The Marshland Mystery

treasure were now sodden masses of mud and stones, and a stream of water was rushing past, down over the stone steps that their digging had uncovered. The steps led into what must have been the root cellar, near the summer kitchen, where the fire had started. Trixie peered down into the darkness. She could see that the lowest step was awash.
    “Gaye?” she called uncertainly and was relieved when there was no answer. The little girl was probably climbing around in another part of the ruins.
    Trixie started to turn away, but as she did, the small dog came and stood at the edge of the steps and looked down at the water, whimpering. “Oh, no!” Trixie whispered. “If she’s down there, something must have happened to her.” She called again. “Gaye! Are you down there?” Again there was no reply.
    Trixie hesitated only a second more and then began to descend the steps. Mr. Poo started to follow her, but Trixie ordered sternly, “Stay there!” and he lay down, paying no attention to the rain that drenched his tiny body but watching her and whining a little.
    Gaye was in the cellar. But it was no fake faint this time that kept her from answering Trixie. She had gone down the steps, slipped, and fallen into the water, striking her head. By some miracle, her face was still above water, but most of her body was under. In a few minutes more, she would have drowned.
     
    Afterward, back at the cottage, Trixie could hardly remember how she had been able to struggle against the force of the rushing water, carrying Gaye’s limp body and inching along the rocky sides of the old cellar toward the steps and safety. It was like a nightmare now, but somehow she had done it and brought Gaye back to consciousness in the shelter of a wildly swaying tree.
    They had staggered hand in hand back to the cottage, with the drenched puppy trotting ahead in the downpour. At the door, Miss Rachel had caught Gaye in her arms as the child collapsed from excitement and fatigue.
    Now, with Gaye safely tucked in bed but babbling with a high fever, and Mr. Poo, rubbed dry and fluffy, sleeping at her side, Trixie sat bundled in a blanket before the fire. Honey hovered about her anxiously.
    “Are you sure I can’t get anything for you?” she asked.
    Trixie shook her head quickly and sipped the spearmint tea Miss Rachel had brewed for her. “Huh-uh. How’s Gaye?”
    “Miss Rachel says the Oswego tea should break her fever soon,” Honey assured her. “She owes her life to you.”
    “Not me!” Trixie protested and meant it. “Mr. Poo did that. I had to save her, or he’d have bitten me!” And she changed the subject quickly. “I hear a car! Maybe it’s a customer, at last! I’d better get out of sight!” She headed for the bedroom, trailing the blanket, as Di and Honey dashed for the door and excitedly peered out. But it wasn’t a customer. It was Miss Della Crandall in Brian’s jalopy. She came storming up the walk, her face dark with anger and determination.
    “Where is my niece?” she demanded, pushing her way in.
    “She’s in the bedroom there,” Honey told her quietly. “She’s quite sick, Miss Crandall.”
    “Nonsense! I know her spiteful little tricks! She’s pretending to be sick so she won’t be punished for running away again!” Miss Crandall shoved the girls aside and stalked toward the bedroom door.
    But before she could reach it, Trixie came out, still wrapped in the blanket, and shut the door quietly behind her. She stood resolutely in front of the closed door. “I heard what you said, Miss Crandall, and you’re all wrong. Gaye didn’t run away for spite. She hoped she could find some hidden gold she heard the servants gossiping about.”
    “Hidden gold? Ridiculous! Gaye earns a small fortune every year with her violin!” Miss Crandall said haughtily.
    “Why would she want more?”
    “To give you so she wouldn’t have to work so hard all the time,” Trixie said very coldly and accusingly.
    For a moment, Miss Crandall stared at Trixie. Then she covered her face with her hands and sank down into the nearest chair. They saw her shoulders shake and knew she was crying silently.
    Honey and Di looked at each other helplessly, and Di said softly, “Oh, Trixie!”
    But Trixie stood her ground, frowning. She told herself she wasn’t sorry. It was time Miss Crandall heard the truth.
    Gaye’s aunt sat up straight suddenly, and, in spite of the tears that still wet her cheeks, she managed a smile. “I