Free The Mystery Off Glen Road by Julie Campbell Page A

kiddin’?” he demanded. “Now, that’s a record, isn’t it?” Grinning broadly, he added, “I suppose you two captured singlehanded a whole army of poachers, too.”
    “Oh, don’t tease us, please, Regan,” Honey begged.“We Bob-Whites have just got to get that job. On account of the clubhouse and Brian’s jalopy, you know. And you know perfectly well there aren’t any poachers, and if there were, the boys could capture them singlehanded and all.”
    Regan guffawed. “The boys can singlehandedly go out and repair the feeding stations that were knocked down by the wind. One thing is sure.
I
certainly haven’t got the time to do it.”
    “That’s just the point,” Trixie put in. “The boys are very good at repairs. They’ll do all that sort of thing. Honey and I, while we’re patrolling, can scatter grain around for the birds and whatever it is that deer like. After all, Regan, I’ve been feeding our chickens for years. There’s not much difference between a chicken and a pheasant when you get right down to it. Or a partridge either. They were all eggs once, you know.”
    Regan howled with laughter. Then he sobered. “You girls have got something there. All five of you kids working together could certainly do as good a job as that Fleagle did, and cause me a lot less trouble.” He started for the stable door. “I’m going right in and talk to Miss Trask about it.”
    When he had gone, Honey and Trixie collapsed on the floor of the tack room. “Keep your fingers crossed,”Honey said. “Miss Trask is very understanding and all, but she just might not go for the idea.”
    Trixie giggled. “I can’t keep my fingers crossed and clean my saddle and bridle.”
    “Well, cross your toes then,” Honey retorted, handing her a sponge and a can of saddle soap. “This tack has got to be super-perfect today of all days.”
    They worked in silence until they had cleaned and put away every bit of the leather, then they hurried outside and down to the clubhouse. The boys had finished rebuilding the wall and were now working on the roof.
    Mart, sitting astride the ridgepole, called down to the girls, “Hi, you lazy squaws.”
    “Lazy, indeed,” Trixie yelled back. “We just finished exercising all of the horses and cleaning about five million tons of leather.”
    “Oh, don’t you and Mart start arguing,” Honey begged. “When you two get going you go on forever.” She tilted back her pretty face and called up to Jim who was hammering shingles into place. “Jim! Can’t you boys quit for a while so we can hold an emergency meeting? Something important’s happened. I mean, about to happen. At least I hope it’ll happen.”
    Jim removed the nails from his mouth and stared down at her. “Gleeps, Honey! Can’t you ever make a simplesentence without tacking on a lot of ‘I thinks’ and ‘I means’?”
    “No, she can’t,” Brian answered the question as he started down the ladder. “She’s been exposed to Trixie too long. The habit is as catching as measles.”
    “I’ve got news for you, Jim,” Mart added, as he followed Brian down the ladder. “Neither one of them ever makes sense. Lovely girls, and all that, at least Honey is, but—”
    “Now who’s ‘at-leasting’?” Trixie demanded.
    Jim slid down the roof and, grasping the gutter for a second, swung himself to the ground. Trixie couldn’t help giving him an admiring glance. All of the boys were strong and supple, but Jim was the most athletic one of them all. There really wasn’t anything worth doing that Jim couldn’t do—and do awfully well. Without realizing that she was thinking out loud she said to him:
    “You’re just as good a gamekeeper as Fleagle was, if not better.”
    Jim reached out and gave one of her sandy curls a gentle tug. “I’m going to have a great big scarlet ribbon made for you and on it, printed in gold, will be: ‘Miss Nonsense of America.’ ”
    “Yes, yes,” Mart agreed. “I’ll be her press