It had been an awful day so far, and it probably wasn’t going to get any better, was young Joe Hardy’s conclusion as he trudged along the the banks of the Willow River.

First his Aunt Gertrude had scolded him for spilling his milk at breakfast, never mind that it had been an accident. The fuss she made, you’d think he had poured out the entire gallon all over the floor on purpose, not tripped and dropped his glass. And it hadn’t even been full!

After breakfast his mother had found him in the guest room, where she kept the sewing machine. He’d been testing the pinking shears on what he’d thought was a random scrap of fabric, fascinated by the zig-zag cuts he could make with the funny things. But Mom had been furious; it turned out his test scrap was an important piece of whatever it was she was making right now, that had taken her three tries to pattern properly.

Worse, she hadn’t believed him when he’d said he picked it up off the floor. “It was so on the floor!” he’d shouted, feeling his stomach twist because yelling at Mom was a bad idea. But he’d been too carried away to stop. “It was right here!” he finished, smacking the spot on the carpet.

After that, he’d deemed it a good idea to make himself scarce until supper- or until Mom wasn’t mad anymore, whichever came first.

Worse than either if these, though, was that Frank had gone to see a movie with his new friends and hadn’t let Joe come along. “And he knows I wanted to see it!” Joe griped aloud, kicking a rock into the river. It was one of the few G-rated movies that gang ever would go to see, and the previews had been so awesome and now Frank would have seen it and he wouldn’t have.

The boy stood and glared into Willow River for a few minutes, oblivious to the warm summer day, to the sun shining on the grass and trees, the gentle wind. The problem wasn’t really the movie, he thought. He would still be able to see it, if he wanted to; it wasn’t like it would be ending anytime soon. No, the problem was that ever since Frank had gotten friendly with the Crabbs Corner guys, he’d been leaving Joe out more and more. It was a new and very unpleasant feeling for the ten-year-old, this feeling of missing his brother, of being disappointed in him, of resenting him.

In fairness, Joe had to admit that Frank did try to include him, most of the time. Joe didn’t like those dumb junior high boys, but if being with his brother meant putting up with them, he’d do it. But every time Frank asked if Joe could go too, the gang took a vote, and four Crabbs Corner votes was always more than two Hardy votes. That left Frank with the choice of getting left behind, or leaving Joe behind. At first he’d stayed behind with Joe, but now it was almost always Joe being left alone and Frank going with the gang.

Summer, the ten-year old reflected grouchily, plopping down on the cool, damp banks beside the slow-flowing river, was supposed to be fun! All the other summers he could remember had been fun: playing with the kids in the neighborhood, visiting Chet’s farm-home, going to the movies and the carnivals, going to the beach...

This year, they’d been planning to make a tree-house big enough for all the gang to meet in at once, just to be out of the grown-ups’ sight and hearing. They’d gotten a good start on it in June, but then Frank had to go and make friends with those guys. And Frank knew perfectly well he wasn’t supposed to, either. Dad had warned them that the Crabbs Corner boys were a bad influence, whatever that meant. Joe knew what bad was, of course; he just wasn’t too sure about the ‘influence’ part. He thought it meant ‘rich’, because Mom had said something about the Applegates being influence people; so maybe bad influence meant the Crabbs Corner boys were poor. Maybe that was why they stole stuff all the time. Anyway, Dad didn’t want him and Frank hanging around kids who stole and smoked and used bad language, but Frank was anyway.

Frank had asked him not to tell, and Joe had promised, but he felt worse about it every day. If Dad ever found out, he’d be mad at Joe for not telling. But if Joe did tell- ‘Well,’ the boy mused, ‘Dad would make Frank stop, and then Frank would be mad at me for tattling, so he still wouldn’t play with me.’ That was what Dad called a lose-lose situation.

Of course, Dad wouldn’t find out until he got home again. Joe often wondered just what was so neat about detective work; it seemed to mean being away from home a lot. But maybe that wasn’t too bad, when being at home made you wish you were somewhere else. That was what it was doing to him!

‘Where would I go?’ he asked himself idly, staring at the greeny-brown river as it wended past him towards the sea. ‘If I could go anywhere I wanted...’ There were lots of places to choose, but after a while he decided he’d start with New York City. They’d gone up there a few times before, and it was a very neat, big, exciting place. There were so many weird things to see and interesting things to do- not like here.

“Maybe I should,” he murmured aloud, his brow wrinkling. After all, no one here would care or miss him. Most of the kids were away now, visiting relatives or attending summer camp- or summer school. But New York City was a long way away, he reminded himself. It had taken a couple hours to drive there, and he’d have to walk, which meant it would take him a very long time. If his bike was fixed he could ride it, but his bike chain had come off last week and he hadn’t taken it to the garage yet.

Joe stood up again and started walking, still frowning. New York City... he knew it was north of Bayport, so as long as he went north, he’d find it sooner or later. The idea was becoming more and more tempting. He’d have to go home and get his money out of his safe-bank, where he kept his allowance, and maybe he should take some clothes. And something to eat, too.

Except- Joe sighed and stopped walking again. Except, Dad would be home any day now, and when he found out Joe was missing, he’d come and find him. Joe had an unfailing belief in his father’s abilities as a detective. He’d never managed to keep anything secret from his Dad for very long, and sometimes he thought Dad might have super-hearing and super-vision like the heros in the comic books. Dad would find him and bring him home and after that they would probably ground him until school started so he couldn’t try it again. Bad as the summer was, being stuck in the yard for the rest of July and all August would really, really stink.

Sometimes, having a great detective for a father was not nearly as great as everyone thought.

Joe wandered along the banks of the Willow River for the rest of the day, sometimes in the fields, sometimes in the nearby woods. He didn’t go home for lunch, but found a bunch of green walnuts that had fallen early, cracked them open with a rock, and carefully extracted the meat. When he was done, he washed his hands in the river and hoped he’d gotten the juice off in time; he didn’t really want dark-brown stains on his hands for the rest of the week.

With the slow descent of the sun towards the western horizon, Joe came athwart of a dilemma: whether to go home for supper or not. Going home meant getting something to eat, which was tempting- a few little nuts for lunch wasn’t nearly enough for a growing boy and he was very hungry. Also, if he was late he’d be scolded, and he felt he’d been scolded quite enough for one day. But going home also meant facing the two people who’d yelled at him this morning, and worse, facing his brother, with whom he was extremely upset. Joe lingered by the river, feeling uneasy and unhappy, weighing his conflicting desires and trying to decide what he was going to do.

“Hello!” Fenton Hardy walked into his house and called out to whomever might be home. Judging from the sound of the sewing machine and the smell of food cooking, there were at least two here.

“Hello, dear,” his wife called back from the guest/sewing room. The hum of the sewing machine stopped and a moment later, Laura Hardy appeared. Gertrude stepped out of the kitchen a moment later and greeted her brother with a brief nod.

“Just in time for supper, how like you,” she remarked, smiling.

“Of course! Where’re the boys?” the tall, handsome man inquired after he put down his satchel and kissed his wife warmly.

“I haven’t seen Joe since this morning-”

“He didn’t come home for lunch. Just as well, it took me half an hour to mop the floor after he spilled his milk this morning.”

“I’m sure he didn’t do it on purpose, Gert,” Fenton said mildly.

“No, I suppose not, but he should have helped clean it up.”

“Frank is upstairs, having a bath and getting changed. He came home absolutely filthy,” Laura explained. “Looked like he’d been rolling in a mud puddle. He said he’d been down at the picnic place, and he also said he hadn’t seen Joe since breakfast.”

Fenton paused in the act of taking off his tie. That was rather unusual. The boys were inseparable; for Frank not to know where his brother was- “Have they had a quarrel again?” That was about the only time they avoided each other, and it generally didn’t take very long for them to get over the argument.

“I don’t believe so. They haven’t been acting like it. Joe’s been a lot quieter than usual lately, but there haven’t been any flareups or snappiness,” Laura answered, sounding thoughtful.

That was definitely odd, the father thought. Joe and quiet were two words that seldom went together.

“Supper will be ready in about fifteen minutes,” Gertrude announced from the kitchen. Fenton picked up his satchel and went upstairs to change.

Half an hour later, all the family- clean and changed and hungrily eating dinner- was seated around the table. All except for Joe. “Drat that child,” Gertrude muttered, more concerned than angry. “He knows when suppertime is. And he has the watch you gave him for his birthday.”

“And he didn’t have lunch,” Laura agreed, worried. “He ought to be quite hungry.”

“Any ideas, Frank?” Fenton asked his son. The eleven-year-old looked up from his plate with a shake of his dark head.

“He’s been going off on his own a lot. And he was...well...kinda mad this morning,” the boy answered, with an apologetic look at his mother.

“Oh?”

“Oh, that.” Laura sighed. “I found him in the sewing room, cutting up a piece of fabric with my pinking shears, and I thought it was the piece I’d worked on for three hours and finally gotten right. He kept insisting he found it on the floor, but I didn’t believe him. It wasn’t until after he left that I realized it was one of my earlier tries. I was going to talk to him at lunch, except he didn’t come home for it.”

“Ah, I see. I guess he’s feeling wronged.” Fenton laid down his napkin, pushed his empty plate away, and rose from the table. “I’ll take a walk around the neighborhood and see if I can’t locate him.” Not that anything could really have happened to harm the child- he hoped- not in such a brief time. But Bayport was not as safe as it had been several years ago; kidnappings and molestings were becoming less and less unthinkable. Besides, there were natural hazards as well as human ones to consider. Joe swam well for his age and was fairly sure-footed when hiking or climbing trees, but accidents could happen.

Finding his youngest proved to be a very simple matter. Several of the neighbors were out watering their grass and flowers, or eating dinner outdoors. Mr Smedley, two houses down, had seen Joe that morning, walking in the direction of Willow River. And once Fenton reached the area, he saw plenty of small footprints leading back and forth along the bank. Five minutes later he nearly walked into his younger son, who was sitting on a log beside the river, wearing a resigned, unhappy expression.

“Hello, son.”

“Dad!” The boy jumped up and ran to him, flinging his arms around Fenton’s waist and hugging tightly.

“You know you’re late for dinner,” the father remarked a few minutes later, when Joe had settled down a little.

“Oh...I know...” Joe kicked at the ground and looked away.

“Your mother told me what happened this morning. I think she wants to apologize to you, Joe. She made a mistake.”

“Really?” Joe looked up, his big blue eyes widening a little.

“I should let her tell you, though. She would’ve, at lunch, except you didn’t come home.”

“I wasn’t very hungry, and I didn’t want her to call me a liar again.”

Fenton blinked, taken aback. “Oh?” he inquired, leading his son back to the log and sitting down. This needed a bit of talk.

“Well, she didn’t say it, exactly,” Joe amended, sitting down beside him. “But she meant it, because I told her the truth and she didn’t believe me. So she thought I was lying, and I wasn’t.”

“I see. Well, she knows now that you weren’t lying, and she feels bad that she suggested it,” Fenton assured him, feeling rather pleased that his son wasn’t reluctant to discuss what was troubling him. Obviously he’d been more upset by the thought of Laura not believing him than by the actual scolding. He was also very pleased at the child’s strong sense of honesty and fairness.

Joe sighed, looking a little less depressed, but not much. “Is Aunt Gertrude really going to move in with us?” he asked hesitantly.

“She’s been saying that for the past five years, son, and hasn’t yet, so don’t let it fret you.” Fenton knew his sister was not among Joe’s favorite people. Frank seemed to be able to pass over the woman’s sharp-tongued remarks with ease, but Joe was more affected by a cross voice and harsh words than his unflappable older brother was.

“I know, but she was in the guest room yesterday, saying how Mom would have to move the sewing machine out and everything.”

‘This is what I get for encouraging my sister to settle down every time she arrives,’ Fenton thought ruefully. Their relationship had grown less stormy over the years, and she was a genuinely caring person, but they disagreed on many things. “That might be why your mother got so angry, so easily,” he suggested. “If your aunt does move in, we’ll all have to adjust a bit.”

“I guess.” Joe put his chin in his hands and sighed. It seemed they still hadn’t reached the heart of what was troubling him. Fenton considered what his wife had told him before dinner and took a cautious guess at the matter.

“Your brother says you’ve been off by yourself a lot lately,” the detective ventured, and watched with interest as Joe scowled. So this was it.

“He thinks I’m not good enough to play with anymore,” the child mumbled. “And Chet’s in summer school, and Phil’s at camp, and Jerry’s always busy-”

“Hold it, there. Why does he think you’re not good enough to play with?”

Joe looked at the ground, a sure sign of evasion. “’Cause he never wants to, anymore.”

Fenton frowned; he supposed he really couldn’t tell his boys to play together if they didn’t want to, but what was he to do if Frank was outgrowing his brother and Joe was trying to cling to him? He had often wondered if Frank’s quiet devotion to Joey would last through their adolescent years. But there was something else here; why was the boy suddenly so reticent? “Is he playing with other people and ignoring you?”

The boy nodded his head, the evening sunlight making his fair hair shine.

“Thought you said everyone else was away, or busy.”

Silence, and a sullen look. It had not, perhaps, been fair to trick the child, but this was important. Playing by themselves was one thing; disobeying was another thing entirely.

“Joe, look at me.”

Reluctantly, the ten-year-old lifted his head; his troubled blue eyes met his father’s serious brown ones.

“Is your brother doing something I wouldn’t approve of? Is that why you’re keeping so quiet, to protect him?”

Joe bit his lip, then slowly nodded.

“Well?” Fenton’s voice turned stern. He hated to do it, but he knew it was the only way he’d get Joe to admit what was going on. Once one of his sons started protecting the other, it was nearly impossible to get a straight answer out of either of them.

“The- the boys at Crabbs Corner,” Joe whispered, looking away. “He does things with them- like today they went to see a movie, and they wouldn’t take me. He wanted me to come along, but they outvoted him, so he went and I didn’t.”

Fenton sat quietly for a moment, turning this over in his head and feeling very angry at his elder son. He had specifically forbidden his boys to associate with the gang of roughs that hung out near the neighborhood known as Crabbs Corner. To find that Frank was deliberately flouting him and coercing Joe into keeping quiet about it heated his temper, and the father strove to keep his voice calm when he next spoke. “So he’s hanging out with them and excluding you, when he should be hanging out with you and excluding them,” he remarked at last. “And you?”

“I don’t like them,” Joe said emphatically. “They’re mean and they say nasty things and they smell bad. But I want to be with Frank. But he doesn’t want me around much. He votes for me to come with them, but they always win and he always goes with them, instead of with me. So I play by myself. I promised not to tell you,” he added with a sad sigh. “Now he’s going to hate me.”

“Well, we’ll see if we can’t avoid that,” Fenton said quietly, realizing as he spoke that this would not be easy. “And I’m glad you did tell me the truth. I know it was hard for you to tell on your brother, but I don’t think you’d like him, if he stuck around with those boys very long. I know for a fact that they steal, and I know they have older brothers and sisters who have been in jail. They’ll end up in jail themselves, and those aren’t the sort of friends I want you or Frank to have.”

Joe’s eyes had widened a little at the mention of jail. “Me, either,” he agreed. “I don’t think Frank would steal, though.”

“I hope not, but he might, eventually, if he felt it would make him more acceptable to them,” Fenton replied.

“Is that what a bad influnence is?”

“Influence, and yes, that’s what that is. It’s when someone talks you into doing something that you know is wrong, and you know you shouldn’t, but you do anyway so that they’ll think better of you.”

“Oh.” Joe sat quietly for a moment, then sighed again.

“Let’s go home and get this all cleared up. And I expect you’re hungry for supper, too. Pork chops,” Fenton suggested after a moment, putting his arm around his precious younger son.

“A little.” Joe stood up and the two of them walked home side by side, Joe’s hand in his father’s.

“May I be excused, please?” Joe asked his mother softly. He wasn’t hungry anymore. Dad had just taken Frank into the upstairs study; in a few minutes Frank would come out. Frank had been glad to see him when he and Dad came home, but when they came out of the study, it would be different. Frank would be angry, and he’d call Joe a sneak and a tattletale.

“Honey, you’ve hardly eaten anything,” his mother protested. Joe tried to pull his eyes from the stairs.

“I’m not very hungry.”

“If you don’t finish your dinner, you’ll get no chocolate pudding for dessert,” Gertrude warned, her voice more gentle than usual.

Usually the words ‘chocolate pudding’ guaranteed that both the Hardy boys would clean their plates to a shine. Tonight, Joe just shrugged. “I don’t want any, thank you,” he said, polite but dispirited.

“Aren’t you feeling well?”

“No,” Joe murmured. It was true; his stomach was knotted with tension. He flinched slightly as his mother laid her hand on his forehead.

“Well, no fever. I guess you can be excused if you’re really not hungry,” Laura said doubtfully.

Joe quickly stood up and carried his plate into the kitchen. He usually liked pork chops and potatoes very well, but right now he’d be happy if he never ate anything again. His stomach wasn’t sick, but it definitely wasn’t hungry, either. It felt the way it did when they were in the dentist’s waiting room.

“Joey,” his mother said, coming into the kitchen behind him. The boy jumped, then sighed. Everyone kept calling him ‘Joey’ and he wished they wouldn’t...

“I’m sorry I yelled at you this morning,” Mom said softly, crouching down in front of him and touching his shoulder. “I shouldn’t have. And I should’ve believed you when you said you picked that fabric off the floor. It was an old piece, one I threw away, that must’ve landed on the carpet instead of in the trash can.”

Joe had nearly forgotten about that, but now, reminded, he felt a sort of relief. “I told you,” he said, without accusation. “I wasn’t lying.”

“No, you weren’t, and next time I’ll believe you.” She kissed him on the cheek then, and he smiled just a little. At least Mom wasn’t mad! Mom was almost as scary as Dad when she got angry. Maybe more scary; she yelled. Dad didn’t yell, but he looked at you as if you were a caterpiller or a slug or something nasty that he didn’t like.

“Laura?” Dad’s voice. Mom stood up, turned around, and walked into the living room.

“We need to keep a close eye on Frank for a week or two,” Dad’s voice said coolly. “He’s been keeping company with the Crabbs Corners boys, and-”

“What?!”

‘Oh, great,’? Joe thought, closing his eyes as his stomach churned. ‘Now she’s really mad. Now everybody’s mad!’

“You knew about this?” Mom asked, turning sharply back to the kitchen and frowning at him.

“I...”

“Joe was talked into not saying anything,” Dad said from the other room.

Joe inched forward and paused in the doorway. “I promised,” he tried to explain to his narrow-eyed mother.

“I see.” Laura turned to Frank, who was glaring at Joe as if he were dog-doo. “Young man, you are very lucky your brother kept his promise, because if I’d known about this before, I’d have taken a belt to you! Now get upstairs to your room and don’t come out until tomorrow morning.”

Frank blinked, paling a little, then turned and hurried back up the steps. A moment later his door closed quietly.

“You too,” Laura said sternly, looking at Joe. “Maybe next time you’ll know which promises to make and which promises not to make.”

Joe wanted to answer that, but thought it would not be a very good idea. When Mom was mad, it was best to just do what she said and not ‘backtalk’. He quietly moved over to the steps, and was in his room with the door closed a moment later. He could hear Mom and Dad talking downstairs, but he couldn’t hear what exactly they were saying.

Some time later, the door of his room opened; Joe started, turning away from the window, where he’d been staring unseeing at the darkening sky. It wasn’t really night yet, but the fireflies were out already. “Go take your bath,” his mother said briefly, and departed without another word. Joe sighed, got up, and obeyed.

It was while he was drying off that he decided to try and talk to Frank. If he could just explain what had happened, maybe Frank wouldn’t be so angry. He went to his room to pull on his pajamas, then slipped out again and paused outside his brother’s door, not sure whether to knock or not. Knocking was polite, but someone might hear him. Finally he tapped softly, only to have the door slip open under his touch. “Frank?” he started tentatively, peering into the room.

Frank was sitting at his desk; he looked up and scowled. “Go away, you nasty little sneak,” he said crossly.

Joe bit his tongue for a moment, feeling tears behind his eyes but determined not to let them fall. “I’m not a sneak! Dad-”

“You promised not to tell, and you told anyway, so you’re a sneak.”

“I had to,” Joe tried again. “Dad asked me-”

“Go away!” Frank hopped off his chair and came to the door; pushing his hand through the crack, he shoved Joe back a step or two. “Go away and stay away, tattletale!” The door closed and the lock clicked.

Joe stared at the closed door for a long time before the sound of movement downstairs made him recall that he was supposed to be in his room. He turned away and moved slowly down the hall, surprised that he no longer felt miserable. Well, that wasn’t quite true, he thought as he lay down on the bed. He did feel sort of bad still, but mainly he felt angry. Very angry. His brother’s words echoed in his head; Frank had never said anything so cruel and bitter to him before, but more important to Joe at the moment was that he hadn’t been allowed to explain.

Go away and stay away!

‘All right,’ the child thought suddenly, sitting up, his forehead wrinkling in a scowl. ‘If that’s what you want, I will go away! I’ll go to New York City like I wanted to this afternoon! And I’ll never come back! You’ll never see me again, and then we’ll both be glad.’

Joe started to hop off the bed, then paused. He couldn’t go right now, his parents were still awake. But if he waited till tomorrow morning, he wouldn’t have any chance to slip away without being seen. Mom was going to keep Frank close to the house for a while, and probably him, too. And Dad would probably be home for a few days. Joe didn’t want to wait that long; Frank would be nasty to him every day, and even if he wasn’t, it would be very boring. Being grounded always was. And anyway, he wanted to get a good long start so no one would be able to find him.

So he’d leave tonight, after Mom and Dad came up for bed. Joe frowned a little at the thought, but consoled himself with the memory of the tall streetlights that shed their illumination all over the roads. It wouldn’t be that dark, he decided. So- what should he take with him?

Joe looked around his room and his frown returned. Obviously he couldn’t take his whole room along; most of his stuff would have to stay behind. He would take a few clothes, he decided. And his money, of course. And maybe the Spiderman figure, but none of the others. He considered taking a book or two, but decided not to; he wouldn’t have time to read while he was walking. And he’d need to save room in the backpack for something to eat. He climbed off the bed, and, with a determined expression on his young face, began his preparations.

Footsteps on the stairs sent the boy hurrying back into bed; he turned his back to the door and stared at the wall. He heard the the door open; the light turned off and then his father sat down on the side of the bed. He felt a hand touch him lightly on the back, and squirmed away. “Told you he’d hate me,” he mumbled accusingly.

“We’ll work on that in the morning,” Fenton answered quietly. “Your brother doesn’t usually stay mad long, unlike some I could mention.”

‘No we won’t,’ Joe thought, but he didn’t answer. He held himself stiffly, and when his mother came in and bent to kiss him goodnight, he pulled the pillow over his head. Distantly, through the pillow-stuffing, he heard Laura sigh. Then their footsteps left his room and the door closed.

Joe waited a little while, then got up and put on jeans and a shirt, socks and sneakers, knowing his father would be taking his shower soon. When he heard the water running, he picked up his backpack and left the room, closing the door behind him. The stairs were easy; he knew where all the creaks were.

Slipping into the kitchen, he carefully opened the refrigerator and frowned a little as he decided what to take. Some slices of the spiral-cut ham. Not the pork chops, too messy. The rest of the loaf of Italian bread. A banana and an apple. He’d even remembered to fill his canteen with water from the bathroom sink, and he shoved that in on top of everything else. That would have to do; there wasn’t much more room, and the pack was heavy enough. He wished he dared take some cookies, but the package on the counter rustled so alarmingly when he touched it that he decided it wasn’t worth it.

Footsteps overhead. Dad was coming down to set the alarm. Joe hurriedly pulled the kitchen door open, nearly tumbled down the steps, and closed the door tight behind him. Then he crawled into the azalea bush beside the door and waited, feeling his heart beat faster.

There- the sound of the door being locked. The outdoor light went off. Dad would set the alarm now. Joe waited a little longer, then crawled out of the bush again, brushing off leaves. Looking up, he waited until he saw the bedroom light go out. They wouldn’t be asleep yet, but they wouldn’t be looking out the windows, either. Looking around the sky, he hesitated before picking out the North Star. Once he found it, he began moving slowly and quietly northwards.

Frank Hardy couldn’t sleep. He was having an attack of conscience.

He’d never been able to stay mad at Joey for very long, and now was no exception. Yes, Joe had promised not to tell anyone about Frank’s new ‘friends’, but Frank had been questioned by his father before and knew how easy it was to make a little mistake that would tell Dad exactly what you were trying to hide. Frank and Joe had speculated quite a few times on just exactly how their father knew what to ask and what to conclude when they answered. Joe was firmly convinced Dad had superpowers, and Frank had some difficulty disputing it, even if it probably wasn’t true.

At least Joe had managed not to tell Mom. Frank shifted uncomfortably in his bed, remembering his mother’s threat and knowing it wasn’t an idle one. She’d never whipped them with anything before, only spanked them when they were very bad, but she’d warned them ahead of time that if she ever heard of them playing with the Crabbs Corner boys, they would get a belt on their backsides instead of a mere spanking.

But more pressing than the eleven-year-old’s guilt at the thought of having disobeyed his parents, was his discomfort with how he’d treated his brother. He knew Joe had been sad and lonesome lately, and Frank had kept meaning to spend more time with him. But somehow he’d never quite done it, because he was so busy trying to make his plan work.

More intelligent and objective than most kids his age, Frank had not missed the implications of his presence among the toughs. He wasn’t really welcome, only tolerated. He was the first to get insulted when insults were flying, the last to be consulted on anything, and the most likely to get pressured to do something that he didn’t want to do. Not long ago, one of them had tried to get him to try a cigarette. Bobby had been a little surprised- and pretty annoyed- when Frank asked him scornfully, “Do you think my Mom can’t smell? She’d know, and then she’d hit me with a belt.” That had earned him a point or two with the others, but it had also earned him Bobby’s emnity. Why anyone would want to smoke anyway was beyond him, but saying that would get him looked down on even more than he was already.

So why, he’d finally asked himself a week ago, was he hanging around with people who didn’t like or respect him, hoping to win their friendship, when he had the best possible friend and companion in his little brother? Joey made no secret of his admiration, and he didn’t act at all babyish, no matter what the Crabbs Corner boys said. But somehow Frank had almost let them convince him that having a younger brother hanging at his heels was something bad, uncool, sissy. The boy shook his head, frowning; whatever Joe was, he was not a sissy. He might not always think things through, but he had a lot of courage and was very strong for ten years old. He’d even beaten Tony in a wrestling match, and Tony was twelve.

Thinking all this, Frank sighed and turned onto his back, staring at the ceiling. Moonlight was coming in through his window; it was pretty, but he wasn’t interested. He felt bad inside; almost bad enough to walk down the hall and apologize to Joey for being so mean to him. But Joe was undoubtedly mad right back, unless he was asleep. Besides, if someone caught Frank out of bed, he’d get into even more trouble, and he was already in enough of that. ‘I’ll say I’m sorry in the morning,’ he thought, trying to console himself. ‘Sorry I called him a sneak, and sorry I haven’t played with him. And I’ll tell him why I’ve been around those guys when I don’t even like ‘em. He’ll understand then.’

Feeling a little better in his own mind, Frank finally fell asleep.

He woke up the next morning to the smell of something sweet. Waffles, he decided after a moment, sniffing. His favorite! That was sort of surprising, considering how much trouble he was in, but maybe Dad had asked for them. Hurrying out of bed, Frank was smugly pleased to get into the bathroom first. Dressing quickly, he was halfway down the stairs before wondering what his reception would be. They couldn’t still be that mad, he assured himself, but still smiled in relief when his mother came over to kiss him good morning.

“Sleep well?”

“Not at first,” he admitted. “I was thinking a lot. But I feel good now.”

Laura smiled and ruffled his hair. “Go get some waffles- is that sleepyhead known as your brother awake yet?”

“I don’t think so, I got the bathroom first,” Frank answered, sitting down at the table and taking two waffles from the plate. One for syrup and one for powdered sugar. “Where is Dad?”

“In the kitchen,” his father answered, coming out with a glass of orange juice. “I’m glad you’re feeling better this morning, I could tell you were pretty cross last night.”

Frank hesitated for a long minute, then sighed a little, looking at the glass of milk Gertrude had just poured him. “That was mostly because I was trying to think of some way to tell those jerks to go soak their heads or something, and now I’ll never get to,” he said mournfully, confiding his secret plan with a sudden hope of being allowed to carry it out. “Now they’ll all just think I was a wimp.”

“Are you?” his father asked, ignoring the little snort of amusement from Laura.

“No!” Frank said indignantly.

“So why worry what a bunch of jerks thinks? As long as you and your friends know the truth, it shouldn’t matter to you what the uneducated and closed-minded think.”

Frank gave that a lot of consideration, so much so that he nearly forgot to start eating.

“Don’t give them so much power over you,” Dad counseled quietly as Mom went up to pull Joe out of bed. “If you care what they think, they can control you. You’ll do things you never thought of doing, just to be accepted by them.”

That was true, Frank was thinking when his mother called his father’s name- so sharply and with such alarm that Fenton stood from the table at once and charged up the steps two at a time. Frank, left with his fork in the air, quickly put it down and started to stand, but his aunt frowned at him and shook her head. He sank back into his chair, suddenly trembling; what was wrong?

His question was answered a moment later when both his parents, grim-faced, hurried down the steps. “Where is Joe?” Laura asked tautly.

“I- I- don’t know!” Frank gasped, his eyes going wide. Where would Joe be except in his room, and why should he know anything about it?

“His bed hasn’t been slept in, and one of his toy figurines- the Spiderman- is missing,” Fenton said in a controlled voice. “He was in his bed last night, when we came in, but now the covers are pushed back and his pajamas are on the floor, meaning he got out and went somewhere. Did he tell you anything, anything at all?”

Frank’s eyes went even wider. Was this what Joe had been trying to talk to him about, or- or was it even worse than that? “He- after his bath, he knocked on my door, but I didn’t want to talk to him,” he answered in a small voice. “I- told him to go away and stay away.” Tears pushed into his eyes as his parents both frowned.

“He’s just stubborn enough to take that literally,” Gertrude remarked quietly.

“I didn’t mean him to leave!” Frank cried out, shaking with fear and distress. This was all his fault! If he just hadn’t been so nasty-

“Of course you didn’t, but he was angry and hurt, and probably decided to take you seriously,” Fenton answered absentmindedly. “The question is, where would he have gone in the middle of the night?”

Silence as all of them thought of Joe, out in the dark by himself.

“Well, he can’t have gotten too far. I’ll start looking- Laura, call the police and ask them to keep their eyes open for him.”

Frank sprang up from his chair. “Dad, can’t I-”

“You better stay put, son.”

“Dad, it’s my fault! Please!” the boy begged. Fenton regarded him for a moment.

“Very well. Stay close to me and keep your eyes open. At least this way,” he added to his wife, who looked about to protest, “we’ll know where he is!”

Laura nodded and turned to the telephone; Frank and his father hurried out of the house.

Joe Hardy opened his eyes and groaned a little. Sleeping on the ground was not nearly as comfortable as sleeping in a nice soft bed. And sleeping outside at night was definitely not as much fun as it sounded! Sitting up, he pulled his backpack closer to him, then frowned around the depths of Willow Woods, displeased.

North had led him right down to the Willow River; he’d had no trouble in the meadow, but he’d had to cross the river. Unfortunately, he hadn’t thought to bring a flashlight, and he’d twisted his ankle climbing up the far bank in the dark. It had hurt, but he’d kept going, wanting to get as far away from home as possible. He’d only been partially sucessful; he’d had to move a lot slower than usual because of the pain. “Stupid slippery stones,” he grumbled aloud, cautiously testing the injured joint. It was still sore and pretty stiff, but it wasn’t as bad as last night.

Then he’d reached Willow Woods and- well, he hadn’t really gotten lost, but he hadn’t been able to see the north star because of all the trees. Finally, between his aching foot and his uncertainty over his direction, Joe had decided it was better to stop. He’d hoped to get out of Bayport, but it didn’t seem very sensible to keep going in what might be the wrong direction. He’d heard that lost people walked in circles, and that would just be silly. So he’d found a patch of grass and leaves to lie down on and tried to sleep.

There’d been a few problems with that, though. One had been the gnats and mosquitos; he’d solved that by using one of his shirts as a cover for his bare arms. Another had been the lack of a pillow; it made his neck ache. He’d finally thought to use the backpack itself as a pillow, and that had helped. The third problem had been all the weird noises! Joe had never known that the woods was so noisy at night, and he had no idea which sounds were threats and which weren’t. So it had taken him quite some time to fall asleep, although the large branch he’d found had been some consolation. If anything came too close, he’d just whack it one with the stick, he’d told himself firmly.

Now, looking around, Joe wondered if he ought not to just go home. He hadn’t gotten very far, he was tired, and he didn’t like the thought of sleeping out in the open tonight, too. Then he shook his head and set his jaw; he was going to New York City, and that was that. Even if it did take a while. He’d be on the highway tonight, and there wouldn’t be any woods, so there wouldn’t be so many worrying noises.

His stomach rumbled; distracted, Joe opened the backpack to get something to eat. He pulled out a piece of ham and the bread, then regarded the loaf in dismay. Apparently his head had been resting on the loaf all night; the bread was seriously squished. Still, it tasted pretty good.

Joe was just finishing up his unusual breakfast with several swigs of water when he heard a cracking, rustling noise coming his way. It sounded awfully big, and he wondered- not for the first time- if there really were bears around here like some of the guys said. Deciding not to take chances, he zipped up the pack and clambered carefully into the nearest tree with it. Making himself comfortable, he peered down curiously, rather interested at the thought of maybe seeing a bear. But to his amazement, it was not a bear or any other animal that soon came into sight.

It was his father, who was moving quickly and quietly through the woods. Joe couldn’t see Dad’s face, because Dad was looking down at the ground, but he certainly could see the intense concentration in Fenton Hardy’s posture. Then the boy’s eyes widened; trailing along behind Dad was Frank, who looked both tired and upset. Frank was the one making all the noise; leaves rustled and twigs snapped as he moved.

Joe wasn’t quite sure what to make of all this, but he was suddenly very glad he’d brought his backpack up the tree with him. He’d figured they would notice he was missing at breakfast, but he’d had no idea Dad would find his trail this fast! He was glad Frank was tagging along, though; it eased Joe’s anger at his brother somewhat to think that his brother was looking for him. He was also grateful for the noise that had warned him to take to the tree. He’d have been found if it wasn’t for Frank.

Of course, he wouldn’t be running away if it wasn’t for Frank...

Pushing aside the philosophical considerations, Joe leaned against the trunk of the tree and watched with interest.

“He was here,” Fenton Hardy said aloud, but quietly.

Frank, who had halted to catch his breath, moved closer. He was a little scared at the change that had come over his father; he’d never seen Fenton when the detective was single-mindedly pursuing a mystery. Dad suddenly didn’t seem like ‘Dad’ anymore. He was so grim and so silent- and so impatient with Frank. The eleven-year-old had never felt so much like a useless hindrance in his entire life.

“He..he was?” the boy ventured. Even he had seen the sneaker prints and the long scrape in the riverbank mud where someone had slipped when climbing, but aside from that, he had no clues as to the trail that seemed so plain to his father.

“Here, see? The grass is all flat. And here. Bits of dry mud. Probably fell out out of his shoes while he was sleeping,” Fenton replied, sounding a little more like himself. Frank looked, then picked up the stick that was lying beside the gnarled roots of an old oak. It was a thick, heavy piece of wood; Fenton took it and regarded it. “This would make a decent weapon,” he mused.

“Dad, look.” Frank crouched down. “Breadcrumbs.”

Fenton dropped down beside him. “Yes. Good eye, son,” he answered, and Frank felt just a little bit better. At least he wasn’t completely useless!

His father stood and scanned the woods, frowning. Then he turned to Frank. “I want you to stay here.”

Frank, who had stood up when Fenton did, stared in astonishment. “But-”

“No buts. He’s somewhere in this woods, and if he hears us coming, he’s going to hide. You make too much noise when you walk,” the detective explained. “Besides which, there’s every possibility that he got turned around during the night and is wandering randomly. He might just try to retrace his steps, which would lead him here.”

“Oh,” the boy said softly. He wondered what he should do if Joe did come back, but didn’t ask.

“So, stay here, rest a bit, and wait for me to come back. Don’t go wandering off yourself, Frank.” Fenton placed his hands on his son’s shoulders. “I’m trusting you to do what I say, son. Don’t let me down.”

“I won’t, Dad,” the boy whispered, awed at the solemnity in his father’s face and voice.

Fenton’s hands released his son; Frank slowly sat down under the big oak tree, drew his knees up to his chest, and watched his father melt silently into the forest. Dad was trusting him? After he’d disobeyed? Frank knew what his erstwhile friends would say to that: “Sucker!!” But they were wrong. Frank felt as though something very valuable had been given to him; a chance to redeem himself.

Though, Dad probably wouldn’t’ve done it if things weren’t so serious. Frank’s head drooped as his guilt- half-forgotten in the scramble to keep up with his father- swept over him again. If something had happened to his brother, he’d never forgive himself.

‘Well, rats,’ Joe thought, staring down at the small figure seated at the base of his tree. Talk about throwing a wrench into somebody’s plans! He hadn’t been able to hear everything they said, he was too high up in the tree, but he had heard Dad’s instructions to Frank.

How long was Frank going to sit there? Till Dad came back for him, Joe reminded himself. But how long would that be? ‘Oh well,’ the child thought resignedly. He could sit there as long as he wanted; the branch was comfortable enough, and he was rather used to spending lots of time in a tree. Not as much as he had been, since they weren’t working on the treehouse anymore- but since neither of them were trying to look in the trees, he was safe enough, as long as he kept quiet. And he would be; it wasn’t as though he had anyone to talk to, any-

What was that? Joe peered down uncertainly at his brother and noticed that Frank had his arms on his knees, and his face was hidden. The sound came again, it sounded like...like...

Like Frank was...

Crying?

Joe watched the thin shoulders shake and suddenly felt tears burn his own eyes. It was an automatic reaction; if his brother cried, he usually did too. And if Joe ever cried, Frank always looked like he was trying not to. Rubbing at his eyes, Joe wondered what would have happened if he’d given in to that sudden impulse last night. Would his brother have softened, perhaps forgiven him?

‘Well, that doesn’t matter,’ he thought, gazing distractedly downwards. What mattered was: what was Frank crying about? Biting his lip, Joe listened; he could have sworn he heard his own name among the soft sobs. He leaned back against the trunk of the tree and sighed. What was he going to do? Stay in the tree and feel rotten, when his brother was crying over him, worrying about him? ‘But he’s only worried because I’m gone. If I were home, he’d still be mad at me.’ And Joe himself was still angry, angry at Frank for yesterday, and the day before, and the week before that- most of the summer, actually.

“Please be all right,” he heard his brother groan, and he sighed again, his decision made.

“Oh, Joey, where are you?” Frank murmured into his wet arms. He rubbed at his eyes with the back of his wrists, but he couldn’t stop his tears. “Please be all right!” Horrible thoughts whirled through his mind. What if Joe had been kidnapped? Or hit by a car? Or was lying somewhere, hurt and scared and hungry? Or...killed? And it would be all Frank’s fault, because he told Joe to go away, and stay away.

The last thought brought on a fresh burst of tears, which was interrupted by a soft scraping sound and a quiet little voice in his ear.

“Don’t cry, Frank. I’m all right.”

The older boy lifted his head with a jerk and stared at the disheveled figure kneeling beside him. “Joe!” he gasped, and grabbed him into a hug. Joe, taken by surprise, made a peculiar ‘uff’ noise as Frank squeezed a little too hard, and then wiggled to be let loose. “You- you really are okay?” Frank asked, his voice wavering.

“Well, mostly. I tripped and hurt my ankle a little, but it’s not too bad,” Joe explained matter-of-factly. “I was up the tree. I climbed up when I heard you and Dad coming,” he added. “But I didn’t want you to think I was dead or something.”

“Ohhhh.” Frank sighed in relief. “I hoped you were okay, but I- I couldn’t stop thinking about everything that might’ve happened. And it would be all my fault. Joe, I- when I said to go away, I didn’t mean for always,” he said urgently. “I just meant for right then, because I didn’t want to talk. I was mad,” he finished, feeling rather lame.

“I didn’t really think so, but I was mad, too. I still am,” Joe replied in a shockingly objective voice. “I’ve been mad at you all summer. I wouldn’t’ve have come down if you hadn’t been crying.”

Frank stared at him, frozen in the act of wiping the dampness from his cheeks. “All...but how come?” he protested.

Joe turned and gave him a sort of incredulous glare. “How come?” he repeated angrily. “Because of those stupid jerks you like better than me! You do!” he added before Frank could retort. “You talk to them, not me. You do stuff with them, not me. You ignore me. I’m not good enough for you anymore. The only reason you came looking for me was because it was your fault. If I hadn’t left, you’d still be mad at me, and you’d still be ignoring me! Because you’ve been thinking that I’d always be around to play with, or hang out with, whenever you get too bored with those other jerks!” He stopped to take a deep breath. “It’s like what Mom says about being taken for granted. You think I’ll always be around when you want me to be and that you don’t have to pay any attention to me the rest of the time. And that’s not how it works!”

Frank flinched from the anger, the venom in his younger brother’s voice, from the rage in his small face. “I- I-” he stuttered for a second, then stopped, devastated. Frank knew very well what a temper Joey had, but it had never been turned against him before. If Joe was this mad, how could they ever be friends again?

“Joe,” he began again slowly, “The only reason I hung out with them was- was because Dad insisted that we shouldn’t. I don’t like them, I never really did, and certainly not better than I like you! And I wasn’t still mad at you. And I wouldn’t be ignoring you! I wanted to tell you I was sorry, this morning, and explain, but you weren’t there.”

Joe was still scowling at him, but he didn’t look quite as mad, now that he’d had his shout. “Just because Dad said not to?” he repeated in a sullenly curious voice.

“Yeah. It was- it was sort of exciting. Like...you know, when you do something and you don’t get caught? But they weren’t exciting. Heck, all they did was sit! And smoke. And talk weird. They hardly ever did anything. It was boring, and I- I missed you, Joey.”

Doubt flickered in the stormy blue eyes.

“Honest, I did,” Frank insisted. “I was always thinking what I’d be doing if I was with you, and I wished I was.”

Joe shook his head, more in bewilderment than anything else. “Then why’d you keep hanging out with them?” he demanded crossly. “You could’ve had that wish,” he added in a mutter.

“For a bad reason,” Frank had to admit. “They made me feel...like I wasn’t as good as them, and I wanted to- to prove I was as good, or better. And I couldn’t do that if I gave up and left. They made me feel so dumb sometimes, like they were keeping me around just to make fun of me, and I really wanted to get back at ‘em for it.” Frank sighed at the thought of his thwarted revenge. “I guess I did take you for granted,” he confessed. “I didn’t mean to- I just kept thinking that as soon as I got back at ‘em, I’d walk off and leave ‘em and start doing things with you again. Things I really wanted to do. Like our treehouse.”

“You could’ve told me,” Joe grumbled, leaning up against the tree-trunk. Then he straightened up. “And I didn’t tell on purpose,” he added fiercely. “Dad asked me- I had to tell him the truth, ‘cause he knew already anyway. He knew you were doing something he didn’t like, and he knew I was playing by myself, so if I’d lied, he’d have known. I’m not a sneak!”

“I know,” Frank answered softly. “I- I know how hard it is to keep stuff from Dad, and of course you couldn’t lie to him, not when he asked you right out. I was really mad at Dad, not you,” he admitted. “But I took it out on you, ‘cause I couldn’t take it out on him.” Frank sighed again. “I’m really sorry,” he finished in a whisper. What a mess he’d made! Dad didn’t really trust him now and Joe didn’t like him anymore...all because of those rotten boys.

No. All because he’d decided to disobey Dad and hang out with those bad boys.

“So how come you wouldn’t tell me any of it?” Joe persisted, leaning against the tree again. “I wouldn’t’ve been so mad if I knew you were doing it for a reason. I mean,” he added rather bitterly, “a good reason, not just being tired of me.”

“I thought about it. You’re a lot better at getting back at people than I am.” This was very true; Joe always seemed to have a sharp retort ready for someone who insulted him- or Frank. “But I figured you’d tell me to just give up and stay away from them and not worry about what they thought. You’d say that since I could get away from ‘em without getting into trouble, I should. And that way you wouldn’t have to worry about your promise anymore.”

There was brief silence as Joe reflected on that. He knew what it was like to want revenge, but he also knew that if you could get away from trouble and not get caught, you should. “Well...maybe,” he admitted grudgingly. “But maybe I would’ve wanted to help!”

“Then we both would’ve been in trouble, if we got caught. And we probably would’ve,” Frank explained. “I didn’t know Dad would be home so soon.”

Silence fell as the brothers digested the situation and resettled their thoughts.

“So- what’re you going to do now?” Frank asked at length. He wasn’t sure what to do. He didn’t want Joe to run away, but he wasn’t sure he could keep him there until Dad got back.

Joe sighed a little. “I don’t think I can walk to New York City now,” he admitted. “Well, probably I could, but it’d take an awful long time. I don’t think I brought enough to eat. And I don’t like sleeping outside very much, it’s- not comfortable. All sticks and stones and itchy leaves.”

“You didn’t get poison ivy, did you?”

“No, just oak and walnut leaves.” A breath. “Don’t know if I want to go home, though. They’ll be mad at me for worrying them.”

“I’m not mad at you,” Frank remarked. “Not anymore. Are you still mad at me?”

Another long, long silence. Joe picked up a stick and broke it in pieces. “I feel like you felt,” he said at last. “I want to do something that makes you think I’m really someone neat- and I want you to wish I’d be friends with you-”

“Listen, Joey-”

“Joe,” the younger boy corrected, digging an elbow into Frank’s ribs.

“Sorry, Joe,” Frank amended, rolling his eyes. Ever since he’d turned ten, his brother had insisted that people drop the ‘babyish’ -y from his name. He wasn’t having a lot of success in the endeavour yet, but he was nothing if not persistant. It seemed very strange to Frank; he’d called his brother ‘Joey’ since day one, but if that was what Joe wanted, that’s what he’d do. “Maybe I should just call you J,” he mused after a moment, distracted.

Joe looked over, interested. “J,” he repeated. Then he shrugged. “If you want to. But it’s awful short.”

“I’ll think about it. Anyway, you already did what you wanted to. I already think you’re somebody neat- and not just because you’re my brother. Especially now. And I really do want to be friendly, ‘cause you always have been my best of all friends- and it’s lonely when you’re not.”

Joe inched a little closer; Frank felt their shoulders touch and knew his brother was halfway to forgiving him. Joe would never let anyone touch him when he was angry.

“Why ‘especially now’?”

“If I was going to New York City,” Frank replied, “I’d wait till daylight, not slip out at night and start finding my way in the dark. And I think most people would do it my way. It’s a lot easier and safer in the day, especially when you’re in a forest and can’t see the stars very well at night.”

“That was why I stopped,” Joe admitted. “I wasn’t sure I was going the right direction. But I don’t understand you. I worried everyone, but you make it sound like I did something fantastic.”

Frank looked over at his little brother. “I don’t know about fantastic, but it was pretty brave,” he answered, and smiled as a flush rose in his brother’s face. Seemed his opinion still mattered, anyway!

“It wasn’t that bad. There were a lot of noises, but none of them came very close,” Joe murmured.

“It was still brave. And you planned pretty good, too, bringing food and everything,” Frank pointed out. For the first time, a hint of a smile began to show. “And you were all by yourself. That woulda made me nervous. And even if you did hurt your ankle, you didn’t let it stop you. That took some guts, didn’t it?”

Joe didn’t answer, but he scooted even closer. Frank put an arm around his shoulder, knowing that this time his brother wouldn’t wiggle away.

“When is Dad going to come back?” Joe asked after a while, lifting his head from Frank’s rather bony shoulder. He felt better inside than he had since summer started, but he also felt very sleepy and was longing for his bed and pillow.

“I don’t know, he didn’t say, but he told me not to leave here. And he told me he was trusting me, so I guess I’m not going to mess it up again,” Frank answered softly.

“I want to sleep,” Joe mumbled, sighing.

“Well, lie down,” Frank offered, stretching out his legs. Joe immediately did so, finding his brother’s lap a much more comfortable pillow than the backpack. Then he heard Frank’s stomach growl, and giggled a little.

“What’s so funny?”

“Your stomach’s talking, it sounds weird. There’s some ham and a banana and an apple in the backpack, if you want some. Also some bread, but I laid on it all night, so it’s mostly squish,” Joe answered, yawning.

There was a rustling noise as Frank pulled the backpack closer, and then a quiet laugh. “You weren’t kidding, it mainly is squished. Good thing that wasn’t the banana you had your head on.”

“That would be yucky.” Joe’s eyelids drifted closed to the sound of Frank’s chewing. The last thing he was aware of was his brother’s hand resting gently on his forehead, shading his eyes from the bright sunlight spearing down through the trees.

“Joe.” Someone was shaking him.

“Uhh?”

“Wake up, Dad’s here.”

Stiff and sleepy, the ten-year-old dragged his eyes open just long enough to verify that yes, Dad was crouching beside him. “What do you say we go home?” his father’s low voice inquired.

Joe nodded, and felt strong arms lift him, felt himself moving forward. “Daddy?” he murmured.

“Yes, son?”

“I’m sorry I made everybody worry. I just wanted to go somewhere exciting, and I didn’t think anyone would miss me.”

Joe had no way of knowing what a deep wound he’d just inflicted on his father.

“We all would miss you very much indeed, Joey. You’re an important part of our family, and it wouldn’t feel right if you weren’t there,” Fenton answered quietly. “Where were you thinking to go?”

“New York City.”

“I see. Well, I’m glad you didn’t get too far. The City’s a big place, and it would have been almost impossible to find you there. It probably would have taken me a few years,” the detective mused.

Joe was silent, thinking about that. His father would look for him for years? “Years?” he repeated at last.

“You don’t think I’d give up, do you?”

“Me, either,” came a quiet agreement from Frank, who seemed to be walking beside them. Joe felt his brother’s hand pat his foot. If yesterday was the worst day of the summer, he thought, wrapping his arms around his father’s neck, then today was probably the best.

His mother was alarmed at first when Dad carried him into the house; Mom cried out his name and was beside them so fast that he wondered sleepily if she’d flown. “I’m okay, Mom,” he told her, trying not to yawn. “Just sleepy, and my ankle’s aching a little.

“He’s fine, Laura, I checked him over,” Dad assured her calmly. “He even took some food with him, so he had breakfast, if a rather unusual one. I suspect he didn’t sleep very much last night, though.”

“It’s noisy in the woods,” Joe agreed, and this time he gave in to the yawn. “I’m sorry I worried you,” he added, and meant it.

“If you ever-” Laura started, then stopped and just shook her head.

“I won’t do it again,” Joe promised meekly. “No matter what.”

“I certainly hope not, young man,” his aunt Gertrude said sharply. “Fenton, put the child down. Joe, go upstairs and wash your face and hands. You too, Frank. Lunch is on the table.”

Joe swayed a little as he was set on his feet; Frank took his hand and pulled him toward the stairs to the bathroom. The chilly water woke him up considerably, and felt good on his skin. For the first time he could remember, Joe found himself rather wanting to take a bath, just to get the feel of dirt and bark and leaves off, but his stomach was growling and he didn’t feel like waiting any longer to eat. He could always have a bath tonight, he told himself as he went back downstairs, limping slightly.

Lunch consisted of chicken noodle soup and sandwiches. When they were done with these, their aunt gave them the chocolate pudding that they hadn’t gotten to eat the night before. That was a real treat, and both the boys went to great lengths to finish every tiny bit of the delicious stuff. Once they had scraped the pudding bowls clean, Mom made Joe go right upstairs and have a bath and change clothes. He had to admit that he felt a good deal better when he’d done this.

“Joe?”

The blond boy smiled as Frank stopped in the doorway. “Feels weird, like I should be going to bed now,” he remarked wryly, tucking his shirt into his shorts.

Frank laughed. “I guess you can if you want, but then what’ll you do tonight?”

“Oh I dunno. Fly around and look for bad guys to beat up,” replied Joe, whose imagination persistantly ran away with him. He flopped down on the bed to put on his socks and shoes, then changed his mind and just picked his pajamas up off the floor.

< P>“It does seem weird, doesn’t it,” Frank said softly, coming in and closing the door. “I can’t figure out what’s going on.”

Joe gave him a baffled look.

“Like why’d Auntie G give us pudding? And why didn’t we get a spanking? They’re being nice to us,” Frank explained, in a voice that suggested that adults being nice was about as common as a total eclipse of the sun. In a sense it was; neither boy had expected this behavior after having gotten into so much trouble.

“Oh. Yeah!” Joe agreed, scrunching up his face in perplexity. “And they didn’t even ground us. Maybe....”

“Maybe they’re saving it up,” Frank concluded, and sighed. “Oh well.”

Joe frowned at that. Their parents did that sometimes, saved up a punishment until it really meant something. Like the time when he’d broken a window, they’d said he couldn’t go to the County Fair the next week. To Joe, that was really unfair; if you did something wrong, you should be punished for it right then, not have to wait and feel punished a week later. He’d explained this to his mother once or twice, but he didn’t think she really understood. “I bet they are.” He sighed. “At least it’s not a spanking.” Those made him feel like a baby, even though he didn’t cry anymore when he got spanked. Spankings were for little kids; he wasn’t that little.

“Yeah.” Frank nudged him suddenly. “Hey, let’s go play Myst Junior.” This was a form of the popular interactive game that was specially suited for younger players. In this form, the challenges were not quite as tricky as regular Myst.

“Okay!” The boys hopped up from the bed and hurried to the basement, where the computer was set up. Joe smiled as Frank turned the machine on and loaded the game into the drive. It wasn’t going to be such a bad summer after all.