I'll fix you good."

  "We're not tattletales," Trixie cried indignantly in protest.

  "But what about your father and mother?" Honey asked. "Won't they worry about you?"

  "I haven't any family except Uncle James," the boy told her in a still more sullen voice. "I've got a stepfather, if you can call him that. I call him Simon Legree, myself. And if he finds out where I am, he'll drag me back to his farm and beat me and make me slave from morning till night without pay." Tensely, he wound his strong fingers around the silver mug. "I tell you, I won't go back and nobody's going to make me. See?"

  Timidly, almost tearfully, Honey burst out with: "Of course you don't have to go back. You can come home and live with my family. My father'll adopt you. I've always wanted a brother, and Daddy's got lots of money so you can have a horse and a dog and anything else you want. Nob
ody'll ever beat you again."

  "Don't be silly," Trixie interrupted. "He can stay at our house where he'll have brothers about the same age. I've got three of them," she grinned. "The youngest one is an awful pest, but Brian and Mart are swell. And my mother and father are just wonderful."

  The boy laughed sarcastically. "Gee, you two are funny," he sneered. "Arguing about who's going to have me. Stop your kidding! One would think you really meant it."

  "I do mean it," Trixie and Honey cried together, and then they laughed, too.

  "I believe you do," he said, sobering slowly, and all of the tense stubbornness seemed to ebb out of him. "Nobody's been nice to me since my mother died two years ago, and I guess I've forgotten how to act with decent people." He held out his right hand. "Shake," he said. "My name's Jim. What's yours?"

  Solemnly, the girls shook hands with him in turn and introduced themselves.

  "I'm Trixie Belden, and I live down there at Crabapple Farm," Trixie said.

  "And I'm Honey Wheeler, and I just moved into the large house on the hill," Honey added.

  "Well," Jim said, "I'd sure like to be adopted by both of you, but it's impossible. Jonesy-that's my stepfather-is my legal guardian, and he'll never let anybody take his place. You see," he went on as the three of them sat down on the old mattress, "when I was born, my father's Uncle James sent me this mug; and at the same time, he wrote Mother and Dad that he and Aunt Nell were naming me in their wills as their sole heir.

  Shortly after that Aunt Nell died, and Mother never heard from him again; but she always told me that some day I'd inherit about half a million dollars, and Jonesy thinks he's going to have control of it when Uncle James dies." He glanced ruefully around the cluttered room. "It looks like I'm going to inherit nothing but a lot of old junk, doesn't it?"

  "Don't be too sure of that," Trixie cried excitedly. "A lot of people think there's a fortune hidden in this old house."

  "That's impossible, Trixie," Honey declared emphatically. "Nobody who had any money would live in such an untidy place."

  "That's right," Jim agreed. "Uncle James must have lost all his money in bad investments. But Jonesy doesn't think so. You see, he snooped around in Sleepyside right after Mother died and heard the same story that there's a fortune in this old mansion, somewhere. He's just waiting until Uncle James dies so he can get his hands on it. I'll never see a penny of it."

  "He sounds like an awful person," Honey said, tears of sympathy welling up in her hazel eyes. "Did he really beat you, Jim?"

  "Sure," Jim said nonchalantly. "But I didn't mind that so much. Of course, he never did while Mother was alive. He really loved her, and I guess she loved him. She was never very strong," he continued, his green eyes dark with sorrow, "and Jonesy was always very gentle with her. I hated him from the beginning, and I know he felt the same way about me; but we never let Mother know how we felt. It would have broken her heart."

  Trixie didn't dare look at Honey, because she knew she would burst into tears if she did. "Is your father dead, too, Jim?" she asked quietly.

  "Yes." He stared out of the window for a minute, and the sun glinted in the gold lights in his bright red hair. "You know what?" he asked suddenly. "Some day, I'm going to own a great big all-year-round camp for kids who haven't any fathers of their own. I'm going to run it so they can study lessons and learn a trade at the same time that I teach them how to swim and box and shoot

  and ride and skate. They're going to know how to live in the woods and understand all kinds of wild animals. My dad taught me to---" He stopped, his freckled face flushed with embarrassment. "I guess this sounds pretty funny to you. Me shooting off like this in a broken-down old house without even a cent to my name!"

  "It doesn't sound funny at all!" Trixie broke in. "It sounds great. I bet you will do it some day, too, Jim."

  "I bet you do, too," Honey echoed. "I'd like to go to a camp like that instead of the dull ones I went to."

  Jim spread his hands hopelessly. "Well, I've got a long way to go. That's what Jonesy and I fought about mostly. Last summer and this, I wanted to apply at one of those big, upstate boys' camps for a job as junior counselor or junior athletic instructor. I'm pretty good at most sports, and when Dad was alive-" He stopped for a second as though it hurt him even to think about his father. "He taught me a lot about woodcraft. But Jonesy wouldn't let me get any job at all. I think he was afraid if I proved I could support myself, I'd run away. So he made me work on his truck farm without pay."

  "Boy, he is a Simon Legree," Trixie breathed excitedly.

  Jim nodded in agreement. "We had a heck of an argument when school closed, and day before yesterday, I guess that was Wednesday, I decided to try to find Uncle James and see if he'd help me. I hitchhiked part of the way and walked the rest, sleeping in the woods, because I didn't have any money, you know. I wasn't sure exactly where my uncle lived, and I didn't dare ask anybody, but by luck, this morning, as I was walking along the road, I noticed the faded letters on the mailbox at the foot of the driveway. I remembered that Mother had said his place was called Ten Acres, so I came up here." He grinned. "I tell you, I was pretty disappointed when nobody answered my knock, and I saw how rundown the place was. But I was so tired I climbed in through the window and flopped down on this old mattress. So, here I am."

  "Golly," Trixie gasped. "Haven't you had anything to eat since Wednesday?"

  He shook his head. "A few berries I found, that's all."

  Honey scrambled to her feet. "We'll go right home now and get you something. You must be starving."

  "I could do with a little something," he confessed, patting his stomach. "I planned to shoot a rabbit and roast it on an outdoor spit; but, now that you mention it, I'm so hungry I doubt if I could wait long enough to skin and clean it."

  "I'll be right back," Trixie declared, starting for the window. "My house is just down in the hollow over there."

  "Hold on," Jim called out. "How're you going to get food out of the house without someone getting suspicious?"

  "Oh, oh," Trixie admitted. "I never thought about that."

  "I know," Honey broke in, "I'll tell Miss Trask we want to have a picnic in the woods. The cook'll pack up enough food for a regiment, and we can bring it up here and have our lunch with Jim."

  "Wonderful!" Trixie reached into a back pocket and produced a crushed, half-melted candy bar. "Will this keep you going till then, Jim?" she asked, offering the candy.

  Jim wolfed down the chocolate and unashamedly licked the paper clean. "Thanks," he began and then stopped as the neigh of a frightened horse broke the Stillness of the outside air. The three of them rushed to the Open window, and, over the top of the hedge, they could see Lady and Strawberry rearing and plunging in fright.

  Something was crashing wildly in the underbrush, something that was apparently caught in the tangled vines of the thicket. Jim turned back swiftly for the gun and vaulted through the window. Trixie hesitated a moment, then followed. Just as she got near the hedge, whatever it was broke free and dashed away through the woods.

  "What was it?" Trixie panted as she reached Jim's side. "Did you see it?"

  Jim had raised the shotgun to his shoulder and was sighting along the barrel. "It was a dog," he said as he slowly lowered the gun. "Wish I could have shot it." "Shot it?" Trixie was aghast. "You wouldn't shoot a poor helpless dog, Jim Frayne, just because it frightened the horses?"

  Jim shook his head. "It looked like a mad dog to me," he said soberly. "I'm almost sure I saw foam dripping from its muzzle."

  Just then a child screamed from the depths of the woods. The helpless scream came again, and Trixie heard her name called in a high-pitched, terrified voice.

  She felt her knees buckle under her. "It's Bobby," she gasped. "Bobby, alone in the woods with a mad dog!"

  The Brass Key

  Somehow Trixie's trembling legs carried her through the thicket. She raced along the bridle path, tripping and stumbling and shouting, "Bobby, Bobby!"
at the top of her lungs. And then she saw him, and as relief flooded over her, rage took its place, for Bobby was sitting calmly under a tree, grinning from ear to ear.

  "Bobby Belden!" she gasped. "What do you mean by screaming like that when nothing's wrong with you?" He tossed his silky curls. I couldn't find you, and I want to 'splore, too. So I screamed. I knew you'd come if I screamed."

  Trixie put out her arms to shake him, but then, because she really was so glad he was safe, she pulled him to her instead and hugged him tightly. "You're a bad boy, Bobby," she scolded. "Did you run away from Miss Trask?"

  Bobby laid his cheek against hers, all innocence. "No, I got hungry, so I told her I had to go home for lunch. I did go home, too, but Mummy said it wasn't quite ready; so I came up here, 'cause I saw the horses.

  But then when I got here, I couldn't see the horses any more." His blue eyes clouded, and Trixie realized with a tug at her heartstrings that the little boy really had been frightened. "I guess I got sort of losted," he admitted, it and I was so tired, after climbing up the hill, I just sat down and screamed." He grinned suddenly. "Hey, who was that running behind you, and why did he sneak away when he saw me?"

  Then Trixie knew that Jim must have followed her, but, seeing that Bobby was safe, he had slipped away. Bobby, she decided, must never guess Jim's secret, because Bobby could never keep any secret at all. "It must have been Honey," she said quickly. "She went to get the horses, I guess."

  At that moment, Honey appeared, riding Strawberry and leading Lady. "You don't have to come back to the stable with me, Trixie," she said. "Ji-"

  Trixie held up a warning finger. Honey flushed. "I hear that if a dog is mad, it always runs across country in a straight line," she finished. "So we don't have to worry about its coming back."

  "Well, that's good." Trixie took Bobby by the hand. "You've got to go home for your lunch now," she told him firmly. "See you later, Honey."