The Marshland Mystery
“I HATE to turn back now, but I suppose we’ll have to.” Trixie leaned dejectedly against her bicycle. “Without that map, we’re sunk.”“Maybe there’s some kind of a sign up there where we’re supposed to turn. It just might say ‘Martin’s Marsh,’ in plain English,” Honey suggested. “Let’s get started again, before I notice how tired my legs are!”“Good idea!” Trixie agreed hastily. “Mine are getting a bit wobbly, too. They’re sending distress signals to my so-called brain.” Trixie groaned as she sett...led herself again on the bike. “Let’s go.”There were no signs pointing the way to Martin’s Marsh around the corner of Old Telegraph Road. As a matter of fact, there were no signs of any sort, and, except for two or three lines of tire tracks in the soft, sandy dirt, there was no indication that anyone used the old road. Old telegraph poles, some leaning well out °f line, seemed loosely held together by a few slack wires.There wasn’t a hint in the quiet solitude of the spot that this road, not so long ago, had been a highway from the river to the rich interior valley.MoreLess
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