Chapter I: Part 1

_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_ _Page_

1. The Dog Cart 1
2. Hanny to the Rescue 14
3. Mr. Piff’s Plan 23
4. The Little Locked House 31
5. Hanny’s Secret 41
6. Wooden Shoes 52
7. A Runaway ‘Boat’ 63
8. The Treasure House 71
9. High Wind 80
10. In the Hayloft 89
11. The Man in Gray 102
12. A Flower Show 116
13. A Bag of Tulips 127
14. Mr. Piff’s Troubles 136
15. The Brownie Garden 148
16. Mrs. Gabriel’s Accusation 156
17. A Library Window 166
18. Magic Ways 176
19. An Announcement 189
20. Surprise! 200

_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.”