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moment, Trixie interrupted. “Do you hear something over there on the other side of the wall?” she asked, listening intently.
    From the sound of branches being pushed aside, it appeared that whoever was there was making his way toward The Moorings. They listened closely, and presently over the top of the wall popped a boy’s head. “Hi, strangers. Are you castaways, or are you by any chance from The Moorings?” he asked as he leaped over the wall and landed in their midst.
    “We’re actually from The Moorings, but at the moment we feel like orphans of the storm,” replied Trixie. The others joined in greeting the newcomer. He was as tall as Jim, with broad shoulders and a strong build. His hair was so blond it looked almost white, and his deep-set eyes were dark blue. He, too, was dressed in jeans and sweat shirt.
    “Gosh, that’s great. Not that you’re orphans, you understand, but that you’re at The Moorings.” He laughed. “I’m Peter Kimball from next door. I was hoping we’d have some life around here this summer. The people who rented your house last year were old. All they did all day was sit on the porch and rock.”
    “Well, there was certainly plenty of excitement around here yesterday,” commented Trixie. “El, the caretaker, broke his leg just after we got here. We’re guests of the Wheelers. Jeepers, I’m getting the cart before the horse, as usual,” she said. “I’d better introduce everyone. Peter, this is Honey Wheeler, and this is Diana Lynch. This is Honey’s brother, Jim. I’m Trixie Belden, and these two suspicious-looking characters are my brothers Mart and Brian.”
    “I’ll get all those names straight before the summer’s over. You will be here for the whole summer, won’t you?” he asked hopefully.
    “I’m afraid not,” answered Honey, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “Just ten days. That is, the Bob-Whites will be here for ten days. After that, Jim and I may be coming down occasionally for weekends with our parents.”
    She had no sooner said this than she realized she had broken one of the rules of the club in mentioning it to a stranger, but as she looked around, she was relieved to see that the others didn’t seem to be concerned about her slip. As they later discovered when talking it over, they had all taken an immediate liking to their new neighbor.
    “The Bob-Whites, did you say? That sounds like a club. Am I right?” the boy asked with a smile.
    “Well, you are, as a matter of fact,” said Trixie slowly. “Of course, we’re supposed to be a secret, or at least a semisecret, club, so if you tell anyone about us, tell them not to tell.”
    Peter and the others laughed heartily, and all agreed that, with all the members wearing identical jackets, it was rather difficult to keep the club really secret.
    “But what does the ‘G’ stand for?” asked Peter as he examined the letters B.W.G. that Honey, who sewed beautifully, had cross-stitched on the back of each jacket.
    “That’s for Glen. We live near each other on Glen Road in Sleepyside. It was Jim’s idea to call ourselves the Bob-Whites of the Glen,” explained Trixie.
    “I was in a club called The Owls before we moved down here. Not that we were wise or anything. We just liked to stay up late at night, and we spent most of our time thinking up reasons for not going to bed. It was crazy, but we did have a lot of fun. I miss those old birds,” Peter said, smiling reminiscently.
    “What do you do around here for excitement,” asked Diana with just a suggestion of a flutter of her long lashes, “besides battling the elements?”
    “I can answer that in one word: sailing! I’d rather sail than eat,” Peter answered. “As soon as the yacht club opens, I’m long gone in my Lightning. Do any of you sail?” he asked.
    “Well, Trixie, Honey, and Jim here are pretty good hands with a rowboat,” said Brian, thinking back to the time when the three of them had been caught in a flood in