Free The Mystery of the Emeralds by Julie Campbell Page B

the Market Square Green. At breakfast, Mr. Lynch asked the Bob-Whites about their expedition into the country the day before. He and Mrs. Lynch had gone to an official dinner the previous night, so this was the first opportunity he had had to hear about their activities.
    “Oh, we saw the most beautiful house,” Trixie began. “It’s only a few miles from here, and it’s open to the public. They call it Green Trees.”
    “It’s just what I always imagined a Southern mansion would look like,” Honey said, “all white and shining and gracious looking.”
    “I’ve heard of Green Trees,” Mr. Lynch said. “I believe the local historical society has had a lot to do with restoring it.”
    “It certainly looks as though someone has taken wonderful care of the place,” Brian commented. “It was in apple-pie order—lawns, hedges, everything. Of course, we didn’t see the inside.”
    “No, but today is visiting day,” Di told her father, “so were going back this afternoon. I wish you could go with us, Daddy; you and Mummy would love it!”
    “I wish I could, too, Diana, but they’ve set up a very tight schedule for us here. I’ll try to see it before wleave for home. I promise you.”
    Since they couldn’t tour Green Trees until one o’clock, the Bob-Whites had plenty of time after breakfast to go through the many fascinating buildings in Williamsburg. As they stepped into the wig-maker’s shop, it was as if they had suddenly been transported back to Colonial days. The man at the workbench was dressed in authentic eighteenth century clothes—a full-sleeved white shirt, knee pants, and heavy white stockings. On his shoes were buckles of silver. They watched as he repaired a black wig set on a wooden wig stand before him.
    “Did the children wear wigs in those days, too?” Mart asked.
    The wigmaker looked over the top of his glasses at Mart.
    “No, not the little ones.” He smiled. “Here, take this and try it on.” He handed Mart a wig he had taken from the display in the window of the shop. It was dark brown, with waves on the side and a little red bow tied to the short pigtail in the back. It so altered Mart’s appearance that everyone burst out laughing.
    “Whoever thought I’d be caught in a peruke!” Mart said as he stuck his fingers inside his shirtfront and assumed an exaggerated pose.
    “A what?” Di asked, wide-eyed.
    “The young gentleman is quite right,” the wig-maker said. “Wigs were sometimes called perukes or Periwigs. And did you know that wigmakers also used to serve as barbers and surgeons?”
    “Well, they must have cut quite a figure,” Mart quipped. “Who was the first one to dream up the idea of a wig, anyway?”
    “That’s something no one will ever know,” the man replied. “Egyptian mummies have been found wearing them, and there is evidence that wigs were worn by both the Greeks and the Romans. So, you see, they go way back to antiquity.”
    “Why do you suppose people started wearing them?” Di asked. “I’d rather dress my own hair up fancy than wear one of those things.” She tossed her lovely hair over her shoulders as she spoke.
    “Not everyone is blessed with beautiful hair like yours,” the wigmaker said with a smile, “so false hair sometimes helped to correct nature’s defects. Wigs are still used in the English courts, and, of course, the theater couldn’t get along without them.”
    “I never realized there was so much to learn about wigs,” Honey said as they thanked the man and started to leave. “Come to think of it, now that they’re back in style, how do you think I’d look as a redhead?”
    “Perfectly ghastly!” Brian cried. “You stay just the way you are, Honey Wheeler, or you’ll be expelled from the Bob-Whites!”
    From the wigmaker’s shop, they went to the ten other shops Williamsburg boasted, where they saw craftsmen, using authentic antique equipment, weaving cloth, working in silver, or fashioning iron pieces at