The Mystery of the Screech Owl by Gertrude Chandler Warner

Author:Gertrude Chandler Warner
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Albert Whitman & Company

“Oh.” Disappointed, Benny put the kit back on the shelf. He had wanted to buy it for Mrs. McGregor.

The kids left the shop. The wind had risen, blowing briskly through the square.

Jessie reached into her pocket and pulled out a single red-striped mitten.

“Uh-oh,” she commented. “I must have dropped the other one inside the store.”

She went back inside and found the mitten near a rack of magazines. Bending over to retrieve it, she heard a conversation in English. The store clerk was chatting with a man in a beige sweater. They were both speaking perfect English!

When she straightened up, the clerk saw her. Hastily, he muttered something to the other man in French.

Jessie wondered where she had seen the man in the beige sweater before. But she couldn’t get a better look, since he stormed out of the store, never glancing in Jessie’s direction.

Jessie hurried outside again.

“Guess what?” she said. “I heard the clerk speaking English to the man who just came out!”

“You mean the one who ran into me?” Henry countered. “He bumped my shoulder and didn’t even say he was sorry — in French or English!”

“Why would the clerk pretend not to speak English?” Jessie wanted to know. “And I’m sure I’ve seen that man in the sweater somewhere!”

“I remember!” Violet said suddenly. “That was André Plessis! He was the guy in the sugar bush. The one at the gate who acted funny when he saw us.”

“Nobody seems to like us in this town,” Benny observed soberly.

“You’re right, Benny,” Violet agreed. “You know the welcome mat by our front door at home? Well, they put out the unwelcome mat here.”

That evening, Grandfather and Henry built a fire in the stone fireplace while Jessie and Benny put supper on the table. Violet had volunteered to wash the dishes after supper so the others could read or take a hot bath.

While she waited for Jessie to call them to eat, she studied the field journal. These drawings are so good, she thought enviously.

One in particular caught her attention. The drawing of Broken Moon Pond appeared to be sketched from a great height.

She drew in her breath. “I bet the artist was in the tree house when he drew this!”

“What did you say?” Henry asked, coming over. Grandfather had gone outside for more wood.

“Look at this picture,” Violet said. “See how tiny the pond is? I think the artist was up in the tree house.”

Jessie came over, too. “But we can’t see the pond from the tree house. There are too many trees in the way.”

“Maybe those trees grew taller after the picture was drawn,” Violet said. “We’ve never tried to see the pond. The journal is pretty old. The tree house may be that old, too.”

“Let’s ask Grandfather,” said Benny.

When supper was ready, they all sat down.

Benny sampled the stew Jessie ladled into his bowl. “This is good, Grandfather. What is it?”

“Pork stew,” replied Grandfather. “I found the recipe in an old cookbook. Because it’s cold here most of the year, you need hearty food.

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