Free The Mystery on Cobbett's Island by Kathryn Kenny Page A

in front of Trixie. A spot of blood on her sock was growing bigger, so Brian carefully took off her sneaker and sock. A look of relief came over his face when he saw that the wound was not a deep one, but only an abrasion. Peter had already gone to the house for a first-aid kit, and on his return, Brian carefully swabbed the wound with antiseptic and put on a sterile bandage.
    â€œLucky for us we have an almost-doctor in the house,” said Mart. “Are you prepared to handle an emergency appendectomy?”
    â€œDon’t mention it!” chuckled Brian. “Don’t think I haven’t imagined such a situation. ‘Brian Belden saves a child’s life with a penknife.’ Can’t you see the headlines? The only hitch is that no one carries a penknife anymore, so my dream collapses.”
    â€œHow long has it been since you’ve had a tetanus shot, Trix?” asked Jim as he was helping Brian put the scissors and extra bandages back in the box.
    â€œLet’s see. It was last year when I had my annual check-up. I loathe needles, even though they don’t really hurt much, but Dr. Ferris said they’re a lot easier to take than the treatment you get if you cut yourself or stepped on a nail or anything and haven’t been immunized.”
    Trixie, who was never one to brood very long about herself, again turned her attention to the hole in the floor. “We’ll have to fix it before the party, and the steps, too. I wonder why those boards weren’t nailed down.” She knelt to get a closer look. Presently, she leaned way over and put her arm in the hole so far that her chin was practically resting on the floor.
    â€œWhat on earth are you doing?” cried Di.
    As Trixie drew her arm out, she brought forth a dust-covered bottle, with the cork still in it.
    â€œWhat’s in it?” they all asked at once as Trixie carried it over to the seat and started to blow the dust off.
    â€œIt’s awfully light, and it doesn’t rattle, so there’s probably nothing in it,” she said.
    â€œOne of your ancestors was probably trying to hide an empty rum bottle from his wife,” said Jim to Peter. “Here, let me have a look,” he said, taking the bottle from Trixie. “Holy mackerel!” he cried, after he had wiped it off. “There’s a paper all rolled up inside!”
    â€œThe chart, the chart!” cried Trixie. “Hurry and break the bottle and see if I’m right!”
    â€œOh, don’t break it here. It’ll get glass all over everything. Take it over to that rock,” Honey suggested, pointing to a large stone, not very far away.
    They all hovered around as Jim broke the bottle. Trixie picked up the tightly rolled paper and carefully spread it out on the ground.
    â€œIt’s a chart all right,” said Peter. “Look, it has the compass marks up there in the corner. They call that a compass rose, and there’s a black buoy and a red nun.”
    â€œA what? A red nun? I can’t say that sounds very nautical,” Mart said as he leaned over to get a better look.

    â€œYou’re right; it doesn’t,” Peter answered, “but the red buoys are called nuns because they look something like a nun in her veil. They always have even numbers, so you say ‘N 2’ or ‘N 8.’ Notice the harbor buoy the next time you’re near there.”
    â€œWhat about the black ones? Do they have odd numbers?” asked Mart.
    â€œRight you are,” answered Peter. “They’re flat-topped and carry odd numbers, and are called ‘cans’ so you refer to them as ‘C 5’ or ‘C 7.’ But what’s that down there at the bottom of the chart?”
    â€œWell, of all things to find on a map,” said Honey as she looked over Peter’s shoulder. “It’s a bar of music!”
    â€œA bar of music? That’s funny.” Brian was puzzled.