"You went how far?" Laura Hardy demanded of her eldest son, putting her hands on her hips and frowning down at the eleven-year-old.

"We, well...we walked maybe a mile." Frank looked up at her, his expression a mixture of wariness and bafflement. "Then Mr. Prito came by and picked us up, like I told you. While we were resting. He-"

"I don't believe it," Laura muttered, lifting one hand to her forehead. "Your father missing, your brother nearly kidnapped from the middle of a shopping mall, the two of you avowing that you'll stay close- and what do you do? You go wandering off through town, go a mile down Shore Road- and then you stop for a breather and get picked up. Thank heaven it was Mr. Prito- what if it had been those criminals? Don't you two realize," she went on, her voice raising in spite of herself, "the danger you put yourselves in by doing that?" Her eyes swept from wary Frank to sullen Joe; the younger boy refused to meet her gaze.

"You're the one who told us to leave the house," the ten-year-old said crossly. He was glowering at the floor, his arms folded on his chest. "So we did."

"I thought you'd go to the playground or up to your treehouse!" Laura replied, exasperated. "I really thought you'd have the sense to stick close after everything that was happening. Seems I was mistaken!"

"It's a good thing we did, though!" Joe shot back, raising his eyes to glare at her. Laura started to retort angrily, then closed her mouth and stifled a sigh. The child was right. If he and Frank hadn't gone so far out of town, been picked up by Carlo Prito, explored the woods near the Shore Cliffs and taken refuge from a summer storm in the abandoned Pollitt place, they would never have brought back word of where their father was being held prisoner. Fenton Hardy might have been killed- or taken with the three espionage agents when they left- or simply abandoned to die of hunger and dehydration in the old house.

Fenton had been home for four days now, and was more or less back to his old self. He did still have some tender spots and bruises, and his sleep was not as calm as it usually was, but his energy was restored and the gaunt, exhausted look was a thing of memory. Vivid memory, Laura corrected herself with a shiver. Frank and Joe were taking the whole thing better than she was; they had been subdued for a day or so, but Fenton had shielded them as well as he could from the full impact of his kidnapping. He hadn't allowed them to see the bruises marring his body and had hidden much of his pain and weariness from them. And when he sat them down to explain more fully what had happened, he had glossed over his imprisonment and focused on the spies and their plans for the Vice-President.

In the process of satisfying the boys' curiosity, he had learned that Carlo and Tony Prito and Chet Morton had been instrumental in his rescue as well, and on Wednesday afternoon, he had left the house for the first time to thank them for their help. When he returned home, Laura had asked if he told them the whole story or not, since it was all supposed to be Top Secret.

"No, I didn't. Partly because it is top secret and partly because there's no more need to traumatize Tony and Chet than there is to frighten our boys. And not only do they not need to be concerned about it, they don't need the temptation to tell anyone else about it. I did go into a bit more detail with Carlo- just enough to make him understand that the boys weren't making it all up. He wasn't sure whether to believe them or not, since there'd been nothing about it in the paper, but he said they seemed so serious and agitated that he figured he'd take it at face value and sort it all out later. But I don't think we need to tell the kids that."

"Oh, no, definitely not," Laura had agreed quickly. "Frank and Joe would be very indignant if they knew he thought they were making it all up."

Today was Thursday and Fenton had gone to his office to see what sort of messages and work had piled up in his absence. He'd warned her not to be surprised if he worked late, but Laura was rather hoping he wouldn't. She still felt uneasy letting him out of her sight. He seemed to understand her anxiety and had tried to reassure her, both with affection and with his usual light-hearted attitude. When she mentioned at breakfast that she planned to take the boys clothes-shopping for back to school outfits, he had commiserated with the boys' groans and made her laugh when he pretended to 'console' them with the notion of wearing uniforms instead of picking out a new outfit each day. On being informed that Jefferson Elementary school didn't use uniforms, he had slyly suggested, "Well, you could get five of the same pairs of pants and five of the same shirt; that way you'd have your own uniforms," making the boys groan again, this time about being 'uncool', and resignedly admit that there was some good to getting a variety of new clothes, after all.

It was as Laura was cleaning up from breakfast, and brooding over her husband's departure, that she'd suddenly wondered what Carlo Prito had to do with Fenton's rescue. She'd heard bits and pieces of the 'adventure' from Frank and Joe, and knew Fenton had been in 'an old house on Shore Road' that the four boys had taken refuge in during the storm- but 'an old house on Shore Road' encompassed a lot of territory. Curious and a bit disturbed, she'd called the boys downstairs and asked them to explain that part more thoroughly. Now, having just heard the whole story, she wasn't sure whether to feel more proud of her sons or more appalled by their recklessness. The worst part was that neither of them seemed to feel that they'd done anything even remotely dangerous!

"I'm not saying it was a bad thing to do," she said at last, realizing Joe's angry blue eyes were still fixed on her. "I'm saying, it was a dangerous thing and you're very lucky you didn't get into a lot of trouble. Besides that, you should have let me know where you were going."

"Mom, we didn't know where we were going! We didn't feel like playing, there wasn't anything interesting to do, so we just walked. And we weren't in any danger, not with all those jerks hiding in the house and the last one already in prison," Frank said irritably.

'Of course they didn't feel like playing,' the woman admitted to herself. 'Not when they were so worried.'

"And Frank had fifty cents so we could make a phone call or two if we needed to," Joe put in. "We weren't stupid about it, and it's not like we walked all the way there. We wouldn't've gotten into anybody else's truck except someone we knew."

Laura wondered briefly why, whenever Joe was called on some action of his or Frank's, he invariably twisted in some remark about it not being 'stupid'. "I never suggested it was stupid, Joe. Thoughtless, maybe, since I had no idea where you were, if you were in danger or not, if you'd been hit by lightning or not-" 'Oh, that was unfair,' she rebuked herself as Joe paled. "I didn't know, all I could do was worry- just like I was worrying about your father. Bad enough having him missing without wondering what had happened to you two."

"Yeah, well, you're the one who made us leave," Frank muttered. "We didn't want to."

"I asked myself at the time if I was making a mistake. If you could nearly be kidnapped once, it might just happen again," his mother agreed, reining in a sense of frustration and speaking calmly. "But as I said, I thought you'd have enough common sense to stay nearby- close enough to hear if I called you." She paused and sighed for the blend of sullenness and anxiety on the children’s faces. Evidently she'd made her point. "Boys, I'm not trying to scare you or make you feel bad, I just want you to understand that even when something seems perfectly safe and reasonable to you, there might be some danger in it that you're not seeing. And one of those things is going where no one knows where to find you. You know you're safe, but no one else does. Or worse, you aren't safe, but no one knows you need help or how to find you- just like when your father was missing. So in the future, I want to know where you're going, okay? Just so I don't have to wonder and worry."

"Okay," came two dispirited mutters.

"All right, we're done with that, then. Now, if you'll go get your shoes on, we can hurry over to the Mall and get your back-to-school shopping done before it's too crowded." Laura expected more complaining from at least one quarter- Joe despised both the back-to-school shopping and the inevitable return to the classroom and tended to make his feelings well known as the summer ended- but now, as he followed his brother docilely up the stairs, he was silent. Either he was feeling subdued because of the lecture or he was getting to dislike school less, his mother concluded. She hoped it was the latter, though it seemed unlikely.

Then again, maybe it was another headache. He'd had a few of those since his sight returned, not as bad as Dr. Rosa had predicted, but bad enough to require several aspirins and a cool cloth on his eyes for a while. They had all been reading-induced, which was no surprise; both the boys were bookworms. Frank, seeing Joe's frustration at having to limit his reading, had returned to his recent habit of reading aloud to his brother. Laura only hoped that the headaches wouldn't make it too hard for Joe to study. She'd have to remember to write a note to his teacher...or perhaps call the principal. Maybe both. Some of the teachers were quite reasonable about parental 'involvement', but others could get snitty about it.

The sound of feet patting quietly down the steps interrupted Laura's musings and made her turn to the key-rack to collect her purse and keys, smiling. Fenton had been teaching the boys to walk silently lately, and it had the benefit of making the house not sound as if a herd of elephants was in residence. "You two are really getting good at this quiet walking," she remarked as they came into the kitchen. Brief but proud smiles were the response. "Joe, how's your head?"

"It's fine- oh! I better get my sunglasses!"

Frank shook his head as the blond boy raced out of the kitchen and thundered up the stairs. "I never noticed how loud it was on the stairs before," he remarked ruefully.

"I'm raising two fine young elephants," his mother agreed, and laughed at the look on his face. Some corner of her mind noted that it was just as well Gertrude had departed that morning for a week-long visit to some friends; the older woman would doubtless have some complaint to make about the noise if she were here. Laura hid her frown at the thought, not wanting Frank to see it, but she made another mental note to talk to her husband about his sister. Gertrude was showing a renewed penchant for scolding the boys more harshly than Laura could tolerate, and her litany of 'don'ts' was getting longer every day. 'Here we go again,' the young mother mused sourly. 'It's not the boys who need to change their attitudes or behavior; it's her!'

Laura shook off the irritable thought and smiled as Joe trotted back into the kitchen, blue-and-purple sunglasses perched on his nose. Frank grinned and waved at his reflection in the mirrored glasses.

"Don't do that," Joe complained. "You get in my way. Besides, you look silly."

"Not nearly as silly as you. You've got on yellow and green and now you're adding purple and blue...you clash!" Frank retorted, leading the way out the kitchen door.

"Hmmm," was Joe's noncommittal response as Laura locked the door. "Race you to the car!"

Laura settled her purse comfortably over her shoulder and followed her sons as they tore down the driveway to the curb, hoping they would burn off a little energy before they got to the mall. Not too much, for she didn't want them getting tired out and cranky, but the mall was not the place for races and horseplay.

"Now remember- you two stay close to me."

Joe Hardy grimaced at the glance Mom gave him when she said that, but didn't answer as he followed her and Frank into the Mall. The last time he'd been here, some man had tried to kidnap him; when Joe resisted, the man had stuck a nasty-smelling cloth in his face that made him nearly fall asleep and started to haul him away. Only Frank's quick action had kept the jerk from taking Joe and using him as a hostage to make Dad stop solving his last mystery. Joe could understand why his mother was a little anxious about being back in the Mall, but he wasn't too worried, himself. After all, the bad guys were in jail now; they couldn't get him. Unless, of course, there were other bad guys... Joe quickened his pace and walked alongside his brother, who glanced over and gave him a little pat. "Don't worry," Frank said softly.

"I'm not, much."

"They can't do anything now, you know."

"They can't," Joe agreed, pushing his sunglasses up to perch on the top of his head. It was never very bright in the Mall, unless you were in a store with lots of windows, and he didn't want to run into anything. Or anyone. "But other people..."

"Oh." His brother frowned, looking around with a suddenly wary expression. "I don't think they'd try it, though. There's too many people around. 'Sides, they mostly want little kids who they can carry, not big kids that they have to drag."

That was a reassuring thought, but Joe made sure to stay close to his mother and Frank anyway. Mom was still nervous about it- he could tell by the way she kept turning to check on him- and he had a feeling that if he got too far away, he'd get scolded. Again. One scold was bad enough; he didn't want another one.

The shopping trip was even more boring than Joe had expected, and school-shopping always was awfully tedious. Mom insisted on having them both try on shirts and sweaters, pants and shoes, until the only way Joe could tell his clothes from the store clothes was to check for the price tags; if it had a tag hanging down from it, it was store clothes. He'd never understood the need to go buy a whole bunch of perfectly good clothes, just to wear them to school. School didn't deserve new clothes; it deserved plain old ordinary stuff. "Or better than that, those clothes they make prisoners wear, black-and-white-stripes," he remarked to Frank as he came out of the dressing room. Frank looked at him as if he was crazy.

"What?"

"To wear to school," Joe explained, realizing he'd left out the first half of his observation. His brother blinked, then laughed.

"Oh! So you want a uniform like Dad said?"

"Well..."

"Silly," Frank concluded, and tousled Joe's hair, nearly dislodging the sunglasses propped on Joe's head. Then he canted his own dark head and grinned. "You're not complaining very much, today. Feel okay?"

"That's not funny, Frank." Joe grabbed his sunglasses before they could fall and shoved them into his pocket. Then he pulled them out again, remembering that he was wearing store pants.

"You're being quiet," his brother explained more seriously. "That means something's bothering you or you don't feel good."

"Or, I don't feel like talking," the ten-year-old retorted snippily, and trudged over to where his mother was standing, by the jeans rack. He held out his sunglasses to his mother without a word. Mom took them and put them in her purse, then regarded him critically.

"A bit long, but I can take up the cuffs, and let them out when you get taller...give them to the saleslady, honey, and try on these jeans. Frank, what do you think of this sweater?"

Seven years later- or so it seemed to Joe- Mom finally decided they had enough new clothes and it was time to go home. He heaved a big sigh of relief and didn't even ask for a cookie as they were passing the Mrs. Fields cart on the way out. The walk back to the car seemed to take longer than it should, because they were all carrying bags and that meant they had to go slower. The car radio-clock read nearly three in the afternoon; on seeing that, Joe's stomach growled loudly, but he didn't say anything about missing a chance to eat in the food court as Mom drove home.

"Well, I'm impressed, you were both very well behaved today." Mom's eyes met Joe's in the rearview mirror. "Are you starting to get used to the thought of school, Joey?"

"Joe," the boy reminded her. "And I hate school."

Mom sighed. "Well, I'm sorry you hate it. I think you'd feel better about it if you could see it as an opportunity to learn. But I am glad you didn't fuss the way you did last year."

An opportunity. Joe knew what that meant: it meant he was supposed to be glad to be stuck in classroom when he'd rather be home or outside, and to feel lucky that his teachers always made him feel stupid, because somewhere there were kids who wanted to learn, and couldn't. He didn't agree at all, and he'd often wished he could trade places with one of those kids. Then the kid could learn whatever they wanted, and Joe wouldn't have to. And the only reason he hadn't 'fussed' today was because he knew it wouldn't change anything, and it'd just make Mom mad again. He didn't answer her, just wedged himself into the corner between the door and his seat, feeling sullen at Mom and Frank and school and the mall and all those awful clothes he'd had to put on and take off and... 'At least I can see,' he consoled himself, staring out the window. 'I can see everything...I can see what colors those clothes are and don't have to wonder...and I can read, even if it does make my head hurt sometimes, and-'

"-Sending a note with you to warn your teacher about your headaches," Mom was saying, and Joe blinked, realizing he'd missed part of what she'd said. Then the part he had heard sank in and he felt his eyes widen in shock. Warn the teacher- that he got headaches when he read- that he'd need to wear his sunglasses at recess- because he wasn't blind anymore. And that meant he was going to the regular school, Jefferson Elementary, with Frank and his friends. He wouldn't have to go to the blind school! How could he have forgotten that? He was lucky!

Joe almost blurted it out, almost turned to his brother to remind him that they'd be in the same school after all. And then he stopped himself, remembering that Mom and Dad didn't know he'd heard them planning to send him away. They'd never told him what they were going to do; they hadn't needed to tell him, since his sight had come back. But if it hadn't, they would have been telling him soon- tonight, maybe- about how he'd be going to a strange school, with strange teachers and students, and not coming home till the Winter Break. And he wouldn't have been able to argue, because they would just have told him that he had to do it. He had to go to school and he wouldn't've been able to learn right in a regular school. They would have taken him there, and left him there, and been glad that he wasn't a problem for them anymore, something they didn't have to worry about or take care of...

A brilliant ray of sunlight glanced off a passing car; Joe winced and shut his eyes. "You still have my sunglasses, right, Mom?"

"They're in my purse. Your eyes hurt, honey?"

"Too much sunlight bouncing off things," the boy muttered, not sure whether the pain really was from the sun or from the dangerous tears he could feel forming.

"I'll get 'em for you," Frank offered.

"In the side pocket, Frank."

There were scrambling sounds and a moment later, Joe's sunglasses touched his hand. "Thanks," he murmured, sliding them on. There was an immediate dimming of the brightly-lit world around him, but he kept his eyes closed until the car came to a stop and the engine shut off. Then he helped carry the bags inside, hauled one of his up the stairs and into his room, and collapsed on his bed with a sigh, feeling tired, hungry and blue.

"I'm going to get some lunch together- why don't you two put everything away? Don't forget to cut the tags off so they don't itch you- oh, and leave out the pants that are too long; I can sew those up tonight," Mom's voice came from the doorway.

"I'd rather sleep," Joe muttered, but there was no reply; when he turned to look, Mom was gone.

Frank stood in his brother's doorway, looking at Joe as he lay on the bed and feeling a little concerned. The younger boy was being so quiet, and now he seemed so tired. And he'd been grumpy, too, though he didn't seem mad at Frank. Maybe at their mother, for scolding them- or at Auntie for her nasty remark before she left. 'Or maybe 'cause he's hungry,' the dark-haired youngster mused, but that didn't seem quite right. If he was that hungry, he would've said so in the Mall, or at least asked for a cookie. "What's the matter?" he asked at last, softly. Joe shrugged, then reached up to take off his sunglasses and laid them on the windowsill next to the bed. "How come you're so quiet, and being all grouchy?"

Joe sighed. "I was kinda mad at Mom for yelling at us, but mostly I didn't want her to start scolding again. And..." He stopped talking and stared at the ceiling, making Frank even more certain that something was quite wrong.

"Auntie?"

"Well, I was, but she left, so that made me feel better."

Frank nodded, frowning. "Got another headache?" If the headaches were making Joe worry about losing his sight again-

"Not really. The sun was awful bright in the car, but I kept my eyes shut and they feel okay."

"That's good." Frank stepped into the room and paused beside the bed. "And what, then?"

The blond boy hesitated, glancing at him and then looking away. "We're gonna be in the same school," he said very quietly.

"Well, yeah, we-" Frank brightened, suddenly realizing why his brother was reminding him of this. "Yeah!" he burst out, beaming. "I almost forgot about that they were gonna-" And suddenly the words weren't there anymore and he only stood with his mouth open, his excitement popping like a bubble. He'd also forgotten how upset and frightened Joe had been after overhearing their parents' plans to send him to a school for the blind.

"Right. Now that I can see again, they won't get rid of me."

Frank frowned at the mix of weariness, anger and sorrow in Joe's voice, then sat down on the side of the bed and heaved a sigh, not quite sure what to say. There wasn't much that you could say to somebody who felt like their parents didn't want them! "Maybe you should tell them that you heard when they were talking."

"Why?" Joe looked over, sounding more curious than anything.

"Well..." 'So they can tell you they weren't getting rid of you,' Frank thought. 'But...were they?' And how could he say that without making it seem like he was on Mom and Dad's side, instead of Joe's? He wasn't, not one bit.

Frank sighed, remembering the day with vivid clarity. Joe had come into Frank's room, very upset, and told him that Mom and Dad were talking about sending him to a blind school. Frank had expected the subject to come up at supper, but it hadn't; it had never come up at all and neither boy knew quite what to make of that. Obviously Mom and Dad were keeping it a secret, but why? After almost a week, Joe had come to a conclusion and shared it with Frank. "They're not telling me because they don't want me to know how much they want to get rid of me. They know it'd hurt my feelings, so they're keeping it secret that they don't want me now I can't see. They'll just say I have to go to a special school and won't say anything about being glad they don't have to take care of me anymore."

Frank had protested that no one was trying to 'get rid' of Joe, had tried to remind his miserable brother that Mom and Dad loved them both, had pointed out that kids who couldn't see did need to go to special schools. "And you know Mom wants to take care of you," had been his last and strongest argument. "She wants to help you with everything, you're the one who keeps saying you don't need help."

"Then why're they sending me to one of those schools where you have to live there?" Joe had whispered, striking Frank silent. Up until then, they had both assumed Joe would just go to a different Elementary school each day and come home every afternoon. "I heard them again, they were saying something about all the places they were thinking about had to be boarding schools," the younger boy had explained before Frank quite got over his shock.

"Maybe they were saying that the only places they could find are boarding schools," Frank had replied swiftly, grabbing for whatever faint hope he could. But Joe had remained unconvinced, and as the days passed, his gloom had grown deeper and deeper. Frank hadn't known what to think or do about it all; he had no idea whether his parents actually didn't want a blind son or not. He'd been tempted to ask them about it, but had held back, afraid of what the answer might be. Sure, Mom and Dad had been concerned that Joe was so unhappy, but had they been concerned enough? Had they really cared? Or were they just pretending? Frank found it hard to believe that his parents wouldn't want Joe just because he couldn't see, and they hadn't seemed to be pretending, but then why would they send him away?

And then Joe's sight had come back and the questions had been banished in the happiness. Frank had almost laughed at his uncertainties when he saw how thrilled his parents were, how much they had laughed and smiled and hugged Joe- you couldn't pretend something like that. Then Dad had gone missing and Frank had forgotten the matter entirely in his fears for their father. Obviously, Joe hadn't forgotten any of it.

"There's no reason to talk about it," the ten-year-old went on, shrugging. "They'll just say, 'well, we had to, you couldn't learn in a real school- but now you don't have to go, so just be glad about it.' They wouldn't care if I wanted to or not, you know."

"Of course they'd care!" Frank protested, but the words came out sounding unconvincing.

"Maybe. But not enough to change their minds," Joe retorted with some accuracy.

Frank sighed again and nodded. Joe was right: even if their parents hadn't really been getting rid of Joe, they still would have sent him away. They were grown-ups; they thought what you were supposed to do was more important than how you felt about doing it. They would have said there was no choice: blind kids couldn't read regular books, or see what the teacher wrote on the chalkboard, or write out spelling words. They had to learn different ways, in schools that were specially meant for them. Maybe they really wouldn't have liked it, maybe they would have missed Joe and been sorry he was unhappy- but they would have made him go anyway. And if you didn't want to go, there wasn't much difference between being sent and being gotten rid of. Either way, it wasn't fair.

"I bet they would have been glad I was gone," the ten-year-old continued crossly. "Then Dad wouldn't have had to keep trying to teach me detective stuff and see me mess it all up."

Frank considered that, frowning. When Joe had regretted that he couldn't do detective things anymore, Dad had promised to try and teach him anyway. He'd said he wouldn't give up until Joe decided it was too hard, and he'd been very patient...but there had been something missing in the lessons. "You think he was waiting for you to figure out that it was too hard for you?"

"You thought so too, huh?"

"Well, not till right now...but he didn't seem to- to enjoy teaching us, as much," Frank confessed. He'd noticed Dad's serious, troubled looks at his brother and been glad Joe couldn't see them- but probably Joe had heard the difference in Dad's voice. The older boy had wondered why their father seemed unhappy about Joe somehow. He'd thought then that it was because Dad didn't like it that Joe was blind, but this explanation made as much sense as that one.

"Yeah. He was trying to be nice about it, 'specially since he made such a fuss about how I really could do it if I wanted to." Joe scowled, then sat up.

"Well, I dunno, I just thought he was sad that you couldn't see. But even if you couldn't be a detective, Joe, I don't think they would have been glad to send you away. They would've missed you."

"Maybe at first, but they'd get used to it. And they'd tell me I'd get used to it, too- but I wouldn't."

Frank couldn't argue with that. "I wouldn't, either," he murmured, touching his brother's slender arm. Joe shot him a grateful look, then leaned his head against Frank's shoulder and sighed.

"Oh well. At least I can see, anyway."

"Yeah." Frank was silent for a moment, suddenly wishing Stupid Sean were here so he could hit the rotten kid a few times with a baseball bat. Sean deserved it, for playing with firecrackers and throwing one at Joe so he went blind and making their parents talk about sending him away. Then he remembered that Sean was in a place that was almost a prison for kids, and that made him feel a lot better. He gave himself a shake to get the jerk out of his mind and patted the arm under his hand. "And you'll be in our school, and no one's gonna send you away. Maybe we'll even be in the same class," he offered.

"That'd be cool," Joe remarked, sounding a bit more enthusiastic. "We could eat lunch together."

"Well, we can do that anyway, all we have to do is sit at next-door tables. If the sections are next to each other, I mean."

"I bet you'll be on one side and I'll be on the other," Joe predicted gloomily. Frank put his arm around his brother and gave him a crossbreed of squeeze and shake.

"Don't be so blue. At least we'll walk there and home, and have recess, even if we don't have class or lunch," the eleven-year-old admonished.

"Oh. I forgot about recess," Joe mused, and Frank reacted with exaggerated shock.

"Forgot? Recess? You?"

"Aw, shush," Joe grumped, a slight smile playing around his lips.

"Your favorite subject and you forgot. You've been on vacation too long!" Frank declaimed, and then squeaked as Joe pinched him in the side. "Hey, crabby, cut it out!"

"I'm not crabby!"

"You were. And crabs pinch, you know."

"Oh, that was clever." Joe's comment was half-admiring and half-disgusted at the play on words.

"Thank you, sir," Frank replied rather pompously. A moment later he added, changing the subject completely: "If you don't want her to scold again, you better start putting some of this stuff away; and I better, too."

"I guess," Joe agreed with an obvious lack of enthusiasm. "I think we'll need scissors, too. For the tags."

"Right, I'll go get some." Frank released his brother, stood up and walked into the hallway, trying to remember where he'd last seen his scissors. He finally found them in his middle desk drawer, which was not where he recalled seeing them. After putting his too-long pants in one pile, his right-size pants in another, shirts in a third and sweaters in a fourth, he busily snipped the little plastic tag-holders. When he finished, he had a large pile of bits that he scooped up and dropped into his trash can. Then he picked up the scissors again and carried them down to Joe's room. In complete contrast to Frank's careful piling, Joe had spread everything on his bed and was taking hangers out of his closet. He accepted the scissors with a thank-you and started cutting, pausing after each snip to throw out the little tag and plastic bits. Frank watched for a moment, amused, then went back to his own room to put his stuff away. He was almost finished when Mom called them down for lunch.

After lunch- small hamburgers topped with American cheese, lettuce and tomato- Mom asked them to bring down the too-long pants. Having done that, Frank hung up the last few sweaters and went down to his brother's room. Joe had finished, too, and was sitting on the side of his bed, cleaning his mirrored sunglasses. "Want to go work on the treehouse?" the older boy suggested.

"Sure!" Joe hopped up at once and Frank smiled, glad to see his little brother acting more like himself.

"Let's just make sure it's okay with Mom," the older boy cautioned, remembering the lecture of that morning.

"She worries a lot, doesn't she?" Joe remarked thoughtfully.

Frank decided not to answer that question right then, as they were almost at the bottom of the steps. "Mom, can we go to our treehouse?" he called, not quite sure where his mother was.

"Certainly, just be back in time for supper," Mom replied from inside the kitchen.

"I think I'm going to take my canteen," Joe said suddenly, and ran back upstairs to get it. While he was doing that, Frank slipped into the kitchen and found Mom looking over the mail.

"Your class supply lists just arrived," she told him, holding up the letters. Frank took one and looked at it. Four Number 2 pencils, four black ball-point pens, one red pen, a composition book, five small spiral binders OR one large spiral with five dividers, five portfolios, wide-ruled paper, a compass, 3 by 5 index cards, assignment notebook... He sighed, suddenly feeling that Joe was right. School sucked! "Kleenex?" he said in surprise, staring at the last item.

"I imagine that's for when the colds start going around," Mom said dryly. "We should go and get this as soon as possible-"

"Not tonight!" Frank half-groaned.

"No, tomorrow should be soon enough, but we do have to do it before the drugstore runs out of red pens and binders- like it did last year."

"I remember. Mr. Lynch was annoyed because we had to keep trading red pens to make corrections." Frank grimaced at the memory, then put the paper down on the counter. "Anyway- can we take a cookie or two with us, to eat at the treehouse?" he asked hopefully. "Since we didn't ask for any at the Mall?"

"Wellll..." Mom tilted her head, thinking. "I guess one each would be all right."

"One what?" Joe inquired from behind them. Frank turned.

"One Oreo."

Joe looked up from fastening his canteen to his belt loop and grinned. "Not two- one in each hand? Please Mom?" he begged as Laura shook her head. "Pretty please? With-"

"Joe," Mom said warningly.

"One is good," the blond boy hastily retreated. "I can hold it in both hands, I guess." Frank and Laura both laughed at that.

"Do keep an eye on the time, I know you prefer a hot dinner, and so do your father and I," Mom told them, taking the lid off the cookie jar. She handed each of them a cookie; Joe sniffed his, started to drop it into his pocket, then stopped and fetched a plastic sandwich bag from the pantry instead.

"That's a good idea- no crumbs in your pocket and no fuzz on your cookie," Frank remarked, and went to get a bag of his own. He almost got the freezer-size bag by mistake, but corrected himself and found the snack-sizes.

"You coulda put it in here." Joe patted his pocket, where the plastic was sticking out.

"Then there might be a mistake," the eleven-year-old retorted, tucking his plastic-enclosed cookie safely into his pocket. "It might disappear when I wasn't looking!"

"Not unless it was a magic cookie!"

"Out, out," Mom told them, making shooing motions. "No arguing in my kitchen."

"Were we arguing?" Joe asked as he stepped out the door and walked through the garage. Frank followed, closing the door behind him.

"I didn't think so. C'mon- race you to the woods!"

"I'm glad I brought water," Joe remarked, sinking down on the wooden floor of the tree-house and unscrewing the lid of his canteen. Taking a long swig, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and passed the canteen to his brother. Frank, standing beside him and leaning against the completed wall, accepted it. Joe heard him gulp a few swallows, and then the older boy sat down with a sigh.

"We're almost done, we just need to do the roof."

"And the next room."

"Yeah, but we'll need more wood for that. We used most of it making the walkway."

Joe nodded; their second 'room' had only two half-built walls, due to the lack of planks. He'd suggested using tree branches, but there were two problems with that. One, the branches came in too many different sizes and wouldn't fit tight against each other, and two, there wouldn't be enough big ones anyway. There were plenty of big branches, themselves, Joe thought, frowning upwards; it was just that they were still on the trees. "Where d'you think we can get some more wood?" he asked uncertainly. They'd found the first batch near a construction dumpster and made many trips on their bikes to salvage them all. Dad had looked them over to make sure they really were throw-aways; they didn't want to use somebody's building lumber for a treehouse.

"I dunno. Maybe along the beaches. You know, like driftwood washing up."

"Hey, maybe. Maybe somebody's old raft will float up. Or pieces off a shipwreck. An old one," Joe amended quickly.

"It'd have to be old, most ships are metal or that, whatcha call it, fiber stuff. Not wood anymore. They're just made to look like wood, I think," Frank explained.

"And we don't want anyone's boat to wreck and maybe spill oil," agreed Joe, who had a foggy notion that all boats carried a lot of oil; if not in their cabins, then in their engines.

"Only tankers would do that, and they're made of metal. So they don't burn easy," his brother corrected. "Or blow up or whatever."

"Oh." Joe pondered for a few minutes, brooding about wood. "Maybe if someone throws away a- hey!"

"What?"

"The dump! We can go to the dump and see if people threw something wooden away, and break it in pieces!"

Frank turned to him with a look of surprise shifting to respect. "Joe, that's a great idea!"

The blond boy flushed, beaming at the praise. "Thanks," he said a little shyly, looking down as Frank's hand ruffled his hair. "Hey, and maybe we could get other stuff, too," he elaborated. "Like chairs, and something for a table."

"Awesome! And then the other room can be our treasure room-"

"Oh, yeah, cool! A chest, and weapons, and-"

"Boys?" a man's voice called out, and both the youngsters started in surprise.

"It's Dad," Frank said excitedly, pulling himself to his feet. Joe got up more slowly, picking up his canteen and making sure the lid was on tightly. Then he followed Frank onto the narrow 'porch' between the steps up and the outer wall. "Hi, Dad!"

"Ah, there you two are." Dad was a few feet away from their tree, looking up at them with a smile. "How's it going up there?"

"Everything's done except the roof," Joe replied, pointing at the wide chunk of plywood leaning against the neighboring tree. "And then we'll need some more wood for the second room, and I thought maybe we could go to the dump and look for some."

Dad walked closer to the tree, not smiling anymore. "I'm not so sure about that," he said doubtfully. "I don't like the thought of you going all the way out there by yourselves, for one thing, and two, it's a dirty, dangerous place. There's an awful lot of broken glass and rusty metal, and I wouldn't want you climbing around in it all. Besides that, there are rats and raccoons living in and under things, and some of them might be rabid."

Joe felt his eyes widen as he looked at Frank, who had paled a little. "I didn't think about that," Frank murmured.

"I didn't either. I guess it's not such a great idea," Joe sighed glumly.

"Well, if you're looking for wood, it's a good idea, but if you want to be safe, then it needs some work," Dad explained. "Okay if I come up?" he added, laying his hand on the rung above him.

"Oh, sure." The boys stepped back as their father climbed up and sat down on the edge of the platform.

"You picked a good spot; you have a great view from up here," the detective remarked. "You can see anyone who comes from in the forest and anyone who comes up over the hill. Old castles were usually built on top of hills like this one, and close to woods so they'd have a good source of fuel for their fires."

"Castles?" Joe perked up. "Like knights and everything? I thought they had- had those ditches with water in them."

"A moat. Well, some did, some didn't, but all of them were built with the thought of being able to see far and wide," Dad explained. "The only drawback was, people could see them, too. If they wanted to be hidden, they had to build in forests- or live in caves."

"A cave would be cool," Frank said thoughtfully.

"Yes, but it would take a long time to chip one out with a hammer and chisel, wouldn't it?"

"Geez, we'd be like fifty before we were done," Joe groaned. "A tree-castle's good enough, it's taking all summer anyway."

Dad chuckled. "You two have done a lot of good work out here. What say we make it final and put the roof on?"

"Yeah!" Joe yelled at the same time as Frank. Dad made a face and put his hands on his ears.

"When you two quiet down, that is!"

"Okay, we're quiet," Joe whispered, and grinned when Dad mussed his hair. Then Dad climbed back down, lifted the heavy plywood easily, and began maneuvering it up over the edge of the 'porch'. Ten minutes and some puffing and heaving and scrambling later, the trio edged the board over the top of the walls and settled it flat.

"We better nail it on," Frank panted. "So the wind doesn't blow it away."

"How're we gonna do that?" Joe demanded, suddenly realizing the aspect they'd overlooked. The walls were higher than the boys' heads, so that they could stand up inside the structure. But it meant the roof was out of their reach.

"Maybe if we climb up higher," Frank suggested, eyeing the limbs above them.

"I'll boost you up," their father broke in, and Joe suddenly found himself lifted up and onto the surface of the roof. A moment later, Frank joined him, looking a bit startled, and then Dad handed up some nails and their hammers. The boys set to work and didn't notice when Dad climbed down the ladder and strode back over the hill towards home. It wasn't until they had finished hammering, with three nails to spare, and thought about getting down that they realized they were alone.

"Where'd he go?" Joe wondered.

"I dunno," Frank replied blankly.

"So how do we get down? Jump?"

Frank peered over the edge, then shook his head. "We might miss the porch, there's not a lot of room." Joe peered over as well, and drew back with a frown. Frank was right; the plywood stuck out a bit on all sides and nearly covered all the porch. It was great for making a roof, but not so great for climbing down!

"He shouldn't've left," the blond boy said with a frown, a dark suspicion darting into his mind. Was this a detective test? Was Dad waiting to see if they were smart enough to get down by themselves? Or had he just decided he wasn't interested anymore? After all-

"Oh, there he is!" Frank sounded relieved; Joe turned quickly to look and saw the tall, familiar figure approaching with something on its shoulder. "Dad, we can't get down!" he called, and Joe frowned again.

"Well, we could," he amended Frank's statement. "Only it'd probably hurt a lot. Unless we climbed down the branches, like you thought we could climb up..."

"I hope you weren't thinking of jumping," Dad said, putting down the white flappy thing he was carrying. "Because you're right, you would get very badly hurt. It would be like jumping off our roof."

"Not if we landed on the porch. What's that?" Joe inquired, pointing at the white bundle.

"I seemed to remember hearing you talk about putting some plastic over the roof so it wouldn't get wet and leak around the edges," Dad explained. "So I went to get that old leaf-tarp."

"Cool!" Frank scrambled to the edge of the roof, then paused. "I guess we have to get down before we can spread it-"

"No, stay up there for the moment." Dad picked up the tarp again and climbed up, passed them the plastic, and told them how to unroll it so it would be even all around. The tarp was even bigger than the plywood, so it hung down over the edges. Dad passed up a few more nails and Frank and Joe pounded them in; then he lifted them down one by one. "Looks good," he said approvingly. "And having it hang down like that means the wind won't blow rain up underneath it."

Joe regarded the finished tree-house with a smile. "Now all we need is the fire-escape," the blond boy remarked. "A rope," he explained as Dad looked at him sort of funny. "So we can slide down instead of climbing the ladder."

"Just make sure it's strong rope; you don't want it to break and land you on your rump," Dad cautioned. "And maybe bring some sand from the beach, to make the landing a little softer, hm?"

"That's a good idea," Joe began, then winced and scowled at his finger, shifting his grip on the hammer he was holding. "Ow! I have a splinter. Again."

"Plywood is fairly splintery," Dad murmured, looking at his own hands. "So tell me," he went on, ducking inside, "have you decided on a name yet?"

"No, we have to think of one. Us and Chet," Frank told him, following.

"Castle Hill, maybe," Joe offered from outside. He was enjoying the breeze that was drifting past. Then, remembering, he pulled the little plastic bag from his pocket and opened it, munching on his Oreo and feeling very content. The cookie made him thirsty, though, so when he finished the last crumb, he went in and picked up his canteen.

"We need a shelf," Frank remarked.

"When we have some wood," Joe replied. "I guess we can put some nails in to hang stuff on, and then when we get a shelf we can lay it across the nails..."

"It'd have to be a short shelf, if we did that, though. It'd fall over if it was too wide."

"Oh, yeah." Joe sighed, wondering why his smart ideas always sounded so dumb when Dad was around, then gulped down some water.

"Is that chocolate cookie crumbs I'm seeing?" Dad asked, smiling.

"Yeah, Mom gave us each an Oreo," Frank answered after a pause. "After lunch, since we didn't get a cookie at the Mall."

"Ah, yes, the Mall. Did that go well?"

"Back to school clothes are so boring," Joe grumbled. "I hate school! I wish I didn't have to go." Frowning, he gave Frank the canteen and went to where they'd hung the tweezers. A moment later Frank came over, wiping his lips, took the tweezers out of Joe's hand, and started trying to get Joe's splinter out.

"I'm sorry you don't like it, son, but there's not much anyone can do about it. The law in the U.S. is that all kids have to go to school."

"Oh, so you and Mom would get in trouble if you didn't send us?" Startled, Joe swivelled his head around and regarded his father. Dad nodded.

"That's right. They'd order us to make you go. And if we kept refusing to do it, they'd probably start trying to have us declared incompetant- that is, bad- parents and send you to a foster home or child-care center."

"And- ow! Frank, not so rough," Joe complained.

"Sorry. It's almost out."

"And how do you feel about school, Frank?" Dad asked, sounding more curious than anything.

Frank paused, looking up and rubbing the dark hair off his forehead. "I don't hate it, but I'd rather not go," he said after a pause to think.

"He likes studying," Joe muttered, wondering again why anyone in the world would enjoy anything so boring and confusing. Especially math!

"You don't need to make it sound like I'm a freak," Frank observed mildly.

"What's wrong with studying, Joe? I thought you liked learning things, and you've certainly learned a lot about detecting this summer. Very quickly, in fact."

Joe glanced over again; Dad was sitting cross-legged, elbows on his knees and fingers laced, still looking curious. That was good; he wasn't unhappy about it, and he wasn't talking about 'opportunities' the way Mom had. "That was different; that was fun," he replied. "It wasn't boring and it wasn't confusing- at least, not when I could see again- and it didn't make me feel like an idiot."

Dad's eyes widened and he lowered his hands. "Joe-"

"Mostly, anyway," the ten-year-old added thoughtfully. "Ow!! Frank-!"

"There, it's out, and it didn't even bleed," the older boy declared, wiping the tweezers with a piece of tissue.

"Feels like you used a hole-puncher on it," Joe grumbled, and accepted a gentle punch on his shoulder without a protest. "Thanks," he added more kindly after a moment.

"Don't worry, you'll get a chance to dig a hole in one of my fingers, eventually."

"It's not fair, you never, ever get splinters."

"Except four times," Frank reminded him dryly.

"Boys-"

Joe looked over at Dad again and felt surprise tingle through him. Now Dad looked...odd. Worried? "Yeah?" he said warily.

"Come sit by me, I think we need to talk a little."

Fenton waited as his sons sat down beside him, noticing immediately that while Frank sat down on his left, Joe didn't come to sit on Fenton's right. Instead, he sat down on the other side of Frank and turned slightly towards the detective. Fenton decided not to make an issue of it- not right now- but the move troubled him a little. Had the boys become so close that Joe preferred his brother's company to his father's? Or was he making Frank the buffer for a potential lecture or scolding? For a moment he studied them as they settled: Joe's cheeks were pink from the heat and his light hair was disheveled, as always. There was a slightly wary look on his face, and Fenton found himself musing that his blue-eyed son was going to be very attractive when he got older; he could already be described in the unfailing teenage term, 'cute'. Frank was no less so, though; and no wonder, for despite the superficial differences of skin, eye and hair, the boys did resemble each other. The older boy, with his nearly-black hair, dark eyes, deeper skin-tone and more slender build, would doubtless find himself described in the inevitable phrase, 'tall dark and handsome'. He always managed to look a little tidier than Joe, since his straight hair didn't tousle as easily, and he tended to wear more conservative colors. Like today: his dark blue shorts and lighter shirt were much less eye-catching than Joe's yellow-and-green-zig-zag shirt and shorts.

"I'm a little bothered by what I'm hearing," Fenton began slowly, trying to ease into his concern. As Joe's eyes narrowed and Frank's brows knitted, the investigator added quickly, "Not angry-bothered; worried."

The boys glanced at each other. "About the treehouse?" Frank ventured.

"No, no, not at all." Fenton paused and sighed inwardly. "What I'm troubled about is what I just heard you saying, Joe, about school. I know you don't like it, but you've never said that it makes you feel stupid before."

"Well, it does," his younger son said decisively.

"In what way? I mean, what happens to make you feel like that?"

Joe frowned and was silent for a few moments. "Sometimes it's interesting," he admitted slowly. "But a lot of time it's boring, and a lot of times it's confusing, too. The teacher tells us stuff and I don't get it, but everyone else does. So I get confused, and then when I'm too confused to think about it any more, I stop thinking about it and just get bored."

"Did you ask the teacher to explain, when you didn't understand?"

"I asked a few times, but she didn't explain; she just said the same thing again. And- and everybody else knew, then, that I was the only one who didn't get it and it felt like they were laughing at me," Joe replied sourly. "If I have to be stupid, I wish everyone didn't know about it."

"Oh, Joe," Fenton said encouragingly, touching the boy's slim shoulder. "You're not stupid- you're my son!"

Bright, angry blue eyes snapped up and stared into Fenton's. "Just 'cause you're my Dad doesn't mean you can make me be smart!" the boy declared, scowling.

"What?" Fenton let his hand drop, taken aback.

"You're my Dad, but that doesn't mean I'm smart- and you can't make it true just by saying it!"

"Joe..." Fenton struggled to get his mind around the boy's peculiar protest. "Joe, I'm not saying that at all. I'm not trying to say that my sons must be smart just because they're my sons. I'm saying, for ten years I've watched you grow up, listened to you, answered your questions...I know you, Joey, and because I know you, I know you're smart. If I wasn't your father, I wouldn't know you well enough to say, but I am, and I can say very plainly that I have two very intelligent boys. That's all."

The angry look passed from Joe's face, replaced by a half-wary, half-relieved expression. Then he shrugged. "I don't know what smart feels like, so I don't know... but I don't think I am. I get confused too much; I wouldn't get confused if I was really smart. Like you," he added wistfully to his brother. "You never get confused with math..."

"I do with spelling, though," Frank pointed out, speaking for the first time in a while.

"That's different, spelling has too many crazy rules."

"But you follow all the rules. You're smart in spelling, Joe, and I'm smart in math. So we help each other."

"But I need more help than you do." Joe sighed and leaned against Frank's arm. Fenton took a breath, feeling a mixture of emotions: relief that Joe's anger had passed, guilty regret that no one had noticed the boy was struggling with his schoolwork, gratitude to Frank for helping his brother, and a vague resentment that Joe never seemed to come to his parents when he needed assistance.

"Joe, did you consider telling your mother or I that you were having trouble?"

"You knew it anyway, you saw my report card and said I had to work harder!" the child flared again.

"And that would have been a fine time to say, 'I am working hard, but it's not helping; I get too confused and the teacher doesn't explain enough'. You didn't, son; you didn't say anything, just stomped out. How can we help you if we don't know what's wrong? I know I, personally, had to remind you many times to finish your schoolwork before you did other things. And your mother did more often than I did, because she was with you more," Fenton replied, kindly but firmly.

"Oh, so you just thought he was playing too much," Frank said in a tone that bordered on defiant. "You never thought to ask him why he hated school and homework so much- so why should he tell you, when you didn't act like you cared?" The dark-haired boy deliberately put his arm around his brother, his face almost expressionless, but his eyes narrow with emotions.

Fenton struggled with his temper for a moment, put aside his astonishment at having to justify himself to an eleven-year-old, and finally replied in a calm voice: "When the two of you started school last year, you both complained for several weeks. And then you both stopped complaining- you first, Frank, and then Joe. It seemed to us that you'd gotten over your feelings about leaving vacation behind and settled in. Joe, particularly, stopped saying he hated school and calling his teacher names, so we had no idea that he was still disliking it, much less why he did. And we did see him spending more time with what he wanted to do than the homework he needed to do. I did the same thing myself when I was in school; I didn't hate it, but I did find many things more interesting and fun than homework, and my parents had to remind me a lot, too."

Frank's steady gaze faltered and then dropped, but he hugged Joe closer. "Coulda asked," Fenton heard him mumble.

"Perhaps. And perhaps Joe could have told us, or his teacher," he answered. "Or someone. And it really hurts me to hear you saying we acted like we didn't care. We do care about you both, more than we care about almost anything else." He waited for a reply, but for long moments, the only sound was the soft flapping noise as the wind in the trees made the roof-tarp flutter. "I hope you believe me," he added at last.

"More than you care about Auntie?" Joe asked hesitantly. Fenton frowned, not expecting that response, then sighed inwardly, wondering if his sister and son had had another run-in. The one the night before had been bad enough! Joe had accidentally bumped into the table when he was taking his seat at dinner, and Gertrude's response had shocked both the parents.

"Really, Joseph, you are the most thoughtless and careless child- the only time you ever seem to pay attention to what you're doing is when you can't actually see where you're going! Maybe we should make you wear a blindfold all the time-"

Fenton had cut her off with a furious shout, startling her into silence even as both boys ran from the dining room. It had taken nearly half an hour to calm the upset children and Joe had utterly refused to eat dinner or dessert, stating, "She made it; I don't want any!" Frank had followed his brother's lead, so eventually Laura had made them soup and sandwiches, muttering that she hardly blamed them. Gertrude had, to give her some slight credit, had apologized for her cruel remark, then diluted her sincerity by grumbling about Laura 'spoiling' the boys and 'wasting' perfectly good food.

"Definitely," he returned. "Your aunt and I do love each other, but I love each of you more than I love her. Especially after last night; I'm still extremely angry with her for being so hateful to you." The boys glanced at each other and both of them seemed to relax. "Have you had another problem with her?"

"She doesn't like me, and she thinks I'm dumb," Joe sighed.

"What happened?" Fenton asked quietly, stroking the boy's arm. Joe hesitated, looking at Frank.

"It was after breakfast, she heard us talking about going back to school. We started talking about the shopping and then we were wondering if we might end up in the same class," Frank explained dourly. "And she asked me something like, did I fail a year, for us to be in the same grade. I told her no, but I had to start over with third grade, 'cause I got sick. And then I thought about it a minute and said maybe some day Joe'd get put up a class, skip a grade, and he'd actually be ahead of me. And she made this ha sound and said, 'Don't hold your breath waiting for that to happen; it's a miracle enough that he hasn't had to repeat a year himself by now.' And then she walked away. I wanted to throw something at her."

"When was this?" the detective asked tightly, straining to keep his emotions under control.

"While you were on the phone and Mom was upstairs," Joe mumbled.

"I told Joe she was probably just being mean because of last night," Frank went on, a certain urgency in his voice. "Since we wouldn't eat what she cooked, she got mad and decided to be insulting."

"That's quite likely true," Fenton agreed firmly. "That's exactly the sort of thing my sister has always done, ever since she was a small girl. I thought she had outgrown it by now, but apparently not."

"Told you." Frank turned to his brother and stroked Joe's tousled hair away from his eyes. Fenton watched, surprised and rather touched by the gentle, almost adult gesture.

"I guess. I kinda wish..." Joe didn't finish.

"We wish it was just us again," Frank concluded bluntly, looking back at Fenton. "We wish she'd never come, or if she had to, that she'd go away."

"I don't understand," Joe said suddenly, looking up. "She was nice while I couldn't see, and she was very nice while you were...gone, but now she's being all mean and- and hateful and yelling and scolding and I wish she'd just go away!"

"I'll talk to her tonight," Fenton said, forcing the grim note from his voice. He didn't want the boys to worry that any of his anger was directed at them for being the bearers of bad news, but it had been a long time since he'd felt this much anger towards his sister.

"You can't, she left. Right after you did. She got a phone call and when she hung up, she said she was going to visit the Bensons for a week."

"Ah. As soon as she gets back, then, she and I will have a very necessary talk and I'll make some things clear to her. In the meantime, Joe, let me say again: you are not stupid. I know you said you feel that way sometimes, but it doesn't mean your intelligence is poor. People absorb things, learn things, in different ways. The problem is, teachers can only teach one way. Just imagine it," he added as Joe frowned. "You're in the classroom...the teacher's explaining...now, she can't go to each student at each desk and teach that person in their own particular way for each subject. That would never work, it would take hours."

Both boys grimaced. "We'd be in school till midnight," Frank muttered.

"Right. What she has to do is explain things in the way that as many kids as possible will understand. Unfortunately, that means there are going to be other kids who can't get a good understanding, because that's not the right method for them. Think back a minute to when I was first teaching you to look at the marbles and remember how many there were of each color. Frank, you said you take a picture in your mind; Joe, you said your mind-camera wasn't doing a very good job, so you were counting instead."

"Yeah," Joe agreed thoughtfully, brightening a little.

"You each did it your own way, and that was exactly how it should be. Doing things differently from other people isn't wrong or stupid; it's actually right. It's right for you. I know it's very frustrating for you, though, and I do understand why you've come to really dislike school."

Joe nodded emphatically. "I like recess, lunch, and going home." He paused, then added, "I don't like homework, but it's not as bad as being in school. 'Cause I'm by myself and I don't feel like anyone's laughing. And Frank helps me, too, 'specially with math."

"Well, I'm glad to hear Frank helps you," Fenton said warmly. "And there are other things we can do about it, too. To begin with, we can talk to your teacher about it, and we can- well, you won't like this, but they'll want to test you to see exactly how you do learn. And once they know that, they can teach you in ways that won't frustrate you and make you feel stupid. And maybe then," he concluded, smoothing Joe's blond hair gently, "you'll believe me when I say I know I've got two smart sons."

Joe still looked a little doubtful, but didn't disagree. A start, the detective thought. It might take a little while to restore Joe's self-esteem to where he didn't doubt his own intelligence, but at least the first step was taken. And school hadn't started yet; it would be a truly clean slate this year, so long as he and Laura talked to the teacher as soon as classes began. And his next priority would be to deal with Gertrude and her ego-crushing comment. Fenton knew his sister usually meant well, but saying such spiteful things to a child was totally unacceptable. Joe was right, her attitude in general had soured over the past few days and she and Laura had had several sharp disagreements over the 'proper' methods of raising and disciplining children. He had- optimistically, he confessed to himself- hoped that his initial lecture would have stilled her take-charge instincts, but it seemed that was wishful thinking.

'If she keeps this up, I'll retract my offer to let her stay with us,' he mused. 'She'll be outraged at being 'kicked out', but if it's a choice between that and having her running roughshod over Laura and the boys... I guess I'd better tell her so straight out, so we both know there's no misunderstandings. It's been a little easier for Frank, he's ignored most of her criticisms towards him, but he gets so defensive of Joe that all she has to do to agitate him is say something unkind to Joe. And Joe's confidence is clearly slipping, he takes her far too much to heart, even if someone does defend him and tell her she's wrong. The problem is, Gert sees them as clay to be molded, not as individuals with well-established personalities. She has no right to try and change them to what she thinks they 'ought' to be like...'

"Dad?"

"Hm? Oh, sorry, son." Fenton looked into Frank's eyes and smiled. "I was thinking about the talk I need to have with your aunt."

"I wondered why you looked mad," Frank murmured.

"I was hoping I wouldn't need to speak to her again, after the last time," the detective explained. "But I guess she didn't listen well enough. I'm not going to tolerate much of it, either. First, I absolutely will not have her being nasty to my sons. And second, if she can't accept the fact that she's not your parent, she can't stay with us. It's not her job or her right to try and take over from your mother and I."

"She'll just say she's family," Joe offered rather dolefully. "Mom said almost the same thing yesterday, and that's what she said back."

"Family, yes. Parent, no. If she gets married and has kids, she can raise them her way, but I'm raising my boys my way."

"Poor kids," Joe said sympathetically, just as Frank remarked, "I like your way a lot better, Dad."

Fenton smiled, then glanced at his watch. "Oops, we'd better get home before we're late to dinner." Rising, he stretched, then held one hand to each son. Grinning, the boys grasped his big hands with their small ones and he pulled them to their feet. "Feel better?" he asked Joe gently as Frank led the way out of the treehouse and down the ladder. Joe cocked his head thoughtfully, adjusting the canteen strap over his shoulder.

"Mostly," he replied agreeably. "And, Dad, thanks for helping with the roof and everything, it was cool."

"You're welcome, I enjoyed it," his father returned, pleased. "Careful- don't get any more splinters going down the ladder."

"Ugh, no, I don't need any more of those!" Joe hurried down the wooden rungs and Fenton followed, musing briefly about getting them some sandpaper. That would solve much of the splinter problem.

"Sure smells good in here," Dad told Mom as he came inside behind Joe. Frank, who'd been the first inside, was already taking a deep sniff of the delicious odor of pork chops.

"Ah, there you are! I was just about to step outside and start calling all three of you," Mom replied, smiling. "I need some table-setters, please. Table-setters with clean hands," she amended, looking at Frank.

"I guess that means we can't do it," Frank sighed, holding out his dirty hands. Then he ducked, laughing, as Mom flicked him with a dishtowel, a grin crossing her face. Dad chuckled and he heard Joe's giggle.

"Run up and wash, mister smarty-pants!"

Frank ran out of the kitchen and up the stairs, still laughing, hearing Joe's footsteps behind him. Five moments of intense hand-scrubbing later, they both dried off and ran back down. "My stomach's telling me to hurry up," Joe commented as he spread the placemats and utensils. Frank took charge of the plates and glasses that Mom had set out, then fetched the napkins and tucked on under each fork while Joe got the salt, pepper and butter. It was as he was putting these on the table that Frank suddenly noticed something.

"Only four places," he said to Joe.

"Four?" Joe looked up with a blink.

"Only four." And as the younger boy still looked confused, "You put five." He gestured at the fifth set of silverware sitting at an empty placemat. "Just you and me and Dad and Mom."

"Oh!" Joe's eyes widened and he looked at the table again. Then he smiled, a little sheepishly. "I forgot," he explained simply, and picked up the extra silverware to put it away. Frank went to get the milk and poured it carefully into the glasses, not wanting to spill any. A few minutes later, Mom brought out the serving bowls and Dad carried in the plate of chops. Everyone sat down and Dad started serving. Frank buttered his corn on the cob, cut up the juicy browned pork chop, took a large piece of hot, crusty bread from the bread-basket, and wrinkled his nose at how many tomato slices were in his salad bowl. He preferred 'cherry' tomatoes, the little round ones that you could put into your mouth whole and chew up fast; they never seemed as slimy or seedy as regular slices. Then he took a better grip on his fork and started eating.

As he ate, Frank listened with half his attention to the discussion between Mom and Dad, adding a little bit here and there, but mostly focusing on filling his hungry stomach. When the talk turned to back-to-school, though, he started listening more carefully. Mom reminded Dad that they had to tell the teacher about Joe's headaches and Dad talked about something called learning-aptitude tests.

"Dad?"

Something in his brother's voice alerted Frank and he looked up, half-eaten corn-cob still in his hands. Joe wasn't eating very much, he noticed. There were only a few bites taken out of the corn and three or four pieces cut from the pork chop.

"Yes, son?"

"You said if I didn't go to school, they might take me and put me somewhere else, but where would that be?"

Mom and Dad both looked a little surprised at the question, but then Dad made a thoughtful face. "Well, first they would check to see if we were teaching you at home. To do that, they'd give you tests to see what you knew and what you didn't, and once they found out that you weren't being taught, they would give us a few warnings that we were breaking the law. We'd have two or three chances to make sure you started getting taught, and if we ignored all their warnings and didn't do anything about it, they would have two options in what to do. The first choice would be if you were officially going to school but missing a lot of days: they'd send someone to keep an eye on us, check in with the school every day and make sure you were present all the time. But if you weren't going to school at all, and we still weren't teaching you, they would take you to what's called a foster care center. You'd live there, going to school during the day and sleeping at the center at night, until we agreed to follow the laws. Or, if we still didn't agree, they'd try and find some foster-family to take you in."

"What's a...foster family?" Joe had put down his fork and was looking more interested than he had before.

"It's almost like adoption, isn't it?" Frank asked, curious in a rather spooked way. Of course no one was going to come and take them away, but it was a little scary to think about.

"It's rather like that," Dad told him, nodding, "though of course the parents of foster kids are not usually dead. Foster care is for mostly children with very bad parents, people who do worse things than not sending their kids to school. Like parents who beat their kids, or who have criminal records. The kids get taken away for their own safety. But if enough time went by and we didn't send you, they might possibly decide to take you away for a while and see if that would make us cooperate," he finished.

Joe nodded, a thoughtful expression on his face. Then he asked, very seriously, "And you wouldn't want them to do that?"

For a moment, there was complete silence. Frank, mildly surprised by Joe's question, wondered when his brother had changed his mind about talking about the blind school. But maybe he wasn't; maybe it was something else. Then the eleven-year-old looked at his parents and felt his eyes widen. Both of them had stopped moving and were staring at Joe with the most peculiar expressions. Mom's mouth had opened, Dad's eyes had gotten quite big, and neither of them looked like they were breathing. Joe glanced from Dad to Mom with an uneasy expression, which Frank totally understood. He hoped they weren't going to get mad at Joe's question!

"No!" Mom almost gasped the word, and Frank jumped at the unexpected sound of her voice. "No, honey, of course we wouldn't want that! You're our son, we wouldn't want some strangers coming in and taking you away from us!"

"Of course we wouldn't want them to!" Dad said at almost the same time, letting his fork clang against his plate. "Son, why...what made you ask such a thing?"

Joe looked down, poked his pork-chop bone, and took a deep breath. "'Cause...'cause you were gonna send me away."

Another silence, but this one was, if anything, even worse. Frank took in their parents' stunned, disbelieving expressions and suddenly wondered if he'd been right to urge Joe to talk about this. He was glad that Joe had finally brought it up, but he didn't want either of them getting into trouble for eavesdropping- or for keeping secrets- or for any of the more obscure things that grown-ups were always getting mad about.

"We what?"

Joe looked up again at Mom's soft exclamation. "I heard you talking about it- sending me to blind school. I thought since I couldn't see anymore, you wanted to get rid of me."

"Oh, honey," Mom whispered, her hand at her throat. "Joey, love, we weren't going to 'send you away'- no more than we 'send you away' now to go to your regular school."

"But I heard you!" the blond boy protested, scowling. "I heard you, and first I thought you just meant a regular school, but for blind kids-"

"And that was bad enough," Frank muttered under his breath, frowning as well at their mother's denial. But wondered if Joe's scowl was because his brother was trying not to cry or because he was angry. Or both; probably it was both.

"-and I didn't like that, 'cause I wanted to be with Frank, and my friends, and not with a bunch of strangers I couldn't even see. But then I heard again, and you were saying how they were all the kind of school where you go and stay there and sleep there and don't come home till it's a holiday!"

"You heard us saying...but Joe, didn't you hear us say that we didn't want to send you to any of them?" Mom asked. She looked very unhappy and her voice sounded weird- sort of tight. Frank wished he was on the side of the table next to Joe, instead of across from him. Joe looked like he could use somebody holding his hand right now.

"No," the ten-year-old murmured. "I didn't want to hear you decide which one I had to go to."

"We didn't want to choose any of them, honey. We were looking at dozens of those school advertisements and rejecting every one of them- because they were the boarding-school variety."

"Joe," Dad put in, speaking in a calmer voice, "how much- how many times did you hear us talking about it?"

"Just those two times. I didn't want to hear anything else, so I didn't listen." Joe looked across the table and Frank met his brother's miserable gaze with what he hoped was encouragement. Joe was obviously wishing that he hadn't said anything at all.

"All right, let me explain what happened," Dad said, leaning over to touch Joe's arm. Frank noticed that his brother didn't pull away from the contact, which was a good sign. "First, we knew you would need special teaching, since you couldn't see. That meant sending you to a school for blind people."

Joe scowled and shrugged Dad's hand off.

"I know, son, but hear me out. We looked around for all the information we could find, and we learned that almost every school for blind kids in this area is a boarding school- a live-in. We didn't want that, Joe. We wanted you to have as much of a normal life as you possibly could, and that meant a school where you would go in the morning and come home in the afternoon. We didn't want you far away from us, lonely and scared and homesick, and we didn't want to go around missing you all day, every day."

Frank felt himself relax a little bit. So he had been right when he said their parents didn't want to get rid of Joe! Maybe now Joe would believe it, now that Dad was saying it.

"Besides that, it didn't seem fair," Mom added quietly. "You'd only been blind for a few weeks, you'd just finished learning how to walk around in the house and weren't very comfortable with being outside. To send you off to another place- a strange place, with strange people, and leave you to try and get used to it- and you still weren't very used to not seeing, either. We felt it would be a very cruel thing to do, make you get used to so many changes, so quickly."

"R-really?" Joe gulped, and Frank felt a sympathetic burning in his own eyes, even as he relaxed a little more at Mom's softly-spoken words. It had all been a mistake, a confusion. Mom and Dad still wanted Joe; they'd never stopped wanting him. They'd thought about how he'd feel- even if they hadn't really asked him.

"Really truly, son. We did want you to learn, but we didn't want you to be unhappy- you were already unhappy enough, and we knew that being away from home would make it much worse for you. So we decided to see if there was someone in the area who had worked with blind people and could come to our house to teach you every day, like a tutor. We did find someone, but when I told him you'd only lost your sight a few weeks before, he said there was no sense in trying to teach you yet. He said you needed to get used to not seeing, first, and that most people don't start trying to learn schoolwork sorts of things until at least several months after their sight goes. They need the time to adjust to being blind, he said, to get through the fear and unhappiness. There are people who can help with things like eating and getting dressed and finding their way around, but you'd already learned that, so you didn't need that kind of help. And he wasn't one of those kinds of teachers anyway." Dad stopped and took a deep breath.

"So we agreed that we'd let you stay home and keep getting used to the whole situation and not try to push you to learn too much, too fast, or do things too soon," Mom went on. "And we figured that Frank would probably share his homework with you, and you could learn as much from that as you felt like."

"But you didn't tell me!" Joe burst out. "I was going around thinking I'd have to go to some old school and stay there- that you didn't want to have me anymore and school was a good way to get rid of me and not have to- to do stuff for me and see me messing up all the time and-" He buried his face in shaking hands and Frank closed his eyes, biting on his lip to push his own tears away. Over Joe's sobs came his parents' voices:

"Joey, oh honey, of course we want you around-"

"Son- we would never even dream of getting rid of you, we love you-"

"Sweetie, if we'd just known you were feeling this way, we would have told you at once- if you'd told us you heard us talking, we would have explained right away!"

Frank sniffed back his emotions, opened his stinging eyes, and saw Dad crouching beside Joe's chair, hugging him. Mom had leaned over too, and was patting Joe's back. Feeling left out, Frank slid from his chair and stood next to Mom's chair, leaning up against her side. She put her free arm around him and turned to kiss his cheek.

"We didn't tell you about the school was because it wasn't necessary, Joe," Dad was saying as he rubbed Joe's back. "We'd decided not to do it, so we didn't think there was any point in telling you, 'well we thought about it, but we changed our minds'. And we were going to tell you about having you stay home, but we didn't see the need to do it so soon. You didn't need that to have that on your mind too, along with everything else."

"Of course, if we'd known what comprised 'everything else-'" Mom said to Dad. "Joey, no wonder you were so upset and unhappy- thinking we'd send you away and not even ask if you wanted to-"

"I didn't think it'd matter. We always have to do stuff we don't want to, 'cause it's necessary," the younger boy choked. Frank nodded gravely and Mom turned quickly to study him.

"You knew about this."

Frank nodded, even though it wasn't really a question.

"And neither of you told us." Now she was starting to sound a little angry.

"Well, he didn't want me to," Frank explained, feeling defensive. "And it didn't seem like it'd make any difference if he did tell you. We knew he wouldn't be able to read, or see the blackboard, or write, or do gym, or even stay in line very well, in our school. He couldn't learn things like everyone else, so he couldn't be in the same school with us; he'd have to go somewhere else, whether he wanted to or not. So why bother saying he didn't want to when everyone would just say, 'too bad, you have to, so don't complain about it.'?"

"Or, 'oh, you'll get used to it.' I wouldn't!" Joe sniffed, raising his head. "I'd never get used to feeling like you didn't want me. Even if you said a billion zillion times that you did, I'd still wonder, 'cause you wouldn't let me be at home- and I couldn't do anything to stop it, 'cause it would be for my own good!"

Mom and Dad looked at each other in something that seemed like confusion. "Joe, I think you've got two problems mixed together," Dad said after a moment. "But neither of them really is a problem. You can see, so you're not going away to blind school- any blind school. And even if you couldn't see, we still wouldn't be sending you away. We would keep you at home with us and have someone come here to teach you. You've built up this whole 'how I'd feel' situation in your mind, but it's for something that won't ever happen."

Frank blinked several times, rather taken aback. Dad had a point, sort of; all Joe's feelings now were about something that wasn't going to happen. Joe seemed almost as surprised as Frank was; he didn't seem to know what to say in reply, but he looked like he wanted to protest.

"Yeah, but he thought it was going to happen, and he was feeling bad about it. And since you never told him it wasn't gonna happen, he never got to feel better," the dark-haired responded. Joe gave him a grateful glance and Frank felt a surge of satisfaction.

"Ah, I see," Dad murmured seriously. "This isn't so much how you're feeling now, as how you were feeling then, but never said."

"Not really, 'cause you still do it," Joe disagreed. "You make me go to school, even though you know I hate it, 'cause it's the law and everyone has to. It doesn't matter how anyone feels, they just have to do it 'cause they're told to."

"Honey, that's the way of the world," Mom sighed. "Everyone has to do things they don't want to. Sometimes the only thing you can choose is whether you're going to groan and complain and make yourself- and anyone around you- unhappy, or whether you're going to do the unpleasant thing without griping, get it over with, and have time left over for something better. Like cleaning your room- you can put it off and do a bad job and get fussed at and waste the whole day. Or, you can make an effort, take some pride in doing a good job, get some praise and maybe a cookie, and then go play outside for the afternoon."

Frank frowned, thinking about that. True, but some things were done because they really had to be done, while others got done only because somebody said they had to. Though it was hard to tell the difference sometimes. School was a good example; he hadn't really known there were actual laws about kids having to go to school. He'd thought it was all parents making it happen- wasn't that what the PTA was all about?

Joe wiped his eyes with the backs of his hands, sniffed again, and frowned- his thoughtful frown, this time. After a moment or two, he looked up and nodded at Mom, rather hesitantly. "But I still don't like it," he remarked. "Like when you say I should feel lucky to go to school and have the- the opportunity. I don't feel lucky, and I never will."

Mom's face turned a little pink at that. "I guess I should watch my mouth," she admitted. "I shouldn't be telling you how to feel about things."

"Yeah," the boys agreed in unison.

"But sometimes we do have to tell you to do things, boys. Both of you do understand that, don't you? There's always rules people have to follow." Mom reached up to smooth Frank's hair as he nodded slowly, wondering why there seemed to be more rules for kids than for grown-ups. Still, grown-ups who didn't follow the laws ended up in jail a lot, so maybe it was that there were fewer rules for them, but the punishments were worse. That seemed fair, in a weird way. Adults were supposed to know better anyway; so when they did something knowing it was wrong, it was a lot worse than if a kid did something and didn't know it was wrong.

"And, son, no matter how many times we ask you to do something you don't like, it's not because we don't love you or don't want you," Dad said very kindly. "We love you very much, and we will never, ever 'get rid' of you- or your brother. And while we may send you to school, or to the post office, or the drug store, we will never send you away. This is your home, this is where you belong- with us."

A warm feeling swept over Frank as he saw Joe smile weakly and snuggle into Dad's arms. The eleven-year-old let out a little sigh of relief and then beamed up at his mother as she settled him into her lap and kissed the top of his head. "I hope that next time something's troubling you, you'll let us know about it instead of keeping it to yourselves," she said softly. Joe looked over at that, meeting Frank's gaze, and Frank saw agreement in those slightly-reddened blue eyes. Being detective partners was good, and they didn't have to tell Mom and Dad everything, but things like this... If they'd just told sooner, neither of them would've gone around feeling so rotten, and Joe wouldn't have had so many bad dreams or felt like he wasn't wanted, or any of that other awful stuff.

"We will," Frank promised, and Joe nodded quickly.

"Thank you," Dad said seriously. "Now. What say we finish dinner? I think there's a special treat for dessert."

"There is?" Frank slid down off Mom's lap, gave her a flying kiss on the cheek, and hurried back to his chair. "What is it?"

"As I understand it," Dad paused as he helped Joe settle back into the chair and then sat down in his own place, "it's a surprise."

"Awww, Dad!" the boys exclaimed in unison.

"Don't choke yourself!" Mom exclaimed to Joe, who had immediately begun attacking his pork chop and corn. "My word. Fenton, when are you going to learn to not mention surprises to these two at supper? And what surprise are you talking about, anyway?"

"Wait and see, my dear," Dad replied mysteriously, and to everyone's frustration, he refused to give even a hint of the 'surprise' for the remainder of supper.

"This was a great surprise, Dad," Joe remarked contentedly to his father, sticking his long spoon down into the sundae glass before him and scooping out the last dollops of hot fudge.

"I agree," Mom said, pushing her own chocolate-coated glass away and leaning back against the red-leather booth cushions with a sigh. Across from them, Frank was still working on his banana split, but Dad's Tin-Roof glass was nearly empty. Only a few trickles of caramel sauce were left. "I thought you'd brought something unusual home."

"I spotted this place on my way home," Dad explained with a sly smile. "For some reason, new ice-cream parlors tend to attract my attention, so I thought we should give it a try."

Joe laughed and Frank giggled through his mouthful of ice-cream. Usually it was one of them who mentioned any new sweet-shop or candy store and tried to get their parents to take them to it. "I guess we been a bad in- influence?" Joe suggested, and his father pretended to look concerned.

"Now that you mention it, there could be a pair of rapscallions who have put that idea into my head..."

"Yes, the amazing part is that you heard about it before these two did!" Mom leaned over and stroked Joe's hair; he snuggled up against her, feeling almost as good inside as he had when he and Frank started being friends again after he ran away. "It's a nice place," she went on. "Sort of old-fashioned."

Joe looked around, taking note of the decor for the first time and wondering what was old-fashioned about it. There was a counter with all kinds of gadgets and glasses behind it, and mirrors on the walls with cursive writing on them; there was a funny silver-metal ceiling with twists and curls designed on it; there were lots of little round and square tables with funny little chairs. The chairs had puffy red seats, but the backs of them were just bare metal sticks bent into curly designs like the ceiling. Then there were the booths, with the same puffy seats, but the backs of the booths were puffy, too. The tablecloths were red and blue checked, and the lamps on the wall did look pretty old-fashioned. Like oil lamps or train lamps, not something you'd put on a table next to the sofa. Most interesting, though, was the big piano that was after the booths. Joe had never seen a piano in an ice-cream store before; maybe in old-fashioned times, people had listened to piano music while they had ice-cream. And then when things got modern, they had store radios, instead. That made sense.

"Oogh." Frank put his spoon down and sighed, regarding the last bit of banana regretfully. "I'm full."

"You did very well to get that much done," Dad commented. "It was a pretty big split."

"Yeah, and all that whipped cream, they must've used a whole can," Joe remarked almost enviously. He'd never quite decided what was the best part of a sundae, the whipped cream or the hot fudge sauce. The ice-cream itself was nice, and this one had been delicious, but it was pretty ordinary compared to the toppings!

"I don't think it was a whole can," Dad replied, amused. "Half, maybe, but not a whole one."

Mom was dipping her napkin into her water glass; now she turned to Joe. "You're all sticky," she told him, offering the napkin. Joe took it and scrubbed rather uncertainly around his mouth and chin. When he stopped, Mom inspected him, then took the napkin and dabbed at his cheek. "There. Much better."

"So, anyone up for seconds?" the waitress asked, appearing without warning. Joe started a little, then groaned at the question.

"I wish I had room," he answered regretfully, "but I don't."

"Same here, those were very generous servings," Mom agreed.

"I didn't even finish my first!" Frank said mournfully. "I'll have to get something smaller next time."

The lady, who was young and had a ponytail, smiled. "We also serve lunches and dinners," she told them. "You can come in and have dinner and then order a sundae for dessert."

"Very convenient; the question is whether we'd be able to walk when we were done," Dad joked as the lady put a piece of paper on the table. "If your dinners are as large as your sundaes, we might not!" He fished in his pocket and pulled out his wallet.

The waitress took his credit card and left; she came back just a minute later and gave Dad a pen. "There you are- have a pleasant evening and we hope to see you back real soon."

"Definitely," Joe murmured, looking across the table at his brother and getting a nod in return. This was definitely going to go on their favorite places list. "What's it called here, anyway?"

"The Colonial," Mom answered, smiling. Then she stood up and helped Joe slide out of the booth. The red plastic was a little slithery and a little sticky at the same time; it stuck to his bare legs, but slid beneath the fabric of his shorts. A moment later, Dad and Frank got out from their side and they all walked up the aisle to leave. Joe noticed the tiled floor then; it was the same red and blue checks as the tablecloths, only bigger. Then they were out in the humid night air and the little bell on the door jangled as it closed behind them. Joe turned and regarded the sign in the window, then felt a hand come down on the top of his head and smiled up at Dad.

"Thanks for the surprise, Dad!"

"Yeah, thanks, it was great," Frank agreed, pausing beside him.

"You're very welcome." Dad sounded pleased. "I thought you'd approve."

"I think that was just what they both needed," Laura Hardy said quietly to her husband as she seated herself on the couch next to him. She glanced at the clock over the mantel and stifled a yawn. Nearly ten-thirty. The boys were in bed, having had their baths and brushed their teeth- and then scampered around the house for a while, energized by their large sundaes. But they'd finally wound down about half an hour ago and were probably sound asleep. She'd go up to check on them in a few minutes.

"We needed," Fenton corrected with a slight frown, removing the scattered newspaper sections from the couch and re-arranging the cushions. Laura noted absently that the decorative pillows were getting lumpy- probably from being used in so many juvenile pillow-battles- and made a mental note to run them through the dryer. That would fluff them up a bit. "...All needed some family time," Fenton was saying. "Which reminds me, we have yet another problem to deal with. Gertrude."

Laura's attention sharpened at the mention of her tactless, domineering sister-in-law. "Yes. I meant to tell you at supper, but I forgot- she's gone to visit the Bensons for a few days." She sighed, her brow furrowing. Why they had ever encouraged that woman to come live with them-!

"When she gets back, I'm going to have some words with her."

Laura looked over at her husband, feeling a sense of relief at that quietly determined remark. "I'm glad to hear that. I've been wanting to have a few words with her myself!" She had stifled several angry reactions to Gertrude's attitude lately, for Fenton's sake, and had been wondering whether to stop leashing her tongue, or to ask Fenton to deal with his sister. Both approaches had their disadvantages, but either way, something needed to be done. She was glad her husband had recognized the need before she had to point it out to him- but that was one thing about having a detective for a husband: he was extremely observant!

"The boys are not too happy with her-"

"Neither am I, and probably for the same reasons." Laura distractedly pushed her hair back over her shoulders and sat up a little straighter, suddenly conscious of her fatigue. It had been a long, emotional day! "She was remarkably kind and caring while you were...missing, but now- it's like she got tired of making the effort. And Fenton, she's so critical! Even Frank is starting to react, and you know how hard he is to provoke. And last night!" Laura flung up her hands in a futile attempt to express her residual anger and amazement.

"I completely agree, love. That was inexcusable of her, and I hardly blame the boys for reacting the way they did. I wanted to smack her myself." Fenton frowned and stretched his arms out in front of him, then leaned back into the sofa, relaxing. "As far as Frank goes- from what I saw today, he's reacting more on Joe's behalf than on his own. Frank sees his brother getting angry and upset, and that stirs up his protective feelings." At Laura's curious look, her husband explained, "I spoke with the boys while we worked on their treehouse- which is why I'm so stiff now....Frank didn't actually say all that, of course, but he demonstrated it. He still shrugs off criticism of himself, but he reacts quite strongly to criticism of Joe."

"Oh." Laura nodded. She'd seen that reaction before, and wondered a little at the older boy's sudden, intense protectiveness. It had started when Frank was helping Joe become accustomed to his lack of sight, but Laura had expected Frank's attitude to revert to 'normal' once Joe could see again. It seemed she was mistaken, though; the older boy's protectiveness was apparently the new 'normal.' "I'm glad they talked to you instead of keeping it between themselves. Fenton, it really troubles me that they're suddenly- I don't know, censoring what they tell us. I don't like that Joe keeps turning to Frank. I am glad they've become so close, but there's only so much Frank can do to solve Joe's problems. He's only eleven."

"I think..." Her husband paused, running his hand through his dark hair. "I think that's a leftover from Joe's blindness," he ventured after a moment, obviously paralleling her recollection of when the boys' attitudes had changed. "And I think our discussion tonight, helped them both realize that there are times they need to bring their concerns to us, not simply share them with each other. Not if they want the problem solved."

"I was just thinking that myself; it did start with Joe's blindness. And I hope you're right, Fenton. I still don't quite understand why Joe let Frank help him while he was blind, but wouldn't let me. Or you. I guess I'm afraid that now the pattern's started, it'll be difficult to alter it." Laura grimaced; she'd been sewing too much lately. She was starting to talk in seamstress metaphors again. Then she pulled her attention back to her husband, who was speaking.

"I think it was part of Joe's way of asserting himself. That, and since Frank is so much closer to him in age and size, it was probably easier for Frank to understand how being blind affected Joe. You and I- and all adults- are a good deal more independent, and would be even if we lost our own sight. We'd be thinking about things like driving and making phone calls and cooking- and working." Fenton moved closer and wrapped his arm around her.

"That's true," the blond woman agreed thoughtfully, leaning into the embrace. "I didn't think of it that way. Joe needed a child to understand his feelings, because he is a child."

"And Frank filled the role admirably," Fenton agreed, tenderness in his voice.

Laura nodded slowly- and winced as a new thought came to her. "We shouldn't have assumed that Joe was unhappy because of his blindness," she said with a guilty sigh. "It was a logical assumption- but Joe's never been the most logical of children. And making assumptions is a foolish thing to do in any case, because even if you're right, you might not be seeing the whole situation. We shouldn't wait for the children to come to us and tell us what they're feeling. We should have asked. No wonder he felt the way he did, that we might actually not want him. We weren't trying to come across as indifferent, but we did anyway."

Her husband was quiet for a moment, lowering his head so his cheek brushed hers. "Maybe we did," he agreed gravely, his voice very quiet. "I always forget how hard it is to predict Joe's responses. He feels so much, and he takes things so- differently than Frank does. You say the same thing to both of them, and they give you two completely different reactions. It's a wonder the two of them understand each other at all, much less as well as they do."

"You mean like at dinner, when Joe was so- angry, and so upset at the thought of us sending him away, even though he knew we weren't going to," Laura murmured. "To him, the most important thing wasn't what we did or didn't do. It was how he felt about what he thought we planned to do. And he wasn't wrong to be upset about it, he was simply mistaken in his-"

"Assumptions," Fenton finished. "Yes. We all need to do less assuming. And until we manage to explain that to the boys, you and I need to be more attentive to them, ask them straight out how they're feeling and why. They're good kids," he added affectionately, pausing to kiss her cheek. "And the more they confide in us now, the less trouble they'll have doing it when they hit adolescence."

"Which will cut down on the growing pains." Laura pursed her lips. Adolescence- was she ready for that? She'd better be, and soon- Frank would be turning twelve this fall and was already remarkably mature for his age...and Joe would not be far behind. The blond woman stifled a twinge of sorrow at the thought of her babies reaching so swiftly for adulthood and said briskly, "Now if we can just keep Gertrude from trying to undermine my authority, browbeat them into submission, and raise them the way she thinks kids should be reared..."

"I'll talk to her," the detective promised. "And if she can't comply, we'll have to ask her to leave. I hope it doesn't become necessary," he added as Laura gazed at him in shock that turned to relief and warm affection. "But if it comes down to a choice of asking her to leave or allowing her to stay and make our family unhappy- well, that's no choice at all. I've already told her once we won't tolerate that harsh attitude, and if she can't respect that, she can't stay."

Laura let out a long, quiet breath, feeling a fear deep inside of her melt away. She had never seriously thought that Fenton would allow his sister to bully Frank and Joe, but she had been concerned that his intervention would consist of nothing more decisive than constant reminders to not treat his sons 'like that'. Reminders were easy enough to ignore, particularly when Fenton was away from the house for days at a time. She had wondered several times whether it might become necessary for her to revoke Gertrude's invitation to stay with them, and the possibility had worried her. Gertrude would doubtless make an ugly scene, should it happen, and Laura had no doubt that Gertrude would appeal to her brother to allow her to stay in spite of Laura. The question of whose 'side' Fenton would be on had bothered his wife more than she cared to admit; she knew the siblings were not close and that Fenton didn't approve of Gertrude's disciplinary methods, but she'd had no idea just what lengths he'd go to to keep the peace in his family. Now she knew and there was only one concern left to trouble her.

"What if it happens while you're gone? What if I have to ask her to leave and she refuses, or if she does leave but waits around till you get home and-"

"Laurie," her husband interrupted gently, pulling her to him, "I know you wouldn't ask her to leave without a very good reason. If I come home and find she's no longer here, I'll respect your judgment on the situation. And if she won't go, call the police and have her removed. Preferably not arrested, but if it's necessary...by all means, do what's necessary for the boys' happiness and your own peace of mind." He drew her even closer and kissed her, and for a while Laura quite forgot about going upstairs to check that Frank and Joe were asleep.

"It's good to have you home," she remarked after a while, teasingly. "Have I mentioned that?"

"You have," he answered, smiling. "So did you all enjoy your day in the mall?"

Laura groaned, half-laughing. "Well, Joe was much better behaved this year than last year- he didn't whine at all- but we did have some unpleasantness before we left the house." She explained to her curious husband how she had asked the boys to give a fuller explanation of their 'adventure' on the Shore Road and her reaction to it. "I probably should have asked sooner," she concluded dryly. "I had no idea just how far they'd gone, nor that they took a ride with Mr. Prito. Pointed out that it wasn't a very safe thing to do; they didn't seem to quite concur, but they did finally agree to let me know where they were going, in the future. They were both pretty defensive about it, and Joe got in another remark about not being stupid- I don't know why he keeps doing that, and I keep forgetting to ask him. We all know he's anything but stupid."

Fenton sat up, loosing his arm from her shoulders and taking her hands in his. "All except Joe."

"What?" Laura gasped, sitting up straight in shock.

"Joe feels he is stupid," Fenton repeated quietly. "He told me so point-blank today. That's why he dislikes school so much; he gets confused easily and apparently the teachers' explanations don't help. We need to get him some aptitude tests and see what the school system can do in the way of teaching him so he understands. And that's another thing Gertrude has done- did he tell you?"

"Tell me what?" Laura asked quickly, struggling to absorb everything her husband was saying. "Joe isn't stupid, he's a very bright boy-"

"I know, but he doesn't think so and that's what matters. And he does have a unique way of looking at things, which is a pretty good indication that he doesn't process information like most people do. It's another of those things he wasn't telling anyone. And he was still pretty annoyed at the way we told him- last year- that he needed to work harder and bring his grades up. He felt he was already working as hard as he could-"

"But he didn't tell us." Laura exhaled in frustration. Then her brow furrowed; that had been long before he lost his sight! "Was he relying on Frank to help him with that, too?" she asked, almost bitterly.

"He said Frank helped him with his homework, yes..." Fenton paused, evidently considering the implications. "Well, maybe that made it easier for him to turn to Frank when he lost his sight."

"It does seem likely. If only he would have talked to us, explained, instead of getting upset..." Laura shook her head dismally. Not that there was anything they could do about the previous school year now! At least Joe had finally decided to inform them of his difficulty, and they would be able to take steps to help him this year. Maybe he wouldn't 'hate' it so much once he got some assistance. "What was that about Gertrude?" More trouble, Laura knew instinctively. If Gertrude had insulted her son's intelligence-!

Fenton sighed, shaking his head, then looked up. His brown eyes held a mix of anger and sorrow as he related Gertrude's scathing comment from that morning, about Joe being lucky he hadn't already flunked a grade. "The worst of it is, I'm sure she only said it because she was angry about last night. But Joe took it as confirmation of what he's been feeling so long."

Laura sat still for what seemed a long time, closing her eyes in an effort to control her burning anger and feeling her head start to pound. "When that woman gets back," she said at last, very slowly and carefully, "we are both going to talk to her. I will not have anyone saying such cruel, malicious, spiteful- good grief, what is she, a kindergartener, to spew such juvenile nastiness?" She took a long breath, forcing her anger back. It wasn't Fenton's fault that his sister had said such a hateful thing. It wasn't even his fault that Gertrude had decided to move in with them; Laura herself should have hesitated to offer.

"She's always been one for the last, and worst, word," her husband admitted grimly. "But this- I had no idea she could be so mean-spirited to a child, particularly one she claims to be fond of. And she's actually damaged his self-confidence. We must make it plain to her that we simply will not allow it. Joe's welfare and happiness take total precedence over her convenience- and that's all this arrangement is, a convenient place for her to live."

"Believe me," the mother replied tautly, "we will make it plain, with a vengeance. I'm going up to check on them, Fenton. And if Joe's still awake, I may be up there for a while. I want see if there's anything I can do..." She trailed off as he nodded and released her hands, then turned and hurried up the stairs towards her sons' bedrooms.

"There he lay, a huge golden-red dragon, fast asleep..."

Joe looked over at his brother, who was lying on his back on the bed with his feet up against the wall behind the headboard. He was holding "The Hobbit" straight up above his head, quietly reading it aloud. Joe was sitting more conventionally, with his back against the wall alongside the bed. Mom and Dad would be coming up to tuck them in pretty soon, and Joe wanted to ask his question before that happened. He shifted to sit cross-legged, idly smoothing the wrinkles from his pajamas and trying to concentrate on the story. A few minutes later, Frank reached the end of the chapter and Joe seized his chance.

"Frank?"

"Yeah?" Frank laid the book down on his chest, with the pages open, and looked sort of sideways at Joe.

"Do you think Castle Hill is a good name?"

Frank looked a little startled. "For the treehouse?"

"Yeah."

"Well...it's a good name, but I'm not sure if it's good for a treehouse. It sorta sounds more like you're naming the hill, since it's Castle Hill," the eleven-year-old explained after a moment.

"But if there was a castle there, then the hill would be Castle Hill, and the woods would be Castle Woods, right?"

"I guess," Frank said agreeably. "Only there isn't, and we- well, I guess we could call the treehouse our castle..."

"But it's not," Joe pointed out. "But I thought that it might be good because then when we talk about Castle Hill, everyone will think we mean a hill and not know it's our fort. So it'll keep secret- it'll be like a code."

Frank let his feet drop, turned over to face Joe, and propped himself up on his elbow, his expression one of interest. "That's true, and it's a good idea," he replied enthusiastically. "If we're going to keep an eye on spies and jewel thieves and all, we need to keep our headquarters secret, and having a code name would be perfect."

Joe smiled a little at the thought, then sighed. "Well, we won't have much time for using it as headquarters soon, but at least it'll be there on the weekends and holidays. I wish we could live there and not go to school... but anyway, do you think Chet will mind if we name it?"

"We can ask him, but I bet he'll think it's a good idea, too," Frank assured him.

The younger boy was silent for a moment. "Is it a good idea, really?" he asked doubtfully. "Or are you being nice so I don't feel stupid?"

A second later he was pounced on; a startled squawk escaped him as Frank got him into a headlock. The two boys wrestled for several moments before Joe- as usual- found himself pinned on the bed, panting, his wrists trapped in his brother's hands. "Now, who's being nice?" Frank inquired cheerfully.

"Not you, that's for sure," the younger boy admitted, half-laughing. Frank grinned, let go of him, and slid down to sit beside him. Joe propped himself up on his elbows and asked, "Why'd you do that?"

"Just because." Frank shoved his hair from his eyes, then frowned. "Just because I wasn't being nice so you wouldn't feel stupid," he added. "If I say you have a good idea-"

"Even after you said you weren't sure it was a good idea?"

"What, I can't change my mind?" the older boy snorted. "Besides, you didn't listen. I said it was a good name; I just said if we wanted people to know it was a treehouse, maybe we shouldn't make it sound like a hill. But we don't want people to know it's our treehouse, so a code name is good." Joe was quiet. He liked the fact that Frank thought his idea was good, but he still wasn't quite sure that his brother wasn't 'being nice', humoring him. "It's not like I had any ideas for a name," Frank added after a moment. "And anyway, if I didn't think it was a good idea, I wouldn't pretend it was. Then I'd be lying."

The blond boy flushed a little, suddenly realizing what he'd implied. "I didn't mean you were lying," he said hastily. "Being nice isn't the same as lying; it's when you decide something's better than maybe it really is- maybe if you think about it longer you decide it really wasn't so great after all, but you don't say so 'cause it'd be rude and make somebody feel bad. And it wouldn't be important enough to make somebody feel bad about."

Frank gazed at him for a moment. "You're a really complicated person, aren't you?"

"I guess," Joe murmured, abashed.

"Well, nobody who says such complicated things can be stupid," Frank declared with finality. "It takes somebody smart to think of the things you do. And I think anybody who says something isn't a good idea had better have one that's a whole lot better, or they don't have any right to talk," he concluded.

"That's true," Joe agreed at once, feeling the heat tingling in his cheeks at Frank's words.

"So I wasn't lying...and I wasn't just being nice when I said I liked your idea, it's a good name and a good way to keep our fort secret. And I've never thought you were stupid, Joe."

"Or if you did, you wouldn't say so?" the ten-year-old offered wryly.

"'Course I would, if I really thought you were stupid- probably when I was mad and didn't care if I hurt your feelings or not," the older boy explained gravely. "But I've never said it 'cause I don't think it."

Joe considered that for a moment, feeling warm inside. It was nice to know that his smart brother didn't think he was stupid, and even nicer that Frank wasn't only trying to be nice when he said he liked Joe's ideas. Joe had wondered sometimes; Frank was very nice inside and didn't like to see people feel bad, so he always tried to encourage them. Joe had never had opportunity before to wonder if Frank's encouragement was because he really thought so, or because he just didn't want someone to be unhappy. But Aunt Gertrude's mean comment and Frank's denial of it had roused up the question in Joe's mind of which one of them was right. He'd wanted Frank to be right, but he hadn't been sure; the doubt had thrust itself on him without warning and he'd been trying to think of a way to ask his brother about it ever since. "I'm glad you don't think I'm dumb," he murmured at length, feeling shy. It was good to know that the brother he looked up to and respected thought so well of him.

Frank leaned over and gave him a hug, making the blond boy smile and hug back. Then Frank let go and lay back down on the bed, turning over just long enough to drop the book onto the floor. A silence fell over the room, broken only by the creak of the bed when Joe shifted position to lay down beside his brother. He felt much better inside now, better even than he had in the ice-cream parlor. If Dad and Frank, two of the smartest people he knew, said he was smart, then they were probably right. And he was glad Mom and Dad hadn't wanted to send him away...and glad Dad was going to tell Auntie to be nice...and the treehouse was done, and looked so neat... Yes, even with the threat of school starting next Tuesday, and even with all the bad feelings he'd had earlier, he felt very happy inside. It maybe hadn't been the very best day while he was in it, but it had been worth feeling bad for a while to get everything settled out nice like it had.

Joe's last conscious thought was that he probably ought to get to his own room before Mom came in. Yawning, he snuggled closer against his brother and promised himself he would, in just a minute...

Laura paused in Frank's doorway and smiled gently at the sight before her. Her sons lay cuddled close on the bed, their heads at the foot of the bed, the covers hanging off to the floor, the pillow askew against one wall. Flicking off the overhead light, she stepped into the room and pulled the sheets a little straighter. Then she reached for the blanket that was draped over the footboard, shook it out, and laid it across her soundly-sleeping boys. She leaned down to kiss them both, stroked Frank's hair back from his closed eyes, straightened Joe's twisted pajama collar, then left the room, closing the door softly behind her. The conversation would wait until morning, and she hadn't the heart to wake them up and separate them when they were obviously quite comfortable as they were. She snorted to herself as she thought what her sister-in-law would say to that, then descended the steps again, eager for further 'quality time' with her husband.