Chapter 1

A Search Begins

Trixie saw her father’s car turn into the driveway from Glen Road, and she raced out of the back door to stop him before he reached the garage.

“Dad! Dad!” she shouted. “We’re going on a trailer trip, Honey Wheeler and I, with her governess, Miss Trask, to try and find Jim Frayne who has run away again.”

Mr. Belden stopped the car by the steps leading to the back terrace. He leaned out of the window, smiling, but there was a puzzled frown on his face too. “What on earth are you talking about, Trixie? Who is Jim Frayne?”

Trixie put her arm on the car door. “He’s old Mr. Frayne’s great-nephew, Dad,” she said, remembering that her parents hadn’t guessed the secret of the mansion. “And now that Mr. Frayne is dead, Jim is his sole heir to a fortune of over half a million dollars. Isn’t that wonderful?”

Mr. Belden nodded. “So they found the missing heir at last? When I left to drive your mother and Bobby to the seashore, they were still looking for the widow and her son.”

“Jim’s mother is dead, Dad,” Trixie said. “And he ran away from his stepfather who beats him and makes him work on his farm for nothing. And Honey and I found him,” Trixie went on excitedly, “and brought him food while he was hiding in the mansion, but now he’s run away again. And, oh, Dad, I forgot to tell you, the old mansion burned to the ground last night.”

Mr. Belden glanced up at the ruins on the eastern hill above the hollow. “I thought I smelled stale smoke when I turned into Glen Road,” he said soberly. “That crum-bling old house must have burned like tinder. It’s a wonder, in the drought we’ve been having until the rain this morning, that the fire didn’t spread through the woods to our place and the Wheeler estate.”

“We were awfully afraid it would,” Trixie told him as he got out of the car and walked with her to sit on the terrace. “And, Dad, this morning when Honey and I were up there, Mr. Rainsford arrived from New York. He’s the executor of the es-tate, you know, and was looking for Jim because Mr. Frayne left all his money in trust for his nephew’s son, who is Jim, you see. But Jim doesn’t know that because he ran away early this morning. So now we’ve got to find him, Honey and I. That’s why we’re going on the trailer trip in the Wheelers’ Silver Swan, which is really the darlingest little house on wheels you ever saw.”

Trixie reached out and clutched her father’s sleeve, begging, “Please, Dad, say I can go, please! Miss Trask, Honey’s governess, is a wonderful driver and the best sport in the world. She has already phoned to Honey’s parents in Canada for per-mission, and Mr. Rainsford is counting on our help.”

Mr. Belden laughed and patted Trixie’s brown hand. “It looks like it’s pretty much settled, and I can’t see any reason why I should object if Mr. and Mrs. Wheeler ap-prove of the trip. But I don’t quite see why a trailer trip is necessary. Couldn’t Mr. Rainsford advertise in the papers for Jim and put detectives on his trail? It seems to me--”

“Oh, no, Dad,” Trixie put in quickly, “that would ruin everything. Jonesy, Jim’s step-father, is his legal guardian, and Jim has made up his mind that he will never, nev-er go back and live with him. Jonesy thinks Jim died in the fire last night--that’s what the morning papers said--so now he has stopped looking for him. Jonesy doesn’t care anything about Jim, Dad. He just wants to get control of the Frayne money. If anything appears in the papers about Jim being still alive, Jonesy will start looking for him again, and then Jim will run away and hide somewhere so we’ll never find him.”

“I’m beginning to understand something of what you’re saying.” Mr. Belden smiled. “But if Jim’s step-father is as cruel as you claim he is, why can’t Mr. Rains-ford take the matter to court and have another guardian appointed?”

“He’s working on that now, Dad,” Trixie said. “He’s even got written proof from Jonesy’s neighbors and everything, but the point is, we’ve got to find Jim first and tell him all that before Jonesy even guesses that Jim isn’t dead.”

Trixie hugged her knees rocking back and forth. “Oh, Dad, Jim is really the most wonderful boy I ever knew. His ambition in life is to own and run a camp for or-phan boys so they can learn how to be good at sports and how to get along in the woods at the same time that they have school lessons. So that’s why we feel sure he’s trying now to get a job at one of those three big camps upstate. He could be a junior counselor, like Brian and Mart, or junior athletic instructor, because he’s very good at everything, and although he’s only fifteen, he did two years of high school in one, and won a scholarship to college--” Trixie stopped, completely out of breath.

“He sounds like a great lad,” her father said, laughing. “But he’s not going to have an easy time getting a job without written permission from his parents or guardi-an. I wrote several letters and had personal interviews with the operators of the camp where your brothers now have junior counselor jobs.”

“I know,” Trixie admitted. “And that’s why we have to start right away to find him. He told Honey and me that if he didn’t get a job at one of those three big camps, he’d ship aboard a cattle boat and go to Europe. And then we’d never find him.”

“Well, then,” Mr. Belden said mildly, “it seems to me that Mr. Rainsford should put detectives on the case immediately.”

“Oh, don’t you see, Dad?” Trixie moaned. “If Jim suspects detectives are trying to find him, he’ll think for sure Jonesy hired them, and he’ll leave the country right away. But if he hears that two girls are looking for him, he won’t be worried at all because he trusts Honey and me. Please, Dad,” she begged. “We want to start to-morrow early. Please say I may go!”

Mr. Belden stood up. “You have my permission, Trixie. How long do you plan to be gone?”

“Less than a week, Dad.” Trixie followed her father into the house. “Shall I tele-phone Mother and see if she thinks it’s all right?”

“I’ll call her myself,” Mr. Belden said. “As a matter of fact, this will work out very well. Your mother and Bobby planned to stay at the seashore until next weekend anyway, so it would be lonely here for you. I can get Mrs. Green out from the vil-lage to keep house for me.”

As he picked up the phone with one hand he handed Trixie a crisp five-dollar bill with the other. “Here’s your first week’s salary,” he grinned and, imitating Trixie, added, “Boy, oh boy, will you have a lot of weeding to do when you get back!”

“Thanks, Dad.” Trixie laughed. “I’ll go over every inch of the garden with eyebrow tweezers!”

“Well, a hoe anyway,” her father returned. “Run along now and start packing if you want to leave early in the morning.”

Trixie was yanking clothes out of her bureau drawers when her father called up the stair well that he had received her mother’s approval of the plan. Leaving eve-rything helter-skelter, she raced out of the house and up the hill to the Wheeler es-tate.

Trixie and her three brothers and their parents lived in a little white frame house down in the hollow, and the name of their place was Crabapple Farm. Recently the luxurious Manor House with its stables and lake and acres of rolling green lawn up on the western hill had been purchased by the Wheeler family from New York. Honey Wheeler and Trixie, who were both thirteen, had soon become fast friends.

“Honey! Honey!” Trixie shouted as she took the steps to the Manor House veranda two at a time. “Dad says I can go. Oh, I can hardly wait!”

Honey and her governess were upstairs packing when Trixie burst into the dainty room with its white ruffled organdy curtains and matching bedspread. Miss Trask, an athletic-looking, middle-aged woman, pushed back a strand of her short gray hair and smiled at Trixie. “I’m so glad it’s all settled,” she said. “I was so sure your parents would approve that I sent Regan to the village for supplies. I want you girls to do most of the cooking on this trip. There’s quite an efficient little kitchenette on the Silver Swan, and some of the trailer camps we may want to stop at along the way have water and electrical connections. I think it would be good for you and lots of fun to keep house while we’re searching for Jim.”

“Wonderful,” Trixie cried enthusiastically. Actually, Trixie hated housework but cooking in a trailer sounded like camping out.

“I’ve always wanted to fool around in a kitchen,” Honey said wistfully, “but none of our cooks would ever let me touch anything.”

“Well,” Miss Trask said briskly, “I think every girl, no matter what her position, should learn how to cook and keep house. And I also think that girls as well as boys should learn how to take care of themselves in the woods. I’ve packed a book with simple menus for both indoor and outdoor cooking. Some of the recipes sound de-licious.”

“I can cook,” Trixie said proudly. “I fixed homemade baked beans for Dad’s supper tonight. It’s a cinch,” she admitted with a grin. “You just put some pea beans into a pot with water, add chili sauce, garlic, onions, salt pork or bacon, and molasses, and bake the whole mess slowly for eight hours.”

“Sounds divine,” Honey said admiringly and added to Miss Trask, “When we find Jim he’ll teach us how to take care of ourselves in the woods. He’s a real woods-man and promised to show us how to skin and cook a rabbit on a spit and build a shanty tent between two trees, and--and everything!”

“I’m sorry you girls never gave me a chance to meet him,” Miss Trask said. “Re-gan was telling us just now what a great lad Jim is and what an expert horseman.”

“We wanted to tell you about him, Miss Trask,” Honey said impulsively. “We knew we could trust you but we were pretty sure you’d feel he ought to go back to his guardian.”

Honey, pushing back her bangs and tossing her shoulder-length, wavy, light-brown hair, turned to Trixie. Her huge hazel eyes were wide with sympathy for the runa-way. “If it hadn’t been for that awful Jonesy, we would have told Miss Trask about Jim, wouldn’t we?”

Trixie nodded so vigorously that her sandy curls tumbled down on her tanned fore-head. She was not quite as tall as Honey but a lot sturdier. Miss Trask glanced at her appraisingly.

“All of those sweaters, bathing suits, jerseys, and shorts that Honey wore at camp last summer are too small for her now,” she told Trixie. “But they should fit you perfectly. Why don’t you let me put the lot of them in this extra suitcase and bring them along? Then all you’d have to pack would be dungarees, underclothes, some socks, and an extra pair of shoes.”

Trixie’s round blue eyes sparkled at the sight of shelves stacked with expensive and almost new sports clothes. “Golly, that would be marvelous, Miss Trask,” she breathed. “Most of my stuff is in rags. I simply can’t sew,” she admitted ruefully, “and Moms insists that I’m old enough to do my own mending.”

“I’ll do your mending, Trixie,” Honey offered. “That’s one thing that awful gover-ness I had before you, Miss Trask, showed me how to do well.” She laughed. “Mother can’t sew or cook either and she doesn’t approve of girls doing anything that might hurt their hands. She’d have a fit if she knew I’d been riding horses and bikes all week without gloves!”

It always made Trixie feel just terrible to think about Honey’s beautiful but spoiled mother so she quickly changed the subject.

“Well, I’d better go home now and fix Dad’s supper,” she said. “See you at the crack of dawn.”

But they did not get off to an early start after all. At the last minute both girls de-cided to take their dogs, the Belden Irish setter, Reddy, and Honey’s new cocker spaniel puppy, Bud.

And, of course, after they had packed everything inside the spacious chrome-trimmed sky-blue trailer, neither dog could be found. Finally Regan, the Wheelers’ good-natured stable hand, located Bud, who had accidentally got shut into an emp-ty horse stall. But although Trixie called and whistled for what seemed like hours, there was no sign of Reddy.

“We can’t go off and leave him now,” she wailed as it grew later and later. “Dad won’t be home until suppertime and Mrs. Green isn’t coming out from the village until five o’clock. Both of them will think Reddy is with us and so they won’t even look for him. Something awful may have happened to him. I’ve got to find him!”

She and Honey tramped through the woods that ran between the Wheeler estate and the burned-down mansion, calling and whistling until noon. After lunch Trixie gave one last, discouraged shout, and this time there was an answering bark.

Reddy, minus his collar, his silky auburn coat matted with burrs, came bounding up from the hollow to the Wheeler driveway where the trailer was parked.

“Oh, Reddy,” Trixie scolded him affectionately. “You’ve lost your collar again. You’re just about the worst nuisance in the world!”

Regan reached down to pat the setter’s head and said, “He’s awfully hot and sweaty, Trixie. I think he must have got his collar caught in something and only just worked his way free.” He straightened. “You can’t take him without his license and identification tag. He might get lost on this trip. Can you remember his license number?”

Trixie told him what it was. “He’s lost his collar so many times I know it by heart.”

“Okay,” Regan said. “I’ll run into the village in the station wagon and pick up an-other collar and have a new tag made.”

And so it was almost three o’clock when they finally set off on the Albany Post Road, driving north along the Hudson River.

At first Trixie and Honey rode in the trailer because Trixie had to examine careful-ly everything inside the house on wheels. Trixie was surprised that 200-odd square feet of floor space could hold so much. The back door, up one short step, opened into a combination living-room and bedroom with a cozy little dining alcove. Be-yond that was a tiled kitchenette which Honey said her father referred to as the “galley.” The glistening modern bathroom was equipped with a glassed-in shower, fluorescent lighting and a compact mirrored cabinet over the washbasin.