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world,” Miss Trask went on. “It has about eight million books. We could spend our whole lives just in the British Museum and never run out of fascinating new exhibits,” she added regretfully. “But we have only ten days to find out about Honey’s necklace and Mrs. Wheeler’s ancestors.”
    “Research is fun, though,” Jim said. “Even if it is hard work.”
    “It’s just like solving a mystery,” said Trixie as Miss Trask showed them how to use the library’s card catalogs and reference books. “One clue leads to another! You find a card that leads you to a book, and that book leads you to another book or maybe an old map or an exhibit.”
    Trixie, working on Elizabethan jewelry, was not as successful in her morning’s work as was Honey, who researched her ancestors, the Harts. Honey shared some of her findings during the lunch break in the museum cafeteria, which looked just like any ordinary American cafeteria with very reasonable prices and good food.
    “Did any of you ever hear of Nancy Hart?” she asked.
    “I believe she was a heroine of the American Revolution,” Miss Trask said. “Didn’t she live in Georgia?”
    “Yes, and she had this famous ride, like Paul Revere’s. The road she galloped down is still called the Nancy Hart Highway,” Honey said. “She dressed up like a man—which was easy enough for her to do, since she was six feet tall! Then she made this log raft, tied together with honeysuckle vines, to sneak into the British camp to spy on them. Hart County and the town of Hartwell and a lot of other places were named after her.” Honey’s hazel eyes were glowing.
    “Imagine me being descended from a Revolutionary spy!”
    “Maybe.” Miss Trask smiled. “Of course, she could be in another branch of your family.”
    “How come we had to come to the British Museum to find that out?” Trixie asked. “I thought your mother’s ancestors lived in England.”
    “Well, they did,” Honey said. “Just as Mother said, the tradition is that we’re descended from the Shakespeare family—through his sister Joan, who married William Hart. But even so, there are still descendants in the United States, Canada, and Australia, too.”
    “Our Honey, practically kissin’ kinswoman to the kaleidoscopic keystone of all literature!” Mart was so impressed that he almost choked on his milk.
    “Oh, Mart, I think you’re exaggerating,” giggled Honey, pounding him on the back.
    “I think we should go right on to Stratford-on-Avon,” said Miss Trask. “That’s where the Shakespeares lived. The homes of the poet’s father and mother are both nearby, and the house he was born in, as well as his grave, are still right there in Stratford. After four hundred years, they haven’t been changed. The whole town is full of Shakespearean memorabilia.”
    “Stratford-on-Avon—that reminds me of Sleepyside-on-the-Hudson,” Trixie said, starting to feel a bit homesick again.
    “Shakespearean memorabilia,” Jim repeated. “Sounds like it’s right up Mart’s alley!”
    “Alley?” huffed Mart with renewed composure. “I may have a few eight-lane superhighway cloverleafs perhaps, but no alleys!”
    “I always suspected that you were born with green matter where your gray matter should be,” Trixie put in.
    “Well, at least there’s a method to my madness,” said Mart.
    It was settled that they would make the trip on Monday. “That will give you folks a chance to see a little more of London tomorrow,” Miss Trask said. “And I can finish up the research.”
    “But don’t you want to see the sights?” Honey asked.
    “Oh, I’ve been to London before,” Miss Trask assured them.
    Trixie suddenly realized that there were a lot of things about the former governess that they didn’t know. She tried expressing that to the others as they left the museum later in the afternoon. Miss Trask was staying behind to do some more work. No one seemed interested in Trixie’s remark.
    “I’m