when Nancy was three years old. The warm-
hearted housekeeper had always been like a
mother to the girl.
“What do you know about Heath Castle?”
Nancy asked her.
“Not much. It was built-”
“Hannah!” Nancy exclaimed. She was facing
the window. “Look-in the yard!”
“What is it?” the housekeeper asked, peering
through the glass. “Oh, what a shame!” she cried
out. “All the hollyhocks are snapped off in the
middle and the daisies are flattened into the mud
from the rain!”
“That’s not what I mean,” said Nancy. “Look
at the flower border where my new rosebushes
were.”
“Why, they’re gone!” said Hannah. She stared
in amazement at two holes filled with rain water.
“The bushes were dug up,” said Nancy, “and
stolen!”
“Probably by the same thief who took plants
from some of our neighbors,” Hannah remarked.
“There’s been a rash of these thefts lately.”
“I’ll report it when I go to headquarters this
afternoon,” Nancy said.
While she set the table and heated soup, Han-
nah made sandwiches. By the time the two had
finished their lunch, the ground had dried a lit-
tle and the sun was out.
They hurried into the back yard to inspect the
damage. Except for the rosebushes, no plants were
missing. Nancy could not find any clues to the
thief. She and Hannah began cleaning up debris
from the storm. Suddenly they heard the familiar
song of one of River Heights’ well-known ec-
centric characters.
“Here comes my old friend Salty down the
street!” Nancy laughed, shaking off her somber
mood.
The good-natured, elderly man, once a sailor,
had received his nickname from Nancy when she
was a little girl. He had introduced himself to the
Drew household as Boatswain Bostwick Bumple-
ton, “home from the salty seas.”
Nancy had tried to say his whole name but
sometimes mixed it up. Once she addressed him
as Bumple Boat and another time as Humpty
Dumpty Bumpleton, much to his amusement.
Finally the little girl settled on Salty and her
nickname stuck to him.
The man’s cart bell tinkled merrily, and a
moment later the jolly, weather-beaten sailor
wheeled his wagon around the corner of the drive-
way. Spying Nancy and Hannah, he sang again:
“Clams by the bushel,
Clams by the lot,
Clams for the kettle,
Clams for the pot.”
“None for us today,” Mrs. Gruen called.
Salty smiled. “Come now,” he coaxed. ‘Ye
can’t turn down my clams. They’re nutritious,
delicious, delectable, respectable! Matter of fact,
ye might even find a pearl in one of ’em!”
Nancy turned to Hannah. “Don’t you think we
could use a few pearly clams?” she asked with a
wink.
The housekeeper gave in. “Okay, a dozen.
Nancy, please get my purse.”
Nancy darted away, but soon returned with
the pocketbook and a container for the clams.
After the elderly sailor had left, she and Hannah
took the clams into the kitchen and Nancy started
to open them with a sharp knife. Soon she had a
pile of empty shells, but no pearls.
“I guess these haven’t anything in them but
meat! Well, here’s the last one.”
Nancy opened the clam and was about to toss
away the attractive, rainbow-colored shell when a
tiny object inside drew her attention.
“A pearl!” she cried, holding it out for the
housekeeper to see.
Hannah stared at the small white object. “I
declare, it is one,” she acknowledged, “and may
be worth some money!”
“I’ll take it to Sam Weatherby,” Nancy said
eagerly. She removed the pearl and washed it,
then drove to Mr. Weatherby’s shop. The owner
was a dealer in curios and antique jewelry.
Nancy had to wait fifteen minutes while an
unpleasant man bargained with the shop owner
over a piece of jewelry he wanted to sell. It was a
man’s antique watch chain with an attractive gold
charm. At last the customer accepted an offer,
pocketed the money Mr. Weatherby paid him,
and turned on his heel, remarking, “I might as
well have given it to you!”
After the man had left, Mr. Weatherby said to
Nancy, “That was Daniel Hector. How he loves
to argue! If all my customers were like him, I’d
have to close up shop. Well, what can I do for