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thing in the morning.”
    Brian looked at Mart. “Maybe we should start saying hello to Hoppy,” he said.
    “I’d rather say hello to another helping of potatoes, please,” Mart replied.

The Walk-a-thon Plan • 5

    TRIXIE BUSHED into the social studies classroom first thing the following morning, tingling with excitement. “Hoppy s brought good luck,” she told Miss Lawler. She explained about Mr. Johnson needing a helper at Town Hall. “I told Dad I was sine that Sammy could do it. Would he like that kind of work?” The teacher’s aide smiled and nodded. “Indeed he would,” she answered. “Sammy is very good at maintenance work—painting, repairing, building. He was always doing something like that at the house. He’s quite skilful.”
    “That’s terrific,” Trixie said. “I made Dad promise to call Mr. Johnson this morning and tell him about Sammy. Could you call Sammy right now, before classes begin, and tell him to go to Town Hall and see Mr. Johnson?”
    The happy expression faded from Miss Lawler’s face. “Sammy isn’t staying with me,” she said. “He’s rented a room somewhere, and he doesn’t have a phone.”
    “Oh,” Trixie said, disappointed.
    “Wait a minute!” Miss Lawler said, opening her purse and searching for something. “He did give me a number to call where I could leave a message for him,” she recalled. “Ah, here it is!”
    “Call right now,” Trixie urged, starting out the door. “I’ll bet he gets the job,” she added confidently.

    That afternoon, as Trixie and Honey entered their social studies class, one look at Miss Lawler’s face told them Trixie had been right.
    As the girls passed her desk, Miss Lawler said, “Sammy got the job, Trixie. Thank you, and please give our thanks to your father, too.”
    Trixie grinned. “I knew Sammy would get the job,” she said. “Now he can stay in Sleepyside.”
    Miss Craven closed the door and crossed to her desk. “Good afternoon, class,” she greeted them. “Trixie, Honey, take your seats, please. We’re ready to begin.”
    As they walked to their desks, Trixie whispered, “Wait till we tell the other Bob-Whites about this!”

    Later that afternoon, Jim rapped the gavel on the table in the Bob-White clubhouse. “The meeting will come to order,” he announced in his most official-sounding tone.
    The six other Bob-Whites stopped talking and sat down in their assigned places around the table. Trixie took her place beside Jim.
    The clubhouse was warm and snug, decorated in cheerful colors and comfortably furnished. It bore little resemblance to the broken-down gatehouse it had been. Trixie and Honey had discovered it at the edge of the Wheeler property, overgrown with vines and bushes. With the Wheelers’ permission, the Bob-Whites had all worked to clean and repair the gatehouse and transform it into a perfect clubhouse.
    Jim scanned the agenda for the meeting. “First thing on our schedule is a vote of thanks to Trixie,” he said.
    The others looked questioningly at Trixie. She reddened with embarrassment.
    Jim smiled. ’Trixie helped to get Sammy a job at Town Hall,” he declared, “so he’ll be staying in Sleepyside, close to Miss Lawler. There’s one club project completed in record time.”
    “That’s wonderful,” Di said.
    “Great!” Brian exclaimed. Everyone clapped.
    “Mr. Copresident,” Mart called out, “I note that a certain member of the club is still in violation of our punctilious appearance rule. An unkempt jacket reflects an unfavorable image of our club, hence I call attention to the right jacket sleeve of Miss Beatrix Belden.”
    Jim turned his head to hide his smile, then coughed and answered pompously. “Thank you, Mr. Secretary-Treasurer,” he said. “Violation is duly noted. And since it was first pointed out on Saturday, said violator now owes the club treasury fifty cents—ten cents a day.”
    The clubhouse erupted with laughter. Trixie tried hard, but she couldn’t