Part 2

“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.”