The Marshland Mystery

silence for a few minutes.
    “Pretty decent of you to want to cheer up the old girl with some new specimens,” Mart said finally.
    Trixie was so startled by the unexpected compliment that she came to a complete stop and stood staring at her almost-twin in amazement. “Well!” she finally managed to get out. “Thanks!” And she meant it.
    Mart frowned at her. “Come on! Moms is probably having fits, because you promised to get home early and take Bobby off her hands so she could go shopping.”
    “Gleeps! I forgot!” Hurrying after Mart, she fell into stride with him, and they went along together again in comfortable silence.
    A small warm wind sent the faint perfume of crab apple blossoms along Glen Road from the Belden orchard.
    “Mmm! Smell that!” Trixie broke the silence.
    Mart sniffed the air. “Hmf! It’s just gasoline fumes.”
    “You know I didn’t mean that, Mart Belden,” Trixie snapped irritably and stalked on.
    Mart chuckled. “How would anyone know what goes on in that infinitesimal think tank of yours?”
    Trixie had a retort on the tip of her tongue, but they had reached the foot of their home driveway, and what she saw up in front of the small white farmhouse stopped her. It stopped Mart, too.
    For a moment, they both stood staring at the three expensive cars that were parked there.
    “Oh, Mart! Something must have happened!” Trixie’s quick mind went to work. “Maybe Bobby ran out in front of one of the cars or Brian bumped his jalopy into one of them. Let’s hurry!”
    Mart took hold of her arm quickly. “Whoa, there! Don’t push the panic button! It’s probably the Landmarks Society examining our pegged floors again. You know, we’re quite historical—or should I say hysterical, at the moment?”
    Trixie pulled, but Mart held on, and a minute later she stopped struggling. “All right, I’m calm. I’m sure it’s all right, or those three drivers wouldn’t be just standing around talking behind that second car.”
    They were both walking at a dignified pace as they came past the three limousines lined up near the house.
    “I don’t hear any chattering going on inside, do you?” Mart asked. “Wonder what the ladies are looking at this time. Could be the old butter churn out on the back porch.”
    “Let’s go look.” Trixie hurried on.
    But there was no one there, either. Trixie, poking her head in at the kitchen door, saw signs of interrupted dinner preparations but no Mrs. Belden.
    Mart was close on her heels. “Mysteriouser and mysteriouser,” he hissed, helping himself to a red-cheeked apple from the dish that always stood in the center of the table. But he had no time to bite into it. Voices from a distance were being wafted to their ears from somewhere out in the crab apple orchard behind the house.
    Mart dashed back to the door and started out. “Hey! Looks like a convention. Something’s going on out under the trees. I can see Moms and Bobby watching.”
    Trixie hardly waited for him to finish speaking before she was on her way out. Mart and the apple followed.
    The crab apple trees were a mass of blooms against the clear blue of the afternoon sky. Trixie had been admiring them every morning for the past week, after they had all burst into bloom at practically the same time, so her attention was all on the strangers in the orchard.
    A man had set up a camera on a tripod and was apparently getting ready to photograph a small girl dressed in a vivid costume and holding a violin in her hand. She was very slight and frail-looking, with long golden curls. Trixie decided that she must be about seven years old, eight at the most. She was standing quietly while three women fussed over her curls, powdered her nose, and adjusted her costume. The only time she moved was when a stray blossom, loosened by the wind, floated down and landed on her cheek. Then she brushed it away impatiently and stood woodenly again, looking bored.
    It was Mart who spotted the lettering on the photographer’s satchel: SLEEPYSIDE SUN.
    “Publicity stuff,” Mart told a puzzled Trixie. “I don’t know who Goldilocks is, but it looks as if the Sleepyside Sun thinks she’s worth a picture. I hope Moms is charging rental on the crab apple trees!”
    “Why, she wouldn’t—” Trixie stopped abruptly as she saw that Mart was just fooling. But a moment later, after studying the delicate-looking child a little more, she said thoughtfully, “I know I’ve seen her before