The
BROWNIE SCOUTS
at Windmill Farm

“Mrs. Gabriel has her flashlight turned on now.”
Brownie Scouts at Windmill Farm
See Page [178]

The
BROWNIE SCOUTS
at Windmill Farm

by Mildred A. Wirt

ILLUSTRATED

CUPPLES AND LEON COMPANY
Publishers New York

Copyright, 1953, by
CUPPLES AND LEON COMPANY

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Brownie Scouts at Windmill Farm

Printed in the United States of America

CONTENTS

Chapter 1
THE DOG CART

FIVE pair of eyes focused with rapt attention upon Miss Paula Mohr, the librarian.

Five little girls in pin-checked Brownie Scout uniforms had been listening attentively to a tale about the children of Holland.

Now, in the story room of the Rosedale Public Library, they awaited an important announcement.

“Girls,” began Miss Mohr. She was young and pretty, and her voice had soft edges. “How would the Brownies like to help this spring with Rosedale’s annual tulip show?”

“Oh, fine and dandy!” cried Vevi McGuire.

The dark-eyed little girl shouted approval, even without asking what the Brownies would be expected to do. But then, she knew anything planned by Miss Mohr or Miss Jean Gordon, the Brownie troop leader, would be fun.

“Will we sell things?” inquired Connie Williams.

Connie was the quiet, thoughtful member of the group. Sometimes the other Brownies, Rosemary Fritche, Sunny Davidson and Jane Tuttle, teased her by calling her “the thinker.”

“Oh, no,” replied Miss Mohr. “I am not sure of the plans, but we would assist Mrs. Langley.”

The Brownie Scouts all knew that Mrs. Langley was president of the Rosedale Garden Club. She lived with her servants on a large estate of many acres at the edge of town.

Each spring when bulbs bloomed, her gardens were the most beautiful in Rosedale.

“May we help Mrs. Langley?” asked Jane Tuttle, with a toss of her long pigtails. She directed the question at Miss Gordon.

“Why, yes,” the troop leader promptly agreed. “I think the project would be a most worthwhile one.”

“When will Rosedale have its flower show?” inquired Sunny Davidson.

Miss Mohr explained that the exact date had not yet been set. It would depend, she said, upon the weather, and when the tulips reached the climax of bloom.

“This year Mrs. Langley hopes to interest all garden growers and possibly the commercial raisers,” she added. “We want our show to be the best ever!”

“Speaking of commercial growers, reminds me of something!” spoke up Miss Gordon. “Do you girls know Peter Van Der Lann?”

The Brownies had never heard the name. Miss Mohr however, knew it well.

“Peter Van Der Lann is the young Dutchman who started a tulip nursery here last fall,” she declared. “His little niece, Hanny, often comes to the library to read.”

“A charming little girl,” added Miss Gordon warmly. “Just the right age to be a Brownie too—eight, I believe.”

The Brownies now were very quiet, thinking about Hanny. Then Connie spoke.

“I saw her once, I think. She was buying a lolly-pop at the drugstore. She had long shining yellow braids and very blue eyes. But she wore big wooden shoes!”

“Klompen,” supplied Miss Mohr, using the Dutch name. “Hanny only wore them when she first came to Rosedale months ago. She wears regular American shoes now. She has improved her English a great deal too.”

“Would she want to be a Brownie Scout?” Jane Tuttle asked, doubt in her voice.

“I’m certain she would,” replied Miss Gordon. “Holland has a Brownie organization too, you know. There, Brownies are called Kabouters which means Little Elves.”

The girls plied Miss Gordon with eager questions about Hanny and the country from which she had come.

In the midst of the conversation, someone tapped lightly on the door of the story room. Another librarian entered to speak to Miss Mohr.

“I am so sorry to interrupt,” she apologized. “A caller is here by the name of Ashley Piff. He insists upon seeing both Miss Mohr and Miss Gordon. He says it is about the garden show.”

Neither Miss Gordon nor the librarian ever had heard of anyone named Mr. Piff.

“I’ll see him,” Miss Mohr decided. “The Brownie meeting was just ending anyway.”

She reminded the girls not to forget the regular story hour the following week. Then with Miss Gordon she went out into the main reading room to talk to the stranger.

The Brownies donned their beanies and jackets. Gathering up their school books, they too sauntered outside.

Mr. Piff was a short, stubby man with a black derby hat. He spoke too loudly for the library. His words carried clearly to every part of the quiet room.

“Now this is my proposition,” the Brownies heard him say. “I am a professional promoter of flower shows. If you ring me in on the deal, I’ll put on a celebration that will be the talk of the town for years! We’ll lift your little show out of the amateur class, and make it a hum-dinger. What d’you say?”

“You really must see Mrs. Langley,” replied Miss Mohr. “She is in charge. Personally though, I’m not in favor of turning our lovely garden show into a cheap commercial festival.”

“Nor am I,” added Miss Gordon firmly.

“You don’t get the idea,” protested Mr. Piff. “It would be a commercial project—true. There would be money in it for everyone. Rosedale and all the merchants would profit. The Brownies—”

“Our organization cannot take part in such an enterprise,” Miss Gordon said emphatically. “We have promised to help Mrs. Langley with the annual garden show. That however, is an entirely different matter.”

Mr. Piff realized that he could not change the teacher’s mind.

“Okay, if that’s your decision,” he said. “You’ll regret it though. Now can you direct me to the nursery of Peter Van Der Lann?”

Miss Mohr showed Mr. Piff on a map how to reach the nearby farm.

“I’ll never find the place by myself,” he said. “How about driving out there with me?”

Miss Mohr started to refuse, but before she could do so, Mr. Piff went on:

“Isn’t it nearly closing time here at the library?”

“In ten minutes. But—”

“It shouldn’t take long to drive out to the nursery,” Mr. Piff said briskly. “My car is at the door. Now it would be a great favor to a stranger who doesn’t know the community. I’ll take anyone who wants to go, and bring you back too.”

Miss Mohr really did not care to make the trip. But Mr. Piff was very persuasive. He pointed out that it was a lovely afternoon for a drive in the country. Finally, he convinced both young women that they should accompany him.

“May we go too?” demanded Vevi. She always liked to ride in a car.

Her request did not appear to please Mr. Piff. He managed to smile though, and said he would take as many Brownies as the sedan would accommodate.

“I have to go home right away,” spoke up Jane.

“So do I,” said Sunny.

Rosemary also turned down the invitation. Vevi and Connie were the only two Brownies to go. They sat in the back seat of the big brown sedan, while Miss Mohr and Miss Gordon rode up front with Mr. Piff.

As the car sped along the open country road, the promotor talked at great length. He kept telling the two young women about his elaborate plans for the flower festival.

“I want to interest every tulip grower in the community,” he said grandly. “This will be the biggest affair Rosedale has ever had!”

Connie and Vevi fairly tingled with excitement to hear Mr. Piff describe everything he intended to do.

The Brownie leader and Miss Mohr were less impressed. In fact, both women seemed rather relieved when finally the car came within view of the Van Der Lann nursery.

“Oh, see the cute Dutch windmill!” cried Vevi as the car rolled over a hilltop.

The tower-like wooden building stood nearly fifty feet high on a slight rise of land. Because it had been painted red, blue and green, the unique structure could be seen from a long distance. Four large wind flaps turned lazily in the breeze.

“Oh, how lovely!” exclaimed Miss Gordon, who never before had seen the mill. “Why, it looks like a charming bit of Old Holland!”

Two stone gate piers marked the entrance to the farm. The house was gabled, with a red tile roof which sloped forward to cover a wide veranda. Beyond stood the big barn and a small milk house. Everywhere there were acres and acres of tulips. Only a few of the flowers as yet were in bloom.

“This place will be a sea of color in a week or so!” exclaimed Miss Mohr. “I’d love to see it then.”

“We’ll have the show when the flowers are at their best,” said Mr. Piff. He leaped out of the car to open the gate.

Returning, he drove through and pulled up in front of the house. Vevi and Connie jumped out, eager to explore. The farm was a delightful place, neat as a pin. Even the trees had been whitewashed.

As the two little girls stood watching the huge revolving arms of the windmill, a nice looking young man came out of the house. His shirt was open at the neck and he was deeply tanned from having lived much of the time outdoors.

“Good afternoon,” he said, walking over to the car. “May I help you?”

Vevi and Connie noticed that instead of saying Good, the word sounded a little like “goot.” They guessed at once that he was Mr. Van Der Lann, the owner of the nursery.

Mr. Piff introduced himself and at once began to tell of his plans for the flower show.

Not caring to listen, Vevi and Connie wandered off down the cinder path.

“Oh, see!” cried Vevi pointing ahead. “A little canal! The windmill must pump water from it to irrigate the tulip beds.”

The path which led to the canal went directly past the big windmill. Its great arms were covered with gray sailcloth which moved lazily in the light breeze. The big flaps swept low to the ground each time they revolved.

“The windmill has a little house!” Vevi declared. “That must be where the machinery is kept.”

“I’ve never been inside a real mill,” Connie remarked wistfully.

“Neither have I. I’d like to go in. Shall we?”

Connie held back. “I don’t think it would be polite, Vevi. We’re only half-way guests here on the farm. Mr. Van Der Lann didn’t even invite us. We just came with Mr. Piff.”

For awhile the children watched the mill, and then went on down to the canal. A little bridge of planks stretched across to the opposite side.

Both shores were lined with tulips, heavy with bud. All of the beds had been laid out in attractive patterns.

“My, it will be pretty here when the flowers bloom,” Vevi sighed. “No wonder Mr. Piff wants Mr. Van Der Lann to help with the flower show! This place would be a big attraction.”

Vevi noticed a small flat-bottomed boat tied up near the bridge. Its name, “GOLDEN TULIP,” had been painted in bright yellow letters on the craft.

“What an odd name for a boat!” she exclaimed. “Let’s take a ride.”

“We can’t,” Connie replied firmly. “Anyway, the canal might be deep.”

“Why, it’s shallow as anything,” Vevi corrected her. “I can see the bottom.”

“We shouldn’t do it anyway. Miss Gordon wouldn’t like it.”

Connie knew that she must be firm, for Vevi had a way of getting into trouble. Once she had hooked her sled onto an automobile, and had been carried far out into the country. On another occasion the little girl had climbed into a box car to be taken off with a circus!

“I wonder where the canal leads?” Vevi speculated, giving up the idea of a boat ride.

The children could see that the canal wound along rich farm land toward another nursery property. However, the adjoining farm did not look as well laid out or as nicely kept as Mr. Van der Lann’s place.

After tossing a stick into the canal, the girls decided it must be time to return to the house.

They were recrossing the bridge when Vevi suddenly halted.

Connie, directly behind, bumped into her.

“What’s the idea, Vevi McGuire?” she demanded. “You nearly made me fall into the water!”

Vevi spoke in an excited, hushed voice. “Connie, just see what is coming!”

She moved aside so that her little friend’s view would not be blocked. The barn doors had swung open, and now, clattering toward them, was a cart hauled by a huge dog.

“Well, did you ever!” exclaimed Connie, laughing in delight.

The little cart had two wheels. It was painted bright blue and held empty milk cans.

Hurrying on across the bridge, the two girls ran toward the dog. Even though he had no driver, he seemed to know exactly where he was supposed to go. At least he trotted toward the milk house farther down the canal.

“Hello, doggie,” Vevi called in a soft voice. “What’s your name?”

To her astonishment, the dog stopped and looked at her. He was a very large dog, but with a sad, kind face.

“Why, he’s friendly as anything!” Connie exclaimed.

“Mr. Van Der Lann must own him,” Vevi said. Carefully, she petted the dog’s head. “Oh, don’t you just love this place? I’d like to live here.”

“So you could go boating on the canal and ride in the dog cart!” teased Connie.

“Well, it would be fun.”

Vevi gazed speculatively at the cart. She could see that there was room to slide in behind the empty milk cans.

Before Connie could stop her, she climbed in and picked up the reins.

“Oh, Vevi!” Connie protested. “You’re too heavy for that poor dog to haul.”

“I’m light as a feather,” Vevi insisted. “Get up, doggie!”

She made a loud clucking noise to make him go.

The dog started off so fast that Vevi nearly was tossed backwards out of the cart.

“Hey, come back!” Connie shouted. She saw that the dog had headed straight for the canal.

Vevi squealed in fear. The cart was rattling down the slope, faster and faster. One of the empty milk cans toppled over, making a frightful clatter.

The sound startled the dog. He bounded on, even faster.

“Whoa!” Vevi shouted, and tried to pull back on the reins. But she was too frightened. Dropping them entirely, she clung desperately to the side of the jolting cart.

“H-E-L-P,” she called. “Save me, Connie! Stop him quick before he dumps me into the canal!”

Chapter 2
HANNY TO THE RESCUE

CONNIE tried to dart ahead of the cart. She could not move quickly enough to stop the runaway dog.

On the cart clattered, directly toward the canal. Off rolled one of the milk cans and Vevi nearly went with it. Never in her life had she been more jolted or frightened!

When it seemed to her that she certainly would be dumped into the canal, an amazing thing happened.

Out of the barn darted a little girl in shining yellow braids, blue skirt and white apron.

“Bruno!” she yelled. Then she uttered a command in Dutch. Vevi could not understand it, but the dog did. At any rate, he stopped so suddenly that she nearly was tossed out of the cart again.

Connie grasped the dog’s harness. Vevi slid out of the cart as fast as she could.

“You bad dog, you!” she said crossly.

The little girl in the blue dress came running up. Her blue eyes were dancing with merriment.

“Oh, Bruno isn’t a bad dog,” she defended him. “He is a very good dog. He carries our milk and does much hard work here on the farm.”

“Well, he nearly dumped me into the canal,” Vevi said, straightening the crumpled skirt of her Brownie uniform.

“That was because you did not treat him right. If you would like a ride in the cart, I will make him haul you very nicely.”

“No thanks,” Vevi turned down the invitation. “I’d rather ride in a car—or a boat.”

“You must be Hanny,” said Connie, smiling in a friendly way.

“How did you know my name?” the other asked in surprise.

“Miss Mohr, the librarian told us.”

“Oh, I know her!” Hanny cried, and her plump face lighted up. “She is very nice.”

“So is Miss Gordon, our Brownie Scout leader,” declared Vevi loyally. “They are here now, with Mr. Piff, talking to Mr. Van Der Lann.”

“With Peter? He is my uncle.”

Hanny straightened the milk cans and then made Bruno haul them to the cheese house. The dog behaved very well when she walked beside him. Not once did he try to run away.

Vevi and Connie walked along with the little Dutch girl.

“Why do you call your boat the ‘Golden Tulip?’” Vevi inquired.

“Oh, that is a secret,” replied Hanny.

“A secret?” Vevi was annoyed by the answer. She could not guess why anyone would want to make a mystery of such a simple matter.

“Someday everyone in Rosedale will know,” Hanny went on merrily. “Then perhaps my uncle will be very rich and buy me a silk gown!”

“How you talk!” Vevi exclaimed. Never before had she met anyone like Hanny.

Connie mentioned the boat again, asking the little Dutch girl if she ever went for rides on the canal.

“Oh, yes, but not as often as I once did,” Hanny said, her face clouding. “That is because of Freda and Joseph.”

“Who are they?” Vevi inquired.

“Freda and Joseph Mattox,” Hanny replied. “They have the farm just below ours. They are not very nice and always make trouble. They will not let me tie up the boat anywhere on their land.”

“You have a much prettier farm than theirs,” said Connie. “The windmill is lovely.”

“Do you think so?” Hanny beamed with pleasure. “My uncle has spent much money fixing up the farm so it will remind him of our beautiful homeland. The Mattoxes, though, say he is wasteful of money. It is not true!”

The little girl unloaded the empty milk cans. Then she unhitched Bruno and let him run free.

“Would you like to see our cheese house?” she invited Connie and Vevi.

“Yes, indeed!” they exclaimed together. Both were eager to see every inch of the fascinating farm.

Hanny pushed open the door and stood back so the visitors could enter ahead of her. The room was sweet-smelling and spotlessly clean.

Along the walls were deep shelves laden with yellow, perfectly rounded cheeses. Fresh milk stood on tables in blue and orange-colored pans.

“Each morning I skim the cream and churn it into butter,” explained Hanny.

“You know how to churn?” Connie asked, deeply impressed.

“Oh, yes, I can make cheese too. We use the skimmed milk for that. I add rennet which makes the solids separate from the liquid. The curds or solid part goes into a bag to be pressed out. After it is salted, it is set away to ripen. That takes several months.”

“How do you make the cheese into such nice round balls?” Connie inquired, peering at the many even rows on the shelves.

Hanny explained that wooden molds were used. “But it is hard work, making cheese,” she added with a sigh.

“I should think so,” agreed Vevi. “I would rather run the windmill or make the dog carry the cans of milk.”

By this time the Brownies were beginning to feel very well acquainted with Hanny. They no longer noticed that she spoke with a slight accent or that sometimes she slipped in a “Ja” for the word “yes.” Connie told the little Dutch girl about the Rosedale Brownie Scout organization and asked if she would like to join the group.

“What do Brownies do?” asked Hanny.

“Loads of things,” explained Connie. “We make things and learn about nature. To be a Brownie you can’t be older than nine years. You’re supposed to be in second, third or fourth grade at school.”

“I am all mixed up at school,” Hanny said. “In arithmetic I am fourth grade, but in English I am only second grade. I do not know so many of your words.”

“That doesn’t matter,” Vevi declared. “Attending meetings is what counts. You have to learn the Brownie Promise too.”

“What is that?”

Vevi recited it for her. “I promise to do my best to love God and my country, to help other people every day, especially those at home.”

“I could promise all that,” Hanny said soberly. “I love America very, very much. I want to help people too, especially my uncle, Peter. If it had not been for him, I never could have left The Netherlands.”

The little Dutch girl then went on to tell Vevi and Connie that until recently she had lived in a little village near the city of Amsterdam. Both of her parents were dead.

“I have no one in all the world except Peter,” she said. “He is very good to me.”

Vevi felt so sorry for Hanny that she unpinned her Brownie Scout pin and fastened it to the other’s blouse.

“Now you can pretend you’re a Brownie,” she declared. “When you get a pin of your own, you can return mine.”

“After you have been a Brownie for a year, you may wear a flower pendant with it,” Connie explained. “Both Vevi and I have pendants.”

Indeed, the two girls were charter members of the Rosedale Troop. With Rosemary, Sunny and Jane they had made a wonderful trip to the seashore. On another occasion they had gone with Miss Gordon to Snow Valley. One of their most exciting adventures has been told in the book called “The Brownie Scouts in the Cherry Festival.”

Now Connie and Vevi never missed a Brownie meeting if they could help it. In Rosedale they lived next door to each other, and attended the same school. They enjoyed doing the same things too.

“Tell me more about the Brownie Scouts,” Hanny said, fingering the pin Vevi had given her.

“First you have to be invested,” Connie declared.

The word troubled Hanny. “But I do not have very much money to invest,” she said. “My uncle cannot afford to give me much, for his nursery does not yet pay well.”

“Oh, that isn’t what investment means!” laughed Vevi. “It means joining the organization—being initiated.”

“It’s a ceremony and it is called in-ves-ti-ture,” Connie said, spelling out the word. “You learn the Promise, the Salute, and the Handshake and attend enough meetings to know all the girls. Then you’re ready to be a Brownie.”

“I see,” nodded Hanny. “I am so very stupid.”

“No such thing,” cried Vevi, seizing her hand. “It always takes a while to catch on. But being a Brownie is fun. We have hikes and do lots of things out of doors. We learn to keep house, too. That part I don’t like so well.”

“That would be easy for me,” laughed Hanny. “I can sweep, iron, and cook! Peter says I am worth two girls in the house!”

The children talked a while about the Brownies and then left the cheese house. Hanny said she would show Connie and Vevi the barn and the mill.

“And what’s in that little house over there?” Vevi asked curiously.

The shack she had noticed stood between the mill and the barn. It had no windows. The door was closed and fastened with a padlock.

“I cannot show you that place,” said Hanny.

“Do you keep animals inside?” asked Vevi. She was more curious than ever now.

“Not animals,” Hanny corrected. “Our cows stay in the barn.”

“But what do you keep in there, Hanny?” Vevi persisted.

“Vevi!” reproved Connie. She did not consider it good manners to ask so many questions.

“I cannot tell you about the little house,” Hanny soberly replied to Vevi’s question. “Please—the secret is not mine to relate.”

Vevi might have teased a bit. Before she could do so, however, the children were startled to hear loud angry voices. They could not see the speakers, but the sound came from the direction of the house.

“Uncle Peter has lost his temper again!” Hanny gasped. “Oh, dear!”

Gathering up her skirts, she ran swiftly toward the veranda.

Chapter 3
MR. PIFF’S PLAN

VEVI and Connie hastened after Hanny as fast as they could. Breathlessly, the three children reached the veranda where Peter Van Der Lann and Mr. Piff were talking.

“I want no part of it,” Mr. Van Der Lann said firmly. “My nursery is not yet profitable. I have no money to donate to your show.”

“It will be a money making proposition for you,” the promoter argued. “We’ll bring folks here to your farm—charge admission. They’ll see your fine tulips in bloom and order bulbs. Your business will boom.”

“No part of it for me,” Mr. Van Der Lann repeated.

At that Mr. Piff again lost patience.

“You are a stubborn Dutchman!” he exclaimed. “You come to America with only one thought—to make money!”

The children thought that Peter meant to strike the promoter, he became so angry. His ruddy face flushed an even darker hue and he drew in his breath sharply.

“You insult me,” he said. “Leave my farm! Leave it at once, and don’t come back!”

“Okay, okay, Dutchman,” Mr. Piff muttered, backing away. “Just keep your shirt on! I meant no offense.”

Miss Mohr and Miss Gordon had been deeply distressed by the turn of the conversation. They apologized to Peter, telling him that they did not know Mr. Piff well. They said too, that they were sorry they had brought him to the farm to cause trouble.

“The fault is mine,” said Peter, smiling warmly. “It is my hot temper again! You must forgive me. I did not mean to be rude or lacking in hospitality.”

“I’m sure you didn’t,” replied Miss Mohr with a gracious manner. She turned to follow Mr. Piff to the car.

“No, no! You cannot go now!” cried Peter in distress. “First you must have tea and chocolate. Come inside, all of you.”

Vevi and Connie eagerly started up the veranda steps. The Brownie Scout leader and Miss Mohr held back, scarcely knowing what to do.

“Mr. Piff is waiting for us,” Miss Mohr said uneasily. “We really should go—”

But Peter would not let the meeting end on an unpleasant note. He urged Hanny to take the two women, Vevi and Connie into the parlor. Then he went to the car to tell Mr. Piff he was sorry to have spoken so hastily.

“You’ll reconsider and go in with us on the flower show?” Mr. Piff demanded.

Peter shook his head. “No, no!” he said impatiently. “I have told you already—I have no money for such affairs.”

“I’ll make you change your mind yet,” Mr. Piff insisted. “You’re missing the chance of a lifetime.”

Halfway restored to good humor, he allowed Peter to escort him into the farmhouse.

Miss Mohr, Miss Gordon and the children already had gone inside. Hanny had called the housekeeper, Mrs. Schultz, a plump German lady, who kept the premises as neat as a pin.

“Oh, how delightful!” Miss Mohr exclaimed, her gaze roving over the room.

The walls were half-paneled in oak, with a deep white frieze above for the display of blue Delft ware. A brace of crossed pipes hung above the massive mantel.

All of the furniture was solid, the huge cupboard, the carved chest and the high-back chairs. The wooden floor was so highly polished that Vevi and Connie had to walk carefully not to slip and fall.

While the women admired the Delft tiles and Maiolica ware Peter had brought from Holland, Hanny helped Mrs. Schultz prepare hot chocolate.

Soon the little girl came in with the steaming cups. After that she served tiny little cakes with pink and white frosting.

When finally it was time to leave, Peter cordially invited Miss Mohr, Miss Gordon and the Brownies to come again.

“You’ll see me too!” declared Mr. Piff noisily. “I’ve not given up, Mr. Van Der Lann. Not on your life! The more I see of Windmill Farm the better I like the place. We’ll have to include you in our big show, Peter.”

Peter merely shook his head and made no reply. It was plain to Vevi and Connie that he did not like Mr. Piff nor his familiar way of calling him “Peter” upon such short acquaintance.

Embarrassed by the promoter’s manners, Miss Gordon and the librarian quickly said goodbye. Before leaving, Miss Mohr urged Hanny to come to the library often. Miss Gordon told the little girl she would be welcome at the next Brownie Scout meeting.

“When will that be?” Hanny asked eagerly.

“The date isn’t certain,” Miss Gordon replied. “I will have either Connie or Vevi let you know.”

As the car started toward Rosedale, the Brownie Scout leader and Miss Mohr could talk of little else than the many beautiful treasures in Peter’s home.

“He has a nice place,” Mr. Piff admitted grudgingly. “A stubborn fool though!”

“I don’t agree with you,” Miss Mohr replied. “Surely it is his right to decide whether or not he wants to have a part in a commercial show.”

“He’d have gone for it if you had spoken a single favorable word,” Mr. Piff went on. “What do you have against me anyhow?”

“Nothing,” returned the librarian. She spoke shortly for she had lost all patience with the promoter.

For awhile, Mr. Piff drove in moody silence. Once though, when Vevi lowered the rear window a trifle, he yelled at her to put it up again.

The children decided they never had met a more disagreeable man than the promoter. They were glad, though, that they had made the trip to Windmill Farm, for otherwise they would not have become acquainted with Hanny and her uncle.

“Let’s go back there some day after school,” Vevi proposed.

“So you can ride in the dog cart again?” teased Connie.

Vevi made a grimace. “I’m not afraid of that old dog!” she insisted. “Next time I’ll take a switch and make him obey! I want to see the inside of the old mill.”

“So do I, Vevi. Maybe we can go out there again next week, if our mothers will let us.”

“Some of the flowers should be in bloom by then,” Vevi went on. “I’d like to load the boat with them and float down to the Mattox place.”

“And be run off,” Connie added with a laugh. “That’s you, Vevi, always ready for trouble.”

“Why do you suppose the Mattoxes aren’t friendly with Peter and Hanny?”

“How should I know?” shrugged Connie. “Maybe it’s because they come from Holland. That shouldn’t make any difference, though.”

Vevi’s mind, as active as a humming bird, had darted on.

“Why do you suppose that boat is called the Golden Tulip?” she speculated. “And why wouldn’t Hanny tell us what was kept in that padlocked little house?”

“She did act mysterious about it,” Connie admitted.

The car sped on, striking an uneven place in the pavement. Vevi was thrown forward in her seat. She would have struck the coat rack had not Miss Gordon reached out to hold her back.

“We’re going rather fast,” she said pointedly to Mr. Piff.

“Have to get back to town,” he replied without slowing down. “I have an appointment at the hotel with a man from the Chamber of Commerce. We stayed too long at Windmill Farm.”

The automobile whirled around a bend in the road so fast that the tires screamed. Then Mr. Piff had to put on the brakes.

Directly ahead, was a stalled car. The hood was up and a middle-aged lady in a blue hat, stood looking helplessly at the dead engine.

“Shouldn’t we stop and offer to help?” Miss Gordon suggested. “There isn’t a garage closer than two miles.”

“No time,” Mr. Piff muttered. “I’ll be late for my appointment. Women shouldn’t drive cars if they don’t know how to repair them.”

“I only hope Mrs. Langley doesn’t recognize us as we whirl pass,” remarked Miss Mohr.

“Mrs. Langley?” Mr. Piff demanded. “Not the garden club president?”

“Well, yes,” nodded the librarian.

“Well, why didn’t you say so?” Mr. Piff took his foot from the accelerator and applied the brakes.

Even so, he could not immediately stop the car. It sped past the stalled automobile and pulled up some distance down the road. Mr. Piff started to back up.

“Your appointment—” began Miss Gordon dryly.

“That can wait,” Mr. Piff rejoined. “My motto is ‘Always help a lady in distress.’ Particularly if her name is Mrs. Langley!”

Chapter 4
THE LITTLE LOCKED HOUSE

LEAPING out of the sedan, Mr. Piff rushed over to the stalled automobile to offer his services to Mrs. Langley.

“Having trouble?” he inquired, tipping his hat.

“I think a wire must be broken somewhere,” replied Mrs. Langley. “Either that or the fan belt. Oh, dear, I know so little about motors.”

“Allow me,” said Mr. Piff.

He took off his coat and rolled up his sleeves. But after puttering over the stalled engine for a few minutes, he told Mrs. Langley he was afraid he could not find the trouble.

“Suppose I take you to your destination and send a garageman for your car,” he suggested.

“I should be most grateful! I was on my way home when the car suddenly went dead as I rounded the bend. But won’t it be too much trouble to drop me off?”

“Not at all,” insisted Mr. Piff, escorting the club woman to his own car.

Mrs. Langley knew Miss Gordon and Miss Mohr very well and was pleased to see them again. During the drive to her nearby estate, she chatted gaily of her plans for the coming garden show.

“You’re exactly the person I’ve wanted to see,” Mr. Piff told her. “I have a plan which I know will interest you—”

From that point on, he talked and talked, outlining his scheme for the big commercial flower show. At first Mrs. Langley did not seem very much impressed. However, before the ride ended, she had begun to ask many questions.

“Do come in,” she invited the group when finally the car reached her home. “You must see my gardens.”

“Another time perhaps,” said Miss Gordon. “Mr. Piff was in a hurry to keep an appointment—”

“That can wait,” he cut in. “Nothing shall deprive me of the pleasure of viewing Mrs. Langley’s beautiful garden.”

The hour had grown late. Miss Mohr and Miss Gordon felt they should be returning to their homes. However, Mr. Piff had forgotten his haste entirely. To the annoyance of the two women, he insisted upon remaining.

The grounds were well-kept and very lovely. Tiny box hedges edged the formal flower beds. There were fountains, a gazing globe and a sun dial.

“How would you children like to pick yourselves a tussie-mussie bouquet?” suggested Mrs. Langley.

“What is that?” asked Vevi, who had never heard of such a thing.

The garden club president explained that a tussie-mussie bouquet really was a tiny nosegay, or flowers arranged for their scents. Each little bouquet was set off with a small paper lace cap.

“You may select any scents you wish,” Mrs. Langley said, leading the girls on to another old-fashioned garden. “Lavender—heliotrope—mignonette—rosemary or lemon verbena.”

“Say, that tussie-mussie idea is good! Has great commercial possibilities!” exclaimed Mr. Piff. “We could set up a booth and have the Brownies sell them at the flower show!”

“The Brownies are not interested,” Miss Gordon said firmly. She had grown increasingly annoyed by the promoter’s tactics. “Really, we should be going—”

Mr. Piff ignored the hint. While Vevi and Connie gathered flowers for their tiny bouquets, he kept talking to Mrs. Langley about his wonderful plans for the tulip festival.

“You have one of the finest gardens I ever have seen,” he flattered the club woman. “It should be thrown open to the public—for a fee, of course.”

“I do open my gardens each year, Mr. Piff,” she told him. “However, I have never charged admission.”

The visitors were conducted to the greenhouse, where orchids and other tropical plants were grown. Under the glass roof it was so warm that Vevi and Connie were glad to get outside again into the fresh air.

They ran on ahead of the adults to the old wishing well.

“I’m going to make a wish,” declared Vevi quickly. “It’s about Mr. Piff too!”

She dropped a flower petal down into the water and was very quiet for a moment.

“There!” she announced. “I’ve made my wish. Now it’s your turn, Connie. What will you wish?”

“No fair telling or it won’t come true.”

“You can give a hint, Connie. That wouldn’t do any harm.”

“My wish is about Windmill Farm.”

“You’re hoping we can go there again and find out about that locked room!” Vevi instantly guessed. “Isn’t that so?”

“Maybe,” laughed Connie, dropping her petal into the still water. “I won’t tell!”

Just then the grownups came up the path. Mr. Piff seemed in very jubilant spirits. Vevi and Connie soon learned the reason for his good humor. He had won from Mrs. Langley a promise that she would assist financially with the commercial flower show!

The purpose of his visit accomplished, Mr. Piff now was ready to leave. He hustled everyone to the car, and promptly delivered the children to their separate homes.

Connie and Vevi heard no more about the flower show until the next Brownie Scout meeting at the library. Miss Gordon then told the girls that Mr. Piff had talked nearly everyone in Rosedale into cooperating in his scheme.

“Everyone except Peter Van Der Lann,” Miss Mohr amended.

“And the Brownies,” added Connie with a laugh. “Or will we help too?”

“I have not agreed to let the organization take part,” Miss Gordon said. “I feel we should help Mrs. Langley, but I am opposed to assisting Mr. Piff in his commercial scheme. Somehow, I do not trust him.”

“It would be fun though, to sell things in the show,” Rosemary Fritche remarked wistfully. “Those tussie-mussie bouquets perhaps.”

“Maybe we could have a Brownie booth,” Jane Tuttle proposed. “We could wear fancy costumes.”

“Dutch dresses and wooden shoes!” cried Vevi. “Maybe Hanny could help us make our costumes!”

“Not so fast, children!” laughed Miss Gordon. “You’re miles ahead of me. I don’t mind if the Brownies have a booth at the regular garden show, but anything we sell must be for charity.”

“May we have a booth?” Connie asked eagerly.

Miss Gordon said she would talk the matter over with Mrs. Langley. She agreed with Vevi that if they did decide to help, it would be nice for the Brownies to wear colorful Dutch costumes.

“Hanny probably can tell us where to get wooden shoes!” Vevi exclaimed. “When will she come to our Brownie meetings?”

“Has anyone given her a definite invitation?” inquired the teacher.

No one had. True, Vevi and Connie had talked with the little girl about joining the troop but they had not told her when the group would meet.

“Why don’t we hike out there right now and invite her to our next meeting?” Sunny Davidson proposed. “Anyway, I’d like to see Windmill Farm.”

“So would I,” declared Rosemary, who had heard a great deal about the nursery from her friends. “May we go right now, Miss Gordon?”

“Well—I had thought we might make scrapbooks this afternoon.”

“Can’t that wait?” pleaded Vevi. “It’s such a nice day for a hike.”

“I think so too,” agreed Miss Mohr, supporting the girls. “Let’s all go.”

Windmill Farm was only a short way into the country. The Brownie Scouts enjoyed the walk and made the most of it by noticing birds, flowers and trees as they hiked.

Presently, they came within view of the Dutch windmill. However, it was such a still day that the giant arms hung motionless.

Miss Gordon told the children that in Holland similar windmills were needed to pump water and prevent the sea from flooding lowlands. She explained, too, that the people of The Netherlands love flowers and are noted for raising especially fine tulips.

“Our best bulbs come from there,” she declared. “Since Peter Van Der Lann started his nursery here, Rosedale is rapidly becoming a known flower center. Many folks say that his imported bulbs are the best that can be bought anywhere in this country.”

“Did you ever hear of a Golden tulip?” Vevi questioned, recalling the name printed on Mr. Van Der Lann’s boat.

“There are all types, Vevi. All colors too. Nurserymen constantly are trying to develop new strains.”

The driveway was fringed with pink and white dogwood trees which had splattered their petals on the gravel. A big gray sedan stood in front of the little nursery office building.

“Mr. Van Der Lann must have a customer,” Miss Mohr remarked.

The nurseryman was talking to a well-dressed woman in a navy-blue suit and fox fur. However, when the Brownie Scouts trooped into the office, he noticed the party at once. He bowed to Miss Gordon and bestowed an especially nice smile upon Miss Mohr.

“Just a moment, please,” he requested.

While they waited, the Brownies wandered about the office room. Garden tools and seeds were for sale, and there were bins of bulbs and tubers.

Connie and Vevi looked eagerly about for Hanny.

“You should find her at the house,” Mr. Van Der Lann advised.

The Brownies dashed off in search of the little Dutch girl. However, at the house, no one answered. The door to the kitchen stood ajar, but not even the housekeeper was there.

“Maybe Hanny is down by the canal,” Vevi suggested.

“Or in the cheese house,” added Connie.

The two girls enjoyed showing Rosemary, Jane and Sunny over the farm. Because they wanted to keep the secret to themselves, they did not tell the others about the locked door or the mystery connected with it. In passing the little building, though, they noticed that the padlock still was clamped shut.

“Where can Hanny be?” Jane speculated.

“Maybe she is out in the fields,” Sunny suggested.

“First, I want to look inside the cheese house,” Connie said.

She opened the door of the building to peer inside. The room appeared empty at first glance. Milk had been poured into the pans, but no one was working there.

Connie started to leave. Then she stood very still, listening. She could hear an odd sobbing sound which came from a far corner of the room.

There on an old couch lay Hanny! The little girl was curled kitten-fashion into a tight ball. Her hands covered her face and she was trying desperately to smother her loud sobs.

Chapter 5
HANNY’S SECRET

“WHY, Hanny!” exclaimed Connie, amazed to see the little girl weeping. “What is wrong?”

Hanny had not heard the Brownie Scouts come into the cheese room. She sat up quickly, wiping her eyes and blinking fast.

“Why are you crying?” Vevi asked when she did not answer Connie’s question.

Hanny shook her head and turned her face toward the wall. All the Brownies felt very sorry for her.

“Is it because you have to work hard here at the farm?” Connie asked after a moment.

“Oh, no!” Hanny denied, stirred by the question. “I do not work hard.”

“Then you must be crying because you never have any fun.”

Hanny shook her long yellow braids emphatically. She wiped away the tears and sat up on the couch.

“No, no!” she protested. “You do not understand. I am so very happy here. I love America. I love my so good uncle. Everyone!”

“Then what is wrong, Hanny?”

“I cry because I am sad. My uncle told me today that I may have to go back to my homeland.”

“But why?” demanded Jane. “I don’t get it.”

“My uncle is heavily in debt,” sighed Hanny. “He owes much money for this farm and all the what-you-call improvements on it. Now the bank men have told him he must pay.”

“Oh, don’t you worry,” Vevi assured her carelessly. “Everything will turn out all right.”

“Not unless my uncle makes money fast,” Hanny insisted. “If tulip bulbs only sold for five thousand dollars apiece it would be easy.”

“Who ever heard of a bulb selling for that price!” scoffed Jane.

“Oh, but they did at one time,” Hanny said. “During the tulip-o-mania bulbs sold for great sums.”

“What is a tulip-o-mania?” curiously inquired Sunny.

“I know!” cried Connie before Hanny could answer. “It was a period in Dutch history when the people went crazy over tulips.”

“They lost and made fortunes buying and selling them,” added Hanny. “I will tell you about it.”

Forgetting the cause of her tears, the little Dutch girl began to describe the strange period in history.

She related that in 1634 the entire Dutch population traded in tulip bulbs. At first everyone made money. Tulips kept selling for higher and higher prices.

“Then suddenly, people came to their senses,” Hanny went on. “Instead of paying thousands of florins for a single bulb, no one wanted them at any price. People lost all their money.”

“I hope it won’t be that way here,” remarked Rosemary anxiously. “My father says that many nurserymen have invested heavily in tulips this year.”

“People always will buy tulip bulbs,” said Hanny. “But they will not pay high prices any more except for very special bulbs.”

“Can’t your uncle raise a special bulb?” Vevi questioned. “One that’s better than any other tulip in the world?”

Hanny smiled and said she did not think the Brownies knew how difficult it was to develop a fine, new tulip.

“Uncle Peter has one though,” she admitted. “If it should catch the fancy of the public, he might yet make his fortune. Then I could stay in America!”

“Does this new tulip have a name?” inquired Connie.

“I gave it one myself,” Hanny said proudly.

The Brownies pleaded with her to tell the name, but she would not.

“It’s a secret,” she insisted. “At least until after the prize is announced.”

“Prize?” Vevi asked alertly. “What prize?”

“Mrs. Langley has offered a blue ribbon for the best tulip entered in the show.”

“Only a ribbon?” asked Rosemary. “Not a cash prize?”

“The winner of the blue ribbon will earn much money selling the prize bulbs. If the tulip catches the public fancy, the winning grower will receive large orders from all over the country.”

“I wish you’d show us the tulip to be entered in the contest,” Vevi said.

“It is a secret. No one knows except my Uncle Peter, Bruno and me!”

“Bruno is a dog!” scoffed Vevi. “How can he know?”

“Bruno knows many things,” laughed Hanny. “He is a very smart dog. He hauls the milk and at night he keeps people from climbing the fence and stealing our flowers.”

“What color is that special tulip?” Vevi demanded. “Is it red?”

“I don’t dare tell,” laughed Hanny. “Wouldn’t the Mattoxes like to know, though!”

“The couple on the next farm?” questioned Connie, recalling mention of the name.

“Ja,” laughed Hanny, lapsing into a Dutch word. “They are what you call snoops! But they will never learn Uncle Peter’s secret!”

To keep the Brownies from asking too many questions about the tulip, the little Dutch girl took them through the old mill. It was exciting indeed to look at all the pulleys and machinery.

Hanny showed the girls a mechanism which acted as a brake. It was used to prevent the mill from pumping too much water into the irrigation ditches.

“It is my job to watch the windmill,” Hanny told her friends. “Whenever the wind is too strong, I lock the mechanism.”

After the tour had ended, the girls all sat down on the grass to talk. Connie invited Hanny to attend the next Brownie meeting at the Public Library.

“It will be Wednesday right after school,” she said. “Can you come?”

“I think so, but I am not sure,” Hanny replied. “It will depend upon my stand.”

“A flower stand?” asked Jane.

“Yes, my uncle is letting me have one at the roadside. I will sell bouquets of tulips mostly.”

“I’d like to do that myself,” Jane declared. “Maybe the Brownies will have a stand at Mrs. Langley’s garden show.”

“Everything’s so mixed up, we don’t know what we’re supposed to do,” Vevi added with a laugh. “We promised Mrs. Langley we would help her with the regular show. Then Mr. Piff came along and talked her into working with him for a bigger festival.”

“In my country we call a festival a kermis,” Hanny said. “You should bake ellekoek and sell them!”

“What is that?” asked Jane suspiciously.

“Thin cakes in long, narrow ribbons,” Hanny explained with a chuckle. “One sells them by the yard. In my country, the children buy them at the kermis or festival. A child takes each end of the cake. They eat toward each other and kiss at the last bite!”

“How silly!” exclaimed Jane. “I wouldn’t like that.”

“I’d rather sell flowers,” declared Vevi. “Either tulips or tussie-mussie bouquets.”

Hanny told the girls she would try very hard to attend the Wednesday Brownie Scout meeting.

“I’ve told you about Holland,” she declared. “Now you must tell me more about the Brownie Scout organization.”

“Our motto is ‘Be Prepared!’” Sunny explained. “I guess it means learning how to do things well ahead of time, so they can be done right when you’re called on to do it.”

“You ought to learn the greeting too,” Vevi asserted. “When one Brownie Scout meets another, she doesn’t just say ‘Hi!’”

“You use the sign of friendship.” Rosemary took up the explanation. “See, it’s done this way.”

She held up her first two fingers, stiff and straight, token of the two parts of the Brownie Scout Promise.

“The promise is this,” she added: “‘I promise to do my best to love God and my country, to help other people every day, especially those at home’.”

“I know that part,” Hanny declared.

“I guess you help out plenty at home,” Connie said. “Do you know the slogan?”

Hanny shook her head.

“It’s this: ‘Do a Good Turn Daily.’”

“Miss Gordon says that means doing something for someone without being asked or paid for it.”

“Things like setting the table for your mother,” Rosemary explained. “Or maybe washing the dishes.”

“I would like to do something for the Brownies!” declared Hanny. “I know! Next week I will give you some of our tulips. We will have oceans of them in bloom by then.”

“You can do something for the Brownies right now,” said Connie. “If we have our booth in the flower show, we plan to dress in Dutch costumes. Do you know where we can buy some wooden shoes?”

“Buy sabots?” Hanny echoed. “Why don’t you make them?”

“Make our own wooden shoes?” Connie repeated in amazement.

“My uncle does,” Hanny said proudly. “He carves them from wood, with special tools. Maybe he will make shoes for the Brownies!”

“That would be too much trouble,” Connie replied quickly.

“If Uncle Peter is not too busy, I think he will do it. I will ask him. First though, before we go to the office, would you like to see our south field? The first tulips are coming into bloom.”

Eagerly, the Brownies assented. Hanny walked ahead with Connie and Vevi over the soft ground. Entering through a picket gate, they made their way between seemingly endless rows of bright green plants.

“All of our fields are now in bud,” Hanny declared. “We will have a very large flower harvest unless rain or a heavy wind should harm the plants.”

“I haven’t seen any tulips in bloom except in the greenhouses,” Connie remarked.

“Uncle Peter’s are the first in Rosedale. The ones in this field are an especially early variety.”

“Is the prize tulip here?” Vevi teased.

“I’m not saying,” laughed Hanny. “Maybe it is, and maybe it isn’t. You will have to discover the answer for yourself.”

Already, though not fully in bloom, the field was speckled with color. Never had the girls beheld so many different types of tulips.

There were rows of tall pink ones, and short, stubby double yellows. Some were variegated with odd markings.

“Wait until the parrot tulips bloom!” Hanny declared proudly. “They have ragged, queer-shaped petals that look like the feathers of a bird!”

“Your uncle’s prize tulip isn’t a parrot?” Vevi demanded.

“No, it is not a Parrot tulip or a Cottage type,” Hanny replied. “I will tell you that much. It is an early bloomer. My uncle developed it from seed.”

“Then it must be in this field,” Vevi insisted, allowing her gaze to rove over the brilliant mass of flowers. “Is it in bloom now?”

“I can’t say,” answered Hanny, her eyes twinkling. “But it is the most beautiful tulip I have ever seen.”

Everywhere Vevi and the other Brownies saw wonderful flowers. All were so pretty that they could not decide which one was nicer than the others. Jane loved a large flame colored tulip. Sunny’s favorite was a tall rose-hued variety with dark throat.

Then unexpectedly, Vevi saw the tulip that held her eye like a magnet. Only a single flower was in bloom, surrounded by other tulips in bud. Yet the single specimen, each petal perfect, was breath taking.

The flower had a long, straight stem and in color was a pure, golden yellow. Compared to it, all other yellow tulips in the field appeared faded.

“There it is! The one I like best!” cried Vevi.

“It’s my choice too,” declared Connie.

Hanny smiled in an odd sort of way. She seemed very pleased that her friends liked the tulip.

“This isn’t the special tulip, is it?” demanded Rosemary.

Hanny just kept smiling and did not answer.

“Does this flower have a name?” Vevi asked eagerly.

“We call it the ‘Golden Beauty.’”

“‘The Golden Beauty’,” Vevi repeated triumphantly. “That proves it! Your boat has almost the same name! You can’t fool us, Hanny! We’ve discovered the tulip your uncle intends to enter in the prize contest!”

Chapter Six
WOODEN SHOES

HANNY would not admit that Vevi had guessed which tulip her uncle intended to enter in the blue ribbon contest.

All the Brownies clustered about the plant, exclaiming at the beauty of the single bloom.

“The petals look like spun gold!” declared Connie, peering down into the tulip’s deep cup.

“This is the tulip your uncle developed, isn’t it?” demanded Vevi. She wanted to force Hanny to tell.

However, Hanny only laughed.

Quickly, she led the Brownies on to another section of the field, devoted entirely to purple flowers.

“You may each pick a bouquet of these,” she told the girls. “They are the common type of tulips—not special like the others. Next week, you may have all the tulips you can pick.”

“Loads and loads of them?” Sunny asked eagerly.

“We’ll have more than we can sell,” Hanny explained. “Uncle Peter likes to have the blossoms picked off, so that the strength of the bulb will not be sapped.”

The little girl told the Brownies that during the next week, hundreds of visitors likely would come to the farm to see the flowers in bloom. Many would order bulbs for fall delivery, selecting the color and type they liked best.

“If Uncle Peter receives many orders, I may be able to stay in America,” Hanny declared. “I hope people like the new varieties he has developed.”

The little Dutch girl next took the Brownies to an adjoining field, ablaze with rare and splendid colors.

“Uncle Peter calls these his ‘Rembrandt’ tulips,” Hanny said.

“Wasn’t Rembrandt a famous painter?” inquired Connie.

“The tulips were named for him because of their beautiful colors,” Hanny explained. “When Darwin tulips ‘break’ into fantastic color combinations, they are called Rembrandts.”

“I like this one,” declared Rosemary.

She pointed to a tulip which was very exotic appearing with flame-red petals on a white background.

“It is very pretty,” said Vevi, “but I like the Golden Beauty much better.”

Connie asked Hanny what caused tulips to change color or to “break” as horticulturists called it.

“Uncle Peter says ‘breaking’ is really a tulip disease, caused by the combined action of two viruses,” the little Dutch girl explained. “The flowers change color, but the plant keeps growing normally.”

“My, there must be a lot to growing tulips,” sighed Sunny.

As the children trooped out of the Rembrandt field, they spied Peter Van Der Lann near the office. He was watering a display of potted plants as he chatted with Miss Mohr and the Brownie Scout leader.

Hanny immediately sought him to ask if he would have time to make wooden shoes for the girls.

The nurseryman put aside his watering can. “And why should I make wooden shoes?” he asked, smiling indulgently at his beloved niece.

“Because the Brownie Scouts need them to wear at Mrs. Langley’s flower show. You can’t turn them down, Uncle Peter, because they have invited me to be a Brownie too! May I, Uncle Peter?”

Miss Gordon and the librarian already had talked to the nurseryman about his niece joining the organization. So Peter had his answer ready.

“You may join, little Hanny,” he declared. “And I will make the shoes.”

“It must be done quickly, for the flower show is next week,” Hanny said anxiously. “When will you make the shoes, Uncle Hanny?”

“I will take the measurements now,” he said. “Run for my tape measure.”

Miss Mohr and Miss Gordon protested that the nurseryman was far too busy to take time to carve wooden shoes for the children.

“I will do it at night,” he replied. “To whittle wood provides relaxation after a hard day in the fields.”

The two young women declared that they would pay for the work. Mr. Van Der Lann would not hear of such a thing. He insisted that the children were Hanny’s friends and his, and that it was little enough he could do to show his liking.

Soon Hanny came running back with a tape measure. Peter sat the children on a bench, and one by one, measured their feet.

Carefully, he marked down the figures on a sheet of paper.

“Connie has the largest foot,” he reported. “For her shoes I must have a very long piece of white wood.”

“What will our shoes look like when they are finished?” asked Rosemary.

“I will show you,” Hanny said.

Off she darted to the house again. In a moment she returned, two pairs of wooden shoes tucked under her arms.

The shoes were too small for Connie and Jane, but the other Brownies tried them on. First Sunny tried to walk in them.

Her feet felt very stiff and awkward. After she had taken four steps one of the shoes slipped off.

“You don’t do it right,” laughed Hanny. “See, I will show you.”

She slipped into the shoes which were an exact fit. Instead of walking, she ran across the yard toward the cheese house. The door was open.

One moment the children saw Hanny and her long braids framed in the doorway. The next instant she had disappeared into the building.

But setting neatly by the door were the wooden shoes!

“How did she do that?” cried Vevi in admiration. “Why, she didn’t even slow down when she went through the doorway!”

“I never saw her slip off her shoes,” added Jane. “She did it in a flash.”

“Hanny learned that trick when she was very young,” Peter chuckled. “She did not like to take time to remove her shoes before entering the house, so she learned to take them off on the fly.”

Hanny only stayed in the cheese house a moment. Soon she came out to pick up her shoes again.

“Let me see if I can do that!” cried Vevi.

Hanny gave her the shoes, putting on her leather ones again.

“I like these American shoes much better,” she said. “Wooden shoes are clumsy.”

Vevi slipped into the sabots. She took four little choppy steps and then one of the shoes sailed off.

“I can’t run in them at all,” Vevi said, very much discouraged.

She went after the shoe which had rolled down a slope toward the canal. Hanny skipped after her to the water’s edge.

“I’ll show you something else you can do with a wooden shoe,” she told the Brownies. “Watch!”

Picking up the wooden shoe that Vevi had lost she carefully set it down in the shallow water.

“See, a boat!” she laughed.

The wooden shoe turned slowly around in the sluggish water. Then toe forward, it began to drift lazily away.

“Hey, get it quick!” cried Vevi in alarm.

“Oh, it won’t sail far,” laughed Hanny.

She was right too, because in just a minute the shoe snagged on a stick and was held fast.

“Say, that’s fun, sailing boats!” cried Vevi. “Where is the other shoe?”

“On your foot, stupe!” laughed Jane.

The joke certainly was on Vevi, for in the excitement of watching the “boat” she had forgotten that its mate still was on her left foot.

All the Brownies were eager to play “boat.”

“Is it safe?” Miss Gordon anxiously asked the nurseryman.

“Oh, they can’t any more than splash their clothing,” he replied. “The water barely is deep enough to float the boat.”

Reassured, Miss Gordon told the children to have a good time, but to be very careful. She and Miss Mohr then went off with Peter to see some of the tulips.

Connie watched the three walk away. She noticed that the nurseryman seemed especially friendly with Miss Mohr.

“I think he likes her,” she whispered to Vevi. “See, he is picking her a bouquet of tulips.”

“He likes Miss Gordon too,” Vevi replied carelessly. All her attention now had centered on the wooden shoe boats.

“Not the same way though,” insisted Connie. “He smiles at her sort of special. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if they’d fall in love? Then Hanny could stay here always—”

Vevi gave her friend a sharp jab in the ribs.

“Hush!” she warned. “Do you want Hanny to hear? Anyway, you get crazy ideas, Connie Williams!”

For the next twenty minutes the Brownies had a wonderful time at the water’s edge. They peeled off their stockings and sat on the bridge, splashing their toes.

It was great fun sailing the wooden shoes in the lazy current. Now and then a “boat” would fill with water and sink. Then one of the girls would wade to its rescue.

“My shoe is a torpedo boat!” Vevi shouted. “I’m coming after your boat, Jane.”

She propelled the shoe, making it crack into the other.

The Brownies played “war” for a few minutes before discovering that the wooden shoes made good sand scoops. Sand castles occupied them after that.

Connie noticed that Miss Mohr, Miss Gordon and Peter had started back from the tulip fields.

“It must be nearly time to leave,” she said anxiously. “Vevi McGuire, just look at your dress! What will Miss Gordon say?”

“Yours is splashed too!” Vevi replied, trying to brush off the water drops from her skirt. “It has a spot of mud on the sleeve.”

“We’d better quit this game before we get any dirtier,” Rosemary declared uneasily. “Let’s clean up the wooden shoes.”

She gathered up one pair and began to wash out the sand.

Vevi looked about for the other shoes. One lay at the water’s edge. The other was nowhere to be seen.

“Connie, did you have Hanny’s shoe?” she inquired.

Connie shook her head.

“You had it last,” she reminded Vevi. “Remember? When you were playing torpedo.”

“I don’t recall taking it out of the water,” Vevi said, glancing anxiously down the canal. “Did anyone else pick it up?”

No one had seen the shoe.

“It must have drifted away,” Hanny said. “Oh, dear, it belonged to my best pair too.”

“Where does the canal lead?” Connie questioned.

“Past the Mattox farm and on to a drainage ditch. The shoe couldn’t have drifted far though, because the Mattoxes have a footwalk across the water. That would stop the shoe if it went that far.”

“Let’s go see!” proposed Vevi. She started off toward the adjoining property which was separated from the Van Der Lann place by a tall fence.

“No! No!” Hanny called after her. “We must not trespass.”

Vevi did not climb over the fence. But she crawled high up on it so she could see far down the canal.

“I don’t see the shoe anywhere,” she said, and then she corrected herself. “Oh, yes, I do!”

“Where?” cried Hanny.

“It has snagged on a pile of sticks there where the canal turns a bit!”

Hanny climbed up on the fence beside Vevi. She too saw the runaway shoe.

“I’ll run and get it,” Vevi offered. She was not afraid to cross the Mattox land.

“No, no!” Hanny said in earnest protest. “Uncle Peter has told me that I must never set foot on their property. They are so very unpleasant.”

“Then how will we get the shoe?” Vevi demanded.

Hanny thought hard for a second and then had an idea.

“The watercourse belongs to everybody,” she declared. “I will take the boat and fetch the shoe!”

Chapter Seven
A RUNAWAY ‘BOAT’

VEVI and Connie offered to go with Hanny to recover the missing wooden shoe. They thought it odd, however, that the Mattox couple should be so strict about anyone walking on their land.

“Is it safe to go in the boat?” questioned Connie as the children walked back to the canal.

“Oh, yes, the water isn’t deep,” Hanny replied. “I will get the oars.”

She ran to the barn, returning with them in a moment. Then she untied the boat and climbed in.

All of the Brownies were eager for a ride on the canal. Hanny though, could not take everyone.

“Vevi and Connie spoke first,” she said. “So I will take them.”

The two Brownies stepped into the boat with their armful of tulip blooms. By this time the flowers had wilted a bit. Vevi dipped the stems into the canal for a moment and then put the bouquets on the bottom of the boat.

As she bent down she noticed that a little water was seeping in through the boards.

“Say, I think this old boat is leaking!” she cried.

“It always does a little,” Hanny replied, picking up the oars.

Vevi and Connie moved their feet so that their shoes would not get wet.

“Shove us off,” Hanny urged the Brownies who had remained ashore.

Jane gave the boat a mighty push. Out it shot into the current. For a moment, before slowing down, the craft went almost as fast as if it had a motor.

“Say, this is fun!” shouted Vevi.

Jane, Rosemary and Sunny ran along the bank beside the boat. When they reached the fence that separated Mr. Van Der Lann’s property from the Mattox farm, they had to stop.

Hanny began to row. She handled the oars very well and kept the boat steady in the middle of the canal.

“Say, this old boat is leaking fast!” Vevi observed very soon. “My feet are getting wet.”

“So are mine,” declared Connie, shifting to another place in the boat.

Hanny told Vevi to look for a bailing can under the seat. The container could not be found.

“I remember, I used it for something else last week and forgot to put it back,” Hanny admitted.

Vevi and Connie began to squirm nervously. The water was not deep but it kept spreading over the bottom of the boat.

“I want out of this old tub,” Vevi suddenly announced. “It is going to sink!”

Hanny insisted that the boat was safe. “I can’t let you out because we are at the Mattox place now,” she added. “We will soon have that runaway shoe and be back home.”

Vevi and Connie forgot the leaking boat as they looked about with interest. From the Van Der Lann place tall trees and bushes had screened their view of the other nursery.

Now they saw the big greenhouse with its glass roof and a small cottage very much in need of paint. A few tulips were in bloom, but the flowers were not as large or as showy as those on Peter’s place.

“The Mattoxes lived here before my uncle started his nursery,” Hanny told her friends. “They were annoyed when he bought land next to their property. They had expected to add it to their own place.”

“Is that Mrs. Mattox?” Connie asked. She had noticed a woman in a blue straw hat working in the fields.

“Her name is Freda,” Hanny said. “If she sees us, she may speak crossly. She does not like me or Uncle Peter.”

“Say, my feet are wet!” Vevi suddenly cried.

“The water is coming into this boat faster and faster,” Connie declared uneasily. “Hanny, you must pull up on shore.”

“Mrs. Mattox won’t like it.”

“Who cares about her?” Vevi demanded. “We are getting wet, Hanny.”

The little Dutch girl guided the boat to a sandy stretch of beach along the canal. After Connie and Vevi had leaped out, she pulled the craft up on shore so it would not drift away.

“Mrs. Mattox has seen us,” Hanny said, glancing over her shoulder. “Oh! Oh! She has dropped her hoe and is coming this way.”

“Let’s get the wooden shoe as fast as we can and run!” Vevi urged.

Abandoning the boat, the children ran to the clutter of debris where the runaway shoe had caught fast.

But when Connie tried to capture it, she only succeeded in setting it free. Off it floated again down the canal.

“Hey, come back here, shoe!” she cried.

The “boat” drifted lazily along until finally it lodged against a footbridge.

“Now we can get it,” declared Vevi.

“And Mrs. Mattox will get us,” added Hanny nervously. “She is walking straight to our boat.”

The children walked quickly out on the footbridge. The narrow planking bent under their weight and dipped low into the water.

“It’s going to break!” Vevi exclaimed fearfully.

“Oh, a footbridge always wobbles,” Connie reassured her. “Here, hold my hand while I grab the old shoe.”

Vevi steadied her so she could bend down and rescue the shoe.

“Now back to the boat!” Hanny urged. “We are going to get a scolding, I can tell you.”

Mrs. Mattox did not pay very much attention to the three girls as they hurried up the canal. In fact, she seemed deeply engrossed examining something in the bottom of the boat.

“What is she doing?” Vevi asked curiously.

“Maybe she is trying to stop the leak in our boat,” Connie speculated.

Hanny however, had sharper eyes.

“She is looking at our tulips,” she told her companions. “Just see her poking about among the blossoms.”

“Why would she do that?” Vevi whispered. By this time the children had drawn quite close to the boat.

“She’s trying to see what varieties Uncle Peter is raising this year,” Hanny declared. “I think she is hoping to find out if we have a tulip that will win the blue ribbon.”

Mrs. Mattox had heard the children come up. She straightened, dropping a red tulip.

For a minute the girls thought she intended to scold them for coming onto her property. Instead, she merely stared at them.

“Our boat is leaking,” Hanny said politely. “That is why we walked on your land.”

“It isn’t the first time you have done it,” the woman answered. She kept eyeing the tulips in the boat.

“Hanny gave us some flowers,” Connie said to make conversation. She always tried to be friendly with everyone. “Aren’t they beautiful?”

“Humph! Very ordinary tulips I would say,” replied Mrs. Mattox. “Which one is your uncle entering in the flower show, Hanny?”

“I cannot say, Mrs. Mattox.”

“None of these, I’d judge.”

Hanny remained silent. Her unwillingness to talk angered the woman.

“How many times have I told you not to come onto my property?” she berated the children. “You tramp the flowers and damage our plantings.”

Hanny knew the accusations were unfair. It was true, though, that she had been told repeatedly not to trespass.

“We are leaving now,” she said.

“Take this leaky old tub with you,” Mrs. Mattox ordered crossly. “You will have to tow it back by the rope because it is becoming waterlogged. Now, begone!”

Hanny seized the rope and started to pull the boat alongshore. Mrs. Mattox followed close behind to see that she did not do any damage.

“I am sorry about the boat,” Hanny apologized again. “My uncle plans soon to build a new one.”

“Such foolishness!” the nurseryman’s wife exclaimed. “First it was a windmill! What will it be next? Always foolishness.”

“I like the windmill,” Vevi said, speaking in Peter’s defense. “His farm is very pretty. It is nicer than this one.”

Now the little girl should not have made the remark. She was sorry the moment she had said the words. Mrs. Mattox lost her temper at once.

“Oh, so Peter Van Der Lann has a better nursery than ours!” she exclaimed. “Well, let me tell you something! He won’t have it long. Everyone in Rosedale knows that he is deeply in debt. He will lose his farm, and then where will he be?”

Chapter 8
THE TREASURE HOUSE

MRS. Mattox’ words distressed Hanny, who began to cry. She knew only too well that her uncle might lose his property and that she would be sent back to Holland.

“My uncle won’t lose his farm,” she denied stubbornly. “He will make a great deal of money this year. Our tulip will win the prize and we will sell our bulbs for a nice price.”

“Don’t count on it,” said Mrs. Mattox. “Your uncle will win no prize with any of the tulip varieties I have seen.”

“We have one though—” Hanny began, and then she stopped short. She realized she had been on the verge of saying too much.

“Where does your uncle grow this wonderful tulip?” Mrs. Mattox pursued the subject.

Hanny would not say. She was glad when they reached the boundary of her uncle’s land. The other Brownies were at the fence and helped to pull the water-logged boat back to its mooring place.

“Don’t you mind Mrs. Mattox,” Connie said to Hanny, slipping an arm about the little girl’s waist. “She is just an old meanie.”

“But it is true my uncle may lose this farm.”

“You will win the blue ribbon for your prize tulip.”

“I hope so,” Hanny said soberly, “but Uncle Peter says we cannot count on it. All the growers in Rosedale are trying for the prize. Many new varieties will be shown.”

“Yours will be the very best,” Connie declared confidently. “If it is the Golden Beauty I am sure it will win.”

The children hauled the leaky boat up on the grassy bank. As they overturned it, Miss Gordon hailed them from the path.

“Come to the house, girls,” she called. “Mr. Van Der Lann has invited us to have sweet cakes.”

“I’ll give you some of my hopjes too,” declared Hanny.

“What are those?” Jane Tuttle asked as the group started for the house. “Something to eat?”

“Candy with a butterscotch flavor,” Hanny explained. “Good too!”

Inside the farm house, Peter had laid a fire on the hearth to take a chill from the air. Hanny, Vevi and Connie moved in close to dry their damp shoes and stockings.

As the children were telling Mr. Van Der Lann about the leaky boat, the housekeeper came in bearing steaming chocolate and maastegles or sweet cakes.

While they nibbled the cakes, the grownups talked of the coming flower show. Judging of the tulips, the first event in the mammoth festival, was to come the following weekend. Mrs. Langley planned to open her estate to the public according to her usual custom. Prize flowers would be on display at her greenhouse.

“Mr. Piff keeps at me to have a part in the commercial show,” Mr. Van Der Lann said. “To participate I must pay one hundred dollars. I do not have it and have told him so. Yet he has told about Rosedale that I have refused only because I am stubborn.”

“From what I hear, many of the growers are regretting that they went into Mr. Piff’s scheme,” remarked Miss Mohr. “It is to be an elaborate affair and no doubt will bring hundreds of persons to Rosedale during show week. But some folks are saying that for all his talk, Mr. Piff is not a good manager.”

“I have heard rumors myself,” nodded Mr. Van Der Lann. “Some of the growers complain that for every dollar Mr. Piff collects, fifty cents goes into his own pocket.”

“I liked our festival so much when it was a small, quiet affair,” added Miss Gordon. “For the life of me I cannot understand why Mrs. Langley became interested in Mr. Piff’s scheme.”

The Brownies had just finished their cake when the housekeeper came in. She spoke quietly to the nurseryman.

“Mrs. Gabriel is here again,” she informed him. “It is about those bulbs she asked you to order for her.”

Mr. Van Der Lann went to the window and looked out. He could see the lady’s car on the driveway near the little office.

“Why does she keep pestering me?” he demanded. “I have told her repeatedly that I want none of her business. Tell her I will not see her!”

The Brownies could not understand why the nurseryman did not like to deal with Mrs. Gabriel. Her unexpected visit seemed to upset him.

A little later, when the children were outside again, Vevi asked Hanny why her uncle turned down Mrs. Gabriel’s order.

“I do not know,” Hanny answered with a shrug.

“Who is she anyhow?” Connie questioned. She did not know anyone in Rosedale by the name of Gabriel.

“She has been here several times,” Hanny told her friends. “Always she is nice to me and once gave me a chocolate bar. But I do not like her. Uncle Peter says she is trying to get him to do something he does not want to do.”

It was nearly time to leave now, so the children went down to the canal for their bouquets of flowers.

Sunny, Jane and Rosemary quickly gathered up their tulips and carried them back to the house. Vevi and Connie followed more slowly, stopping a moment to watch the revolving arms of the big windmill.

“Hanny,” said Vevi suddenly, “when are you going to tell us about the mystery house?”

Hanny grinned and pretended not to understand.

“You know what I mean,” Vevi said pointedly. “When are you going to tell us what you keep in that locked building?”

“Someday,” Hanny laughed.

“We may not get out here again very soon,” Vevi argued. “Next week is the flower show at Mrs. Langley’s estate.”

“And right after that the big commercial festival,” added Connie. “The Brownies will be very busy next week too. We have to make our booth and cut paper tulips to decorate the library.”

“But you will have to come again, if only to try on the wooden shoes Uncle Peter is making for you,” Hanny protested.

“We won’t be able to stay long next time,” Vevi insisted. “If you’re ever going to tell us about that locked house, now is the time to do it.”

Hanny hesitated a long while. Then she demanded:

“Can you both keep a secret?”

“Oh, yes!” said Connie.

“A Brownie’s word is as good as gold,” added Vevi. “Tell us your secret, Hanny.”

“It belongs to Uncle Peter as much as to me. You’re sure you can keep the secret if I tell you?”

“Brownie’s honor,” said Connie soberly.

“Then wait here,” directed Hanny. “I will be back in a minute.”

She ran off to the house. Vevi and Connie could not imagine what she was after. Soon she came flying back, something clutched in her hand.

She opened her fingers to show Connie and Vevi that the object was a tiny padlock key.

“Come with me,” she bade her friends. “But you must never, never tell what I am going to show you. Not until after next week at least. Then it will not matter.”

Connie and Vevi became rather excited at the thought of seeing inside the locked house. They could not guess what Hanny’s uncle kept hidden there. It made them feel very important to think that Hanny trusted them enough to let them share her secret.

“We must hurry,” Connie said, glancing anxiously toward the house. “I think Miss Gordon and Miss Mohr are about ready to start home.”

Hanny inserted the key into the padlock and pulled it open.

“You mustn’t tell anyone—not even the other Brownies,” Hanny warned.

“We promise,” Vevi said impatiently.

Hanny pushed open the door and stepped into the dark room. The other two girls followed quickly behind her.

“I can’t see a thing!” Vevi complained.

“Neither can I,” declared Connie, clinging to her friend’s arm.

“Wait! I will let in a little light,” Hanny said. “But only a little.”

The room in which the children stood was nearly square, with walls scarcely more than ten feet in length. There were no windows, only a small skylight overhead. The latter had been covered with a blanket to keep out the sunshine.

Hanny moved the covering so that a crack of light filtered down.

“There!” she exclaimed. “Now can you see?”

Vevi and Connie looked about them. The walls of the room were lined with homemade shelves on which were stored large, plump objects which were difficult to identify in the shadowy light.

“Onions!” Vevi exclaimed, finally making out their shape.

She was bitterly disappointed. For that matter, so was Connie.

“Not onions,” corrected Hanny. “Look again.”

“Tulip bulbs?” Connie asked.

“Yes,” Hanny acknowledged. “Our very best ones are kept here. The temperature is carefully controlled. Uncle Peter and I call this place our treasure house.”

Connie and Vevi were so disappointed they could not say a word.

For days they had been speculating about the mystery of the little locked house. They had convinced themselves that this room contained something very startling and wonderful. And now to learn that it was only a storeroom for bulbs!

Hanny seemed to sense how her friends felt. At any rate, she chuckled as if enjoying their astonishment.

“Now, I’ll show you the real treasure,” she promised. “Then you will understand why the secret must be kept.”

Chapter 9
HIGH WIND

MOVING to a shelf on the north wall, Hanny pulled out a canvas bag.

“Not money?” gasped Vevi. Her interest in the locked room had revived quickly.

“This bag contains something which may be as valuable as gold,” Hanny replied. “It all depends on whether or not Uncle Peter is lucky.”

The little Dutch girl unfastened the bag and carefully emptied out some of the contents on the counter.

“More tulip bulbs!” exclaimed Vevi. “Big ones too.”

She had never seen such large bulbs. Each one was plump and perfectly formed. Even Vevi who did not know anything about flower bulbs could see that these were something very fine.

“Are these the special bulbs your uncle developed Hanny?” shrewdly guessed Connie. “Are they the blue ribbon ones?”

“They’re the bulbs Uncle Peter hopes will win the prize.”

“Why do you keep them locked up?” questioned Vevi.

“Because they will be worth their weight in gold if our tulip wins first prize,” Hanny explained. “There are no other bulbs like these anywhere in this country or abroad. Uncle Peter says they are the finest in the world! If we should lose them or if they should rot, we never could replace them.”

“Are they bulbs of the Golden Tulip?” Vevi asked.

“I cannot say,” returned Hanny. “I would like to tell, but I promised Uncle Peter not to give away the secret.”

“The Golden Tulip is the most beautiful one I have seen anywhere,” Vevi insisted. “I think these must be Golden Tulip bulbs.”

Hanny only laughed and put away the bag. Then she carefully locked the little house again.

“I wish the Brownies had a tulip bed,” said Connie after the padlock had been snapped shut. “Miss Mohr might give us a little plot of ground at the library.”

“It is too late to start a tulip bed this spring,” Hanny advised her. “Bulbs should be planted in the fall.”

“Then perhaps the Brownies can have a garden next year. Only then Rosedale may not be having a flower festival.”

“Next year, if Uncle Peter still has his nursery, I will give you hundreds of bulbs,” Hanny promised.

As the children turned away from the little house, they were startled to hear Jane calling to them from the roadway.

“Hey, hurry up!” she shouted. “We’ve been waiting nearly ten minutes! Hurry!”

Vevi and Connie hastily said goodbye to Hanny, reminding her not to forget the scheduled Brownie Scout meeting at the library. Then they ran off to join their friends who were ready to start home.

“Say, where did you girls go anyhow?” Jane demanded suspiciously as Vevi and Connie rushed up breathlessly.

“It’s a secret,” chuckled Vevi.

All the way home, the other Brownies teased her to reveal where she and Connie had been. But Vevi would not.

Not until they were alone again, did the two girls so much as mention the locked room.

Both were hopeful that Peter would win the blue ribbon and that his bag of precious bulbs truly would become a bag of treasure.

On Wednesday after school all the Brownie Scouts gathered at the public library to cut and paste tulip decorations for the windows.

“Where is Hanny?” Rosemary asked noticing that the little girl was not present. “I thought she was coming today.”

“So did I,” declared Miss Gordon. “Perhaps she will come later.”

A door banged just then and in came Hanny. She was quite breathless from hurrying.

“I am sorry to be late,” she apologized. “I did not think I could come at all. My uncle was called away and there is no one at home to look after things. Even the housekeeper is away.”

Miss Gordon said she was happy indeed that Hanny had managed to attend the meeting. She gave the little girl materials and showed her how to make paper flowers.

As the children worked with scissors and paste, Miss Mohr told them about the work of Brownies in foreign countries.

“Now who remembers the Brownie name in the Netherlands?” she asked the group.

Sunny Davidson and Connie Williams both waved their hands. Miss Mohr called on Sunny to give the answer.

“They’re called Kabouters and it means little elves.”

“Now who knows the name that is used for the organization in South Africa?” the librarian went on.

No one knew the answer so Miss Mohr told the girls that Brownies in South Africa were known as Sunbeams.

She said that in Greece they were called Poulakia or Little Birds.

Miss Gordon then told the Brownies about cut-out dolls they could obtain. She explained that the figures were dressed in Brownie uniforms of different countries in the World Association of Girl Guides and Girl Scouts.

“Now you know that tulip bulbs came to this country from Holland,” she declared. “Look about in your homes, and at our next meeting report how many objects you have noticed that have been imported from other countries.”

“Our home has almost everything from Holland,” Hanny said. “But I like best the things you buy in America. I love your big super markets too where you see so many wonderful foods.”

So that the little girl would know more about the organization she intended to join, Miss Gordon explained how the Brownies obtained their name in English speaking countries.

“The organization was named by Robert Baden-Powell, who lived in England,” she told Hanny. “He knew many wonderful stories about the brownies or ‘little people’ and thought it would be a suitable name for girls who try to be useful. The founder of the Girl Scouts in America was Mrs. Juliette Gordon Low.”

“How can I join?” Hanny asked eagerly. “I want to be a Brownie.”

“We will have the investiture ceremony as soon as you have attended four meetings,” Miss Gordon promised.

After the paper flowers had been made, the girls talked over plans for a booth at Mrs. Langley’s flower show. Miss Mohr announced that Peter Van Der Lann had promised the troop all the tulips they wanted, not only for decoration, but to sell. The mothers would help too, particularly in the making of tussie-mussie bouquets.

“I think the festival on Mrs. Langley’s estate will be very nice,” Miss Mohr told the girls. “The Brownies will wear Dutch costumes, and wooden shoes. All the money we make will be for our own organization.”

It was after four-thirty when the meeting finally came to an end. Vevi and Hanny were among the last to leave the library. Arm in arm they walked along the street together.

“I am going to like being a Brownie,” Hanny told her new friend. “Why, I hope I can attend every single meeting.”

The children were passing a drugstore window. Vevi stopped to look at a poster which advertised the coming festival. The placard did not mention the preliminary show on Mrs. Langley’s estate but told about the three-day celebration which would follow.

Vevi was reading the poster when a sudden gust of wind whipped her Brownie uniform about her knees.

At the same instant off went her brown beanie into the gutter.

“Whoops!” Vevi exclaimed, scampering after the rolling headgear.

As she snatched the beanie from the street an automobile came to a jerky halt at the curb. The strange woman Vevi knew as Mrs. Gabriel was at the wheel. She tooted her horn and glared at the little girl.

“Don’t you know better than to dash out into the street!” she scolded. “I might have run you down.”

Vevi had been a little careless. However, she never had come very close to the automobile.

“I am sorry,” she apologized. “That wind—”

Off went her beanie again, this time almost directly beneath the wheels of the stationary car. To the annoyance of Mrs. Gabriel, Vevi had to get down on her hands and knees to fish it out.

“Do watch what you are doing,” the woman said. “And hang onto that hat!”

The moment Vevi was safely on the curb, she drove away.

Hanny had been having a time with her own belongings. The capricious wind had scattered some of her school papers. For several minutes she was kept busy gathering them up.

Breathlessly the two girls huddled in the drugstore doorway. As yet there was no rain but dust was blowing wildly in the street. A newspaper flew past, plastering itself around a telephone pole.

“It’s going to blow real hard,” Vevi said, pulling her sweater tight. “Hanny, you had better come home with me.”

“I can’t,” the other replied. “O-oh!”

Vevi looked around quickly, wondering what was wrong. She thought dust had blown into Hanny’s eyes or that another paper had been swept away.

“What is it?” she asked for her little friend looked dreadfully worried.

“The windmill!” Hanny said in a frightened voice. “I left it turned on. If it pumps very long in this high wind, our tulips may be ruined!”

Chapter 10
IN THE HAYLOFT

THE wind was blowing steadily now, whipping the trees and sending everyone to cover.

Hanny and Vevi huddled in the drugstore doorway, not knowing what to do.

“I should have locked the windmill before I left the farm,” Hanny said, clutching her hat tightly to keep it from sailing away.

“Maybe your uncle will get home and take care of it,” Vevi said hopefully.

“He has gone away for the afternoon. Oh, Vevi, I will have to get out there as fast as I can. This wind is not going to let up for a long while.”

“I will go with you,” Vevi offered. She did not really want to go. It was a long walk to the farm and the sharp wind would make the trip uncomfortable.

Nevertheless, she started off with Hanny down the street. The girls had to duck their heads and bend low. Even then it was hard to keep on their feet.

“This is a regular hurricane!” Vevi gasped. “Maybe everything is going to blow away!”

Hanny however, was not frightened. She glanced at the sky, studying the boiling clouds for a minute.

“It is only a hard wind,” she said. “But it can do much damage at our nursery. Oh, why did I forget the windmill?”

Reaching the outskirts of the city, the two girls struck out along the main highway. Soon they saw a car overtaking them.

“Here comes someone,” Vevi said, looking over her shoulder. “Maybe we can catch a ride to the farm.”

The children moved off the roadway and waited. When the car was fairly close they could see a woman at the wheel. There were no passengers.

“It looks like Mrs. Gabriel’s car,” said Hanny. “My uncle would not want me to ride with her.”

“Even to save the tulips?”

“I guess that would be different,” Hanny agreed.

Both girls waved their arms, trying to attract Mrs. Gabriel’s attention. They knew she saw them, for she slowed down.

“She is going to pick us up!” Vevi cried in relief.

But Mrs. Gabriel did not stop. She drove past the children, without paying any attention to their frantic gestures.

“Why, that was mean!” exclaimed Vevi. “She’ll be going right past the farm too!”

The girls bored on into the wind, but walking was most difficult. Vevi could not keep on her beanie. She carried it in her hand, but her hair kept whipping across her eyes.

“We’ll never get there!” she gasped. “This hateful old wind!”

A loud “toot-toot” sounded directly behind the girls. Startled, they jumped to the side of the road.

Another car had come along, driven by a man who was riding with his wife. He pulled up beside the children.

“Want a ride?” he asked.

“Do we!” demanded Vevi gratefully.

The man opened the car door, and the girls slid into the back seat.

“Going far?” he inquired.

“Only to Windmill Farm,” Hanny said. “Can you take us there?”

“Sure thing,” the man agreed. “I’m going right past the farm.”

The car rolled over a bridge. Vevi and Hanny saw that the river had been ruffled into high, foamy waves. Along each shore, the low-bent branches of willows were lashing back and forth.

A few big drops of rain spattered against the car’s windshield.

“We’ll have a downpour any minute now,” the driver said. “You children should have your raincoats.”

The car passed the Mattox nursery. On the driveway, Vevi and Hanny saw Mrs. Gabriel’s parked automobile.

“Look at the roof of the greenhouse!” Hanny cried, pointing.

A portion of the glass covering had been smashed by the wind.

“It was a little twister all right,” declared the man who had given the children a ride. “The worst is over now though, I think.”

“I hope our windmill is all right,” Hanny said anxiously. “It may have blown down.”

The car rolled over a rise, and the children were reassured to see the huge canvas-arms revolving at a furious rate.

“It’s still there,” Vevi said, greatly relieved.

“But see how fast the arms are turning,” Hanny declared. “The tulip fields will be flooded!”

At the gate to Windmill Farm, the driver stopped the car to let the children off.

“Will you be all right now?” he asked. “Or do you want me to come with you?”

“I can turn off the windmill myself,” Hanny said.

She and Vevi thanked the driver and his wife for the ride and ran through the gate.

The windmill was groaning and straining under the assault of the elements. At any moment, Vevi expected to see the canvas-covered arms ripped to shreds.

Around and around went the fan-shaped sails, pumping water at a fearful rate. The irrigation ditches were flooded and Hanny could see that some of the tulip fields were soaked.

“I must get the mill stopped first of all!” she cried.

The little Dutch girl ran to the mill and tried to open the door. The wind held it back.

“Help me, Vevi!” she cried.

Both girls tugged at the door. Vevi lost her beanie again, and this time she did not try to save it.

Suddenly the mill door flew back, banging hard. The wind was so strong it nearly wrenched off the hinges.

Once inside the mill, the girls were protected. But it was frightening to hear the wild creak of the pulleys and the heaving and groaning of the great sails overhead.

“Oh, Hanny, I’m scared,” Vevi whimpered, huddling against a wall. “This old mill is about ready to blow over.”

Hanny was not as nervous as her little friend, for she had been inside the mill before on very windy days.

Quickly, she shot levers into place, locking the mechanism.

“There, I have stopped the mill from pumping!” she exclaimed.

The girls caught their breath, looking out over the fields through the open doorway.

“This wind will snap the stems of our tulips even if the water did not ruin them,” Hanny said. “Uncle Peter will lose most of his investment.”

“The wind is dying down some now,” Vevi said. “Maybe the tulips will be all right.”

“I am especially worried about the north field,” Hanny went on. “If the prize tulip is lost, we will have nothing to enter in Mrs. Langley’s show.”

“The Golden Beauty?”

Hanny did not answer. She seemed to be thinking hard.

Suddenly, without explaining what she intended to do, she bolted out the open door of the mill.

Vevi saw the little girl run to the barn. She was inside a minute or two. Then out she came, carrying a large, empty orange crate.

“Where are you going, Hanny?” Vevi shouted across the yard.

In the high wind, Hanny could not hear. But Vevi saw her enter the north field and dart down the rows of tulips.

Hanny carefully set the crate down. Then she came flying back to rejoin Vevi in the mill.

“Our tulip is still safe!” she exclaimed. “I have covered it with the box. Now it will be protected even if the other tulips are ruined.”

Vevi had noticed the place where Hanny had set down the box.

“It was the Golden Beauty that you covered,” she said. “I am sure of it, Vevi. But I will never tell.”

The old mill was a chilly and uncomfortable place in which to stand. Hanny said that the barn, directly across the yard, was a much better shelter from which to watch the storm.

“Let’s make a run for it,” she urged. “The rain is coming.”

Together the girls dashed across the open space. Midway there, Vevi spied her lost beanie snagged against a fence post. She darted aside to rescue it. Before she could reach the barn, rain began to come down in torrents.

“Hurry! Hurry!” Hanny shouted, holding the barn door open for her.

Vevi dashed in, her Brownie uniform splashed with raindrops.

For several minutes the rain came in a great sheet. Then abruptly, it let up.

“At least we will not have hail,” Hanny declared. “That is what ruins the plants.”

Now that the excitement was nearly over, Vevi became interested in the interior of the barn. She had never seen such a clean place.

The floor was swept as neatly as a living room. Curtains were at all the windows. The stalls, where two Jersey cows contentedly chewed their cuds, did not have a speck of dust or dirt.

Vevi sniffed the air. She could smell something sweet and fragrant.

“What is that odor?” she asked.

“The haymow,” Hanny told her. “See, the ladder leads up to it.”

Vevi climbed up to look. “My, this hay looks nice and soft,” she called down.

The little girl suddenly realized that the trip from Rosedale and so much running and hurrying had made her very tired. She snuggled down into a mound of hay.

Hanny also climbed the ladder. Seeing Vevi so snug, she curled up beside her.

The hay was warm and delightful.

“I’m sleepy,” Vevi said. “I think I will take a nap. By the time I wake up, the rain will be over.”

“It is almost over now,” said Hanny.

“I think I will take a nap anyhow,” Vevi declared. “Wake me up when it stops raining.”

Now Hanny did not intend to fall asleep. After Vevi had closed her eyes, she lay very still listening to the rain on the barn roof.

The hay was sweet-smelling and as cozy as a feather bed. She felt delightfully drowsy, shut off from all the world.

Hanny thought she would close her eyes only for a moment. When she opened them, she was astonished to see that dark shadows shrouded the haymow.

Vevi was shaking her.

“M-m,” Hanny mumbled drowsily. For a moment she could not think where she was or what had happened.

Vevi pressed a hand over Hanny’s lips.

“Sh!” she warned.

By this time Hanny had come two-thirds awake. She saw Vevi sitting beside her, hay sticking in her mussed hair.

“Listen!” Vevi whispered.

The rain had ceased and Hanny no longer could hear the whistle of the wind around the corners of the barn. How long had she slept?

Hanny sat up, rubbing her eyes. Only then did she hear a strange murmuring sound from the lower floor of the barn.

“What is that?” she whispered.

“Someone is down there,” Vevi answered, very low. “When I woke up, I heard two people talking.”

“Maybe it is Peter come home.”

“I don’t think so Hanny. Besides, there are two people.”

Their curiosity aroused, the two girls crept to the edge of the hay loft. Peering down they saw a man and a woman standing in the doorway of the barn.

“It is Mrs. Mattox and her husband Joseph,” Hanny whispered. “But why are they here? They refuse me permission to walk on their property.”

Mrs. Mattox was cleaning mud from her shoes.

“We should not stand here,” her husband said. “Peter Van Der Lann may return at any moment, or his little girl.”

“Let them,” said the wife. “At any rate, it was your idea to visit his fields to see what the stubborn Dutchman is raising. Now that you have looked under the box are you satisfied?”

“The tulip is superior to anything that we can enter in the show.”

“I don’t agree,” Mrs. Mattox replied. “Our own flower the cherry-rose candy stick tulip is its equal. We will win the prize, Joseph.”

“Don’t count on it,” Mr. Mattox said gloomily.

“We won’t need to win the blue ribbon to have a profitable business. We have valuable customers. Mrs. Gabriel—”

“How many times must I ask you not to mention her name?” Mr. Mattox broke in angrily. “I wish I had never seen her—she may yet be the cause of me going to jail.”

“Jail?” his wife echoed. “Joseph, I fail to understand you. When Mrs. Gabriel first came to talk to you, why you said we would make a mint of money. Didn’t she give you a large order of bulbs to be imported from Holland?”

“Yes, and I wish she hadn’t! Don’t forget that woman went first to Peter Van Der Lann with her proposition. He must suspect what is going on. If he should turn me in we both might be jailed.”

In the hayloft, Hanny and Vevi caught nearly all of the conversation. But they did not understand why Mr. Mattox was so angry at his wife for mentioning Mrs. Gabriel’s name.

Hanny made up her mind she would tell her Uncle Peter all about it when he came home.

“The rain has stopped,” she heard Mr. Mattox say. “We can go now.”

Never guessing that anyone had listened to their talk, the couple left the barn. By the time Vevi and Hanny had slid down from the loft, they were nowhere in sight.

Chapter 11
THE MAN IN GRAY

WHEN Peter Van Der Lann drove into the farm yard twenty minutes later, Hanny and Vevi ran to meet him.

“I came as fast as I could,” the farmer said. “Is everything all right?”

Finding English inadequate, Hanny spoke rapidly in Dutch, telling him everything that had happened during his absence.

Mr. Van Der Lann did not have much to say until he had inspected the tulip fields. Although the high wind and rain had flattened many of the plants, they were not as badly damaged as he had feared.

“Now that the sun is coming out again, they will straighten up,” he said. “We will have a good flower harvest, Hanny.”

The nurseryman did not scold his niece for having forgotten about the windmill. Instead, he told her that she probably had saved the tulip field by shutting off the water.

“As for Mr. and Mrs. Mattox,” he said indifferently, “give them no thought, little Hanny.”

“But Uncle Peter, they came while you were away to peep under the box!”

“It does not matter. Before this week has ended, everyone will have seen our beautiful tulip.”

“Mrs. Mattox spoke of a tulip they are entering in the show, Uncle Peter. A cherry-rose candy stripe, she called it.”

“It will not compare with our flower,” declared Mr. Van Der Lann cheerfully. “Do not worry, Hanny.”

“She spoke also of a customer, Mrs. Gabriel. And a large order of tulip bulbs from Holland.”

The nurseryman became attentive, listening closely as his niece related the entire conversation overheard in the hayloft.

“The Mattoxes are welcome to their big order,” he said. “I can tell you no more, Hanny, except to say that you are never to talk to Mrs. Gabriel or have anything to do with her.”

“But why, Uncle Peter?”

“Do not ask me questions,” he said kindly. “I cannot answer, Hanny. Mrs. Gabriel is not to be trusted. I have told her never to come here.”

Mr. Van Der Lann would say no more about Mrs. Gabriel. As it now was growing dusk, he told Vevi he would take her home in his car.

“When you see the other Brownies, let them know that their wooden shoes will be ready for them by tomorrow night,” he said as he dropped her off at her doorstep. “Also, unless it rains again, there will be tulips for the booth which is to be decorated.”

Now that Mrs. Langley’s flower show was close at hand, the Brownie Scouts dropped all other activities.

Miss Gordon and Miss Mohr had obtained Dutch girl costumes for the girls. A carpenter on the Langley estate helped out by making a booth for the organization to use. It was set up on the lawn not far from the greenhouse where the flowers were to be judged.

On the day before the show, the Brownies all hiked out to Windmill Farm. Their wooden shoes were ready for them, and all were a perfect fit.

Mr. Van Der Lann was too busy picking tulips to talk to the children. He left word with his housekeeper though, that they were to have all the flowers they needed. Hanny helped the Brownies choose the blooms they wanted.

“My, I wish we had a tulip bed,” Vevi remarked. “Miss Mohr, could the Brownie Scouts have a little plot of ground at the library?”

“Yes, I’ve been thinking about it, and I know just the place,” the librarian replied. “It will be too late for spring bulbs. However, once the ground is prepared, you can set out other plants.”

“I would rather have tulips,” Vevi said, burying her nose in the crimson bouquet she had gathered. “They are the most beautiful flowers in the world.”

“I would like a bed of nothing but Golden Beauties,” declared Connie.

“How soon can we have our flower bed?” Sunny Davidson asked.

“I will have the plot spaded and raked tomorrow so that the ground is even and workable,” the librarian promised. “If you speak to Mrs. Langley about it, I am sure she will give you plants from her estate.”

“I’d like pansies,” Rosemary said. “And forget-me-nots.”

Sunny thought the bed should be planted with marigolds or late-flowering plants such as asters or chrysanthemums. Connie favored geraniums, while Jane thought an old fashioned herb garden would be the most interesting.

“I just want tulips,” Vevi said again. “The Brownies should have a tulip garden while the festival is going on.”

“I wish we had thought of it earlier,” Miss Gordon replied. “Since we didn’t, I am afraid you will have to forget the tulip bed, Vevi.”

After gathering armfuls of tulips at Windmill Farm, the girls set the stems in tubs of water so they would not wilt.

Just then Mr. Van Der Lann came in from the field. He spoke to everyone and bestowed a very special smile upon Miss Mohr.

“I am driving to the Langley estate now in my truck,” he said. “I will be glad to take the tubs of flowers there for you.”

“May we ride too?” Jane asked.

“Yes, I have plenty of room,” he assured her. “Jump in.”

Mr. Van Der Lann was carrying a load of potted plants to the estate. The children had never seen so many beautiful tulips.

“It will be fun riding with the flowers!” cried Vevi. “I want to sit beside the Golden Beauty.”

The choice tulip, however, was not among the other potted plants in the back of the truck. Vevi was very worried about it until she discovered that the nurseryman was carrying his best tulips in a special box on the front seat.

At the Langley estate dozens of gardeners were hard at work preparing the grounds for the coming affair.

The grass was being cut with big power mowers. All of the hedges had been neatly trimmed. One worker was edging the walks.

Mr. Van Der Lann drove his truck close to the greenhouse. While he was lifting out his flowers, the Brownies went on ahead into the building.

“My, it’s hot in here!” Vevi exclaimed. “It takes my breath away.”

The Brownies spied Mrs. Langley telling workmen how to arrange different flower exhibits. Mr. Piff was there too. The girls saw him start to put up a poster advertising the Rosedale tulip festival.

“No! No! Not in here, of all places!” Mrs. Langley exclaimed. “You will ruin the artistic effect.”

“Where shall I put the poster?” the promoter asked. He seemed rather annoyed by Mrs. Langley’s refusal to let him tack it up in the greenhouse.

“Not anywhere on the estate, please.”

“Don’t you want to advertise the festival?”

“This is a private, non-commercial judging show,” Mrs. Langley explained. “I can’t have the grounds cluttered with cheap signs.”

“Cheap signs!” Mr. Piff exploded. “Well, I like that! Let me tell you, if we don’t advertise, the festival will be a flop. Your money is invested in it too.”

“How well I know,” replied Mrs. Langley coldly. “I deeply regret that I allowed you to talk me into the affair. Your methods—”

The garden club president did not finish what she had intended to say. At that instant she saw the tulips which Mr. Van Der Lann had brought into the greenhouse.

“Oh, such beautiful flowers!” she exclaimed. “I have never seen more lovely blooms. And this golden-hued tulip! What is it, Mr. Van Der Lann?”

“A new variety I am introducing,” the nurseryman replied politely. “I call it the Golden Beauty.”

“It is the showiest flower so far brought in.”

“Thank you, Ma’am, for the praise,” said the nurseryman. “I only wish that you were to be one of the judges.”

While Mr. Van Der Lann was arranging his display, Mr. and Mrs. Mattox drove up in their truck. They too had brought many gorgeous flowers for the judging contest.

“Look at that rosy-red tulip,” Connie directed Vevi’s attention to a potted plant which Mrs. Mattox was showing to the garden club president. “Isn’t it pretty?”

The tulip which Mrs. Mattox had named Candy Stick, resembled peppermint. It stood on a tall, graceful stem, its outer petals a cherry-rose color. Inside petals were a delicate white.

Vevi was deeply worried when she saw the handsome tulip. For a second she thought it was a prettier flower than the one Peter Van Der Lann had developed. Then she decided that the Golden Beauty was the better.

“They’re both very nice,” Connie said. “I hope though, that Peter’s tulip wins the blue ribbon tomorrow.”

After admiring all the lovely flowers, the Brownies helped Miss Mohr and Miss Gordon decorate the outdoor booth. They put up colored crepe paper to cover the rough boards and pasted on the tulips they had made at the library. When the job finally was finished, the Brownies were very proud of their work.

“I just hope a wind doesn’t come along tonight and ruin everything,” Vevi said anxiously. “That would be too mean.”

“Or a rain,” added Connie, glancing up at the slightly overcast sky.

“If it should rain, workmen will move the booth indoors,” Miss Mohr reassured the girls. “I think though, that tomorrow will be fair.”

Her prediction proved true. The day of the flower show dawned warm and clear.

Vevi and Connie were up with the birds. Even before breakfast they were dressed in their Dutch costumes, ready to go to Mrs. Langley’s estate.

By ten o’clock all of the Brownies, including Hanny, had arrived on the grounds. First of all, before taking turns working at the stand, the children visited the greenhouse where the tulips were to be judged.

In addition to the Golden Beauty and the Candy Stripe, other varieties had been displayed by Rosedale growers. There were groupings of Parrot tulips, Darwins and hybrids. One section of the room was devoted to tiny tulips suitable only for rock gardens.

“Do you think the Golden Beauty will win?” Hanny anxiously asked her little friends.

“Of course,” said Vevi loyally.

“Uncle Peter says that Mr. and Mrs. Mattox have a very fine tulip,” Hanny went on. “The judges seem to like it too.”

Now two men and a lady had been selected to award the prize ribbons. The three were experts in judging tulips. They wandered back and forth between the rows of flowers, making notes on paper. Now and then they whispered together. It was hard to tell though, which tulip they thought was the best.

Vevi noticed a tall stranger in a gray suit who had entered the greenhouse. He seemed to be watching the persons who came in, rather than looking at the flowers.

“Who is that man?” Vevi asked, pointing him out to Hanny and Connie.

“No one I ever saw before,” Connie replied carelessly. “Maybe he is one of Mr. Piff’s friends.”

The stranger, however, did not speak to the flower festival promoter when the latter came into the greenhouse. In fact, the man did not talk to anyone.

“Maybe he is a detective,” Vevi decided. “Mrs. Langley may have hired him to watch the prize tulips.”

Convinced that this was so, she went over to ask the garden club president about it.

“No, dear,” Mrs. Langley assured her, “I do not have a detective on the grounds.”

“Then who is that man who keeps watching everyone so closely?” Vevi asked.

Mrs. Langley turned to glance at the tall man in the gray suit. She had never seen him before.

“He probably is from some nearby town,” she told Vevi. “Many persons are here today that I do not know.”