The Mysterious Code

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things!”
    “There are some
pieces in the lean-to kitchen, too,” Mrs. Vanderpoel went on. “I’ve been
wondering what to do with them. They need a touch here and there to repair
them, and, from what you tell me, Brian and Mart and Jim can do that. Brom
would do it if he could, but he’s forgetful.”
    “I’ve never seen him
before,” Trixie said. “I’ve heard of him, though, but I didn’t think he was
real. People say he’s another Rip Van Winkle.”
    “He lives in a small
cottage on the property that used to belong to his family, a very old Dutch
family, older than my own. The wooded land is part of Mr. Wheeler’s game
preserve now. He is so proud he never asks for anything. Sometimes, when he
gets hungry, he comes to my door. I am proud to be able to offer him my
hospitality.”
    As she finished
talking, they walked back to the kitchen. Bobby was sitting on Brom’s knee. The
old man’s arm was tight around him. Bobby seemed to be his dear newfound
friend.
    “Mr. Brom knows the
wonderfulest stories,” Bobby explained, “about witches an’—well, one witch
anyway. Mr. Brom is goin’ to come and see me someday.”
    “Then you really are his friend, Bobby,” Mrs. Vanderpoel said.
    “Please do come to
see us,” Trixie said. “We’d all love to have you come, Mr. Brom.” Through the
window Trixie could see the snow. “It’s snowing hard, Mrs. Vanderpoel,” she
said. “I think Bobby and I had better start home. Do you think we could take
the lap desk on the sled? I want
    Mart to see it, and
the rest of the Bob-Whites. Maybe I should wait till later.”
    “No, go right ahead
and take it, Trixie. Brom, do you think you could carry it out to the sled for
Trixie?”
    The old man jumped
up quickly. “I’ll call that young man who’s shoveling the walk to help you
settle it on the sled,” Mrs. Vanderpoel said to Brom. “Young man, come here,
please!” she said as she opened the door.
    “Now, Trixie, come,
and I’ll show you the things in the lean-to shed—just a once-over look, so
you’ll know what to tell the boys,” Mrs. Vanderpoel said.
    “You be careful of
that desk, now,” Bobby warned the big boy as he lowered Mrs. Vanderpoel’s gift
onto Bobby’s lap. “It’s a andteek for the Bob-Whites to sell at their show.”
    “For how much?” the
big boy asked.
    “About a hunnerd
dollars, I guess,” Bobby boasted. “An that’s not all. There’s lots of other
things Mrs. Vanderpoel’s goin’ to let the Bob-Whites take for their show next
month. They’re worth zillions of dollars.”
    Old Brom bent down
and rubbed his hand over the oak desk. “It’s pretty,” he said.
    “Yeah,” the big boy
said thoughtfully. “Yeah, it is, now, ain’t it?” He propped the snow shovel
against a tree and ran off across the yard and into the woods.
    It was snowing
heavily, but Trixie started off briskly on the mile journey home. It was
drifting on the wood path, but she knew the going would be better when she
reached Glen Road.
    “Sing me a song,
Trixie,” Bobby said. “This desk is sorta heavy.”
    “Pull it up farther
on your lap, Bobby,” Trixie said, “over your knees.”
    Then she sang at the
top of her voice, “Over the river and through the woods....” Bobby joined in
the chorus. It was silent and near dark in the big woods, and their voices
echoed back.
    “That’s enough of
that singing!” a voice called out to them, and Trixie stopped, frozen in
fright. Three men came through the undergrowth and stopped in her path. Their
faces were covered with stocking tops drawn tight to distort their features.
    Bobby thought it was
great fun. “Robbers!” he cried. “I’ll get you!” He made a snowball to throw at
them.
    “Cut it out, kid!”
one of the men said. “We ain’t playin’. We mean business.”
    As he spoke, the
other two seized the sled, upset the desk and Bobby, then dragged the sled and
desk off through the woods.
    “I couldn’t hold
onto it, Trixie,” Bobby

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