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toasted buns on an old trunk.
    “Tom is bringing the
milk,” she added. “Bobby is having his lunch with Regan. If you need anything
more,” she said to Jim, “just come down to the kitchen.”
    After they all had
finished their hot dogs, they selected the articles they wanted to use.
    “Lets carry this
loot over to the clubhouse and get busy right away,” Mart said
enthusiastically. “Di, you and Trixie can start to sand one of the gateleg
tables when we get there. If they’re cherry, we’ll get a neat price for them.
Come on, girls. Each one take a cookie jar. Jim, a table for you, and you,
Brian, the mirror. Wait till you see the mirror with a new coat of gilt on the
frame. I’ll take the Indian.”
    Aside from the two
gateleg tables, they took a tobacco-shop Indian figure with some of its
original paint; a Windsor armchair; a table that might turn out to be a
Pembroke; a framed mirror; a brass coal hod; two brown, crackled cookie jars;
and a model of an old masted whaling ship, the Oswego of Hudson.
    They stopped in the
Manor House living room to thank Mrs. Wheeler.
    “Oh, that old
stuff,” she said. “You’ll never find anyone who will want to buy it.”
    “You’d be surprised,
Mrs. Wheeler,” Mart said. Td like to place a bet that you buy one of your own
things back when you see our show.”
    “That would surprise
me very much,” she said, laughing. “Is that an old Bennington jar you are
carrying, Diana? I wonder where it came from.”
    “Do you see what I
mean?” Mart asked impudently. “Do you want to buy it back now?”

The
Acrobatic Alphabet • 5
     
    When Trixie and her brothers
went home for dinner, they were dusty and tired. They were so excited, however,
that words piled on top of one another when they tried to tell their mother and
father what had happened at the Manor House and about the wonderful things they
had found there.
    “That’s enough about
your afternoon, now,” Mrs. Belden interrupted. “Take showers, all of you.
Trixie, please help Bobby. Change to robes and slippers. You may eat your
dinner in robes and get to bed early. Run along, now,” she insisted as they kept on talking.
“When we are ready for dinner, we can hear all about it.”
    Later, when they
were at the table, and grace had been said, Bobby shouted, Tm first! Regan told
me a good riddle.”
    “Let’s hear it,
Son,” Mr. Belden said.
    “He told me two
riddles,” Bobby said. “This is the funniest one. What has ten letters and
starts with—what is it, Trixie?” Bobby asked.
    "It starts with g-a-s, remember?”
    “Oh, yes, what is
it, Moms? Daddy? You give up?”
    Mrs. Belden put her
head in her hands and thought.
    Mr. Belden scratched
his head and thought. “We give up, Bobby,” they said.
    “Brian’s jalopy!”
Bobby said triumphantly and laughed till he almost choked.
    “Bobby’s a clown,”
Brian said. “The real answer is ‘automobile.’ Look here, Dad, at what I found
in the attic.”
    Brian and Mart stood
over their father s chair while he examined the swords. “This one looks just
like the one we saw in New York,” he said. “Yes, I think you made quite a find,
Brian. Are you sure, you and Mart, that Mrs. Wheeler wanted to give diem to
you!”
    “Sure thing,” Mart
answered. “She gave us some other keen things we found, too.” He told his
parents about the beautiful cherry-wood tables.
    “I found a
crazy-looking thing,” Trixie said and produced the key and the tag with its
acrobatic figures.
    “It’s a code of some
kind, I’m sure,” Mr. Belden said. “I think I saw something like it a long time
ago.”
    “Can’t you possibly
remember, Daddy?” Trixie asked. “Please try. Maybe it would tell us something
important.”
    “It looks more to me
like some child’s idea of a joke,” Mrs. Belden said. “It probably doesn’t mean
a thing. All Trixie needs,” she said to her husband, “is something like this to
start her off with a bloodhound. Forget it, Trixie.