Joe leaned back in his chair and sulked. Just when he thought it was going to be a good summer after all, something like this happened.

Two nights ago, he’d run away from home. Yesterday afternoon, he and his brother had decided to be friends again and hang out together, instead of alone (in Joe’s case) or with a group of local delinquents (in Frank’s). And last night, the boys had woven castles in the air of all the things they wanted to do with their unfinished treehouse today...this week... this summer. By the time they’d gone to bed last night, they’d both been very eager for this morning to hurry up and get here.

Now Mom was saying they couldn’t do all the cool things they’d planned, just because Joe’s ankle was still sore this morning. It really wasn’t that bad, he was only limping a little, but she still wouldn’t change her mind. And if they couldn’t work on the treehouse- Joe’s scowl deepened and he cast a quick glance at his older brother. Maybe Frank wouldn’t want to play with him at all, because of this! It was no fair!

"We’ll do something else." The dark-haired eleven-year-old looked up from the muffin he was eating and his brown eyes met Joe’s for a moment. There was reassurance in that look, and Joe’s worry faded somewhat. He was tempted to ask what his brother had in mind, but was distracted when his aunt Gertrude came into the room.

"If it was me," she said rather sharply to the boys’ father, who was sitting quietly at the head of the table and listening, "I’d keep them both in the yard all summer. Especially him," she added, nodding at Joe. "Running away in the middle of the night- worrying everyone- he needs the discipline, Fenton."

Joe cringed and slid down a little in his chair, his gaze fixing on his plate. He hadn’t meant to worry anyone- he just didn’t think it would matter to anybody. Especially not his aunt. Before he could say this, however, his father spoke up.

"We thought about it, Gert. But that would only exacerbate the problem."

Joe wondered what ‘exacerbate’ meant. It sounded like ‘exasperate’, only moreso. He glanced at Frank, who shrugged.

"They’ve been alone- apart, that is- for quite a while. I want them to learn how to keep each other company again, and that wouldn’t be possible if one or both of them was grounded. As for discipline, I think both my sons are quite well disciplined. Joe’s- slightly unorthodox departure showed how well he can plan and carry through, for instance. And Frank’s acceptance of his guilt in the matter shows his sense of responsibility."

The boys traded glances again, uncertain whether they were being scolded or praised. It was hard to tell sometimes with grown-ups- even with Dad, who explained things better than most grown-ups.

"You could turn black into white," Gertrude sniffed, further mystifying her nephews, and vanished into the kitchen.

"Take your plates in, if you’re done, boys," Laura told them. "And Joe, you remember what I told you. No tree climbing."

"Yes, Mom," the ten-year-old murmured resignedly, and got up from his chair.

***

"So what’re we going to do?"

Joe didn’t look as upset as he had at breakfast, Frank thought. But he still sounded a little morose. Frank shifted his weight and thought; they were standing on the back porch, looking into the neighbor’s yard. "I had a sort of idea," he suggested, wondering if Joe would like it or not. He’d probably agree to it, though, just so they would be together. "I had a dream last night about trying to catch a bad guy, so I woke up thinking that would be cool. I think it was what you said about flying around- before we went downstairs to play Myst." He smiled as Joe’s blue eyes took on a distinctly interested look.

"Well, we can’t really fly, but we could find some bad guys to catch," the younger boy agreed. "Where are they, though? And who are they?"

"I think they’re spies." Frank lowered his voice and then hopped down the steps. Gesturing at his brother, he added, "And I think they’ve got a hiding place in Willow Woods."

Joe’s eyes widened; he trotted down the steps and the two youngsters began making their way towards the river. "I guess they don’t know Dad’s home, or they would have left to find someplace safer," he ventured.

"Hey, yeah. That means we better find ‘em quick, before they do hear about it and run off," Frank agreed, thinking this made a fine addition to the game. "But we can’t go too fast, or we might miss a clue." He didn’t want Joe to run much, not with a sore ankle.

"Yeah, then they’d get away!" Joe quickened his pace as they approached the meadow. By the time they got there, Frank’s imagination was working overtime.

"Okay, we know they’re in there somewhere," he told his brother, who listened intently. "They made a fort and there’re guards all around it, and they have all kinds of equipment to make sure no one gets too close."

"And they put it in Bayport because they were being chased by the police in Washington D.C. and got away, and so now we gotta catch ‘em, because Washington police don’t have any- any-"

"Authority."

"Any authority here," Joe finished, displaying both a lack of comprehension of Government functions and a rather sensible deduction.

"Yeah, they were spying on the President!" Frank decided, enthused. "Now they’re gonna have guards all around their hideout, so we have to look for footprints and things, but we also have to be careful they don’t see us, ‘cause if they do-" He didn’t finish, just made a throat-cutting gesture. Joe nodded, then glanced warily around the peacefully empty meadow.

After several minutes, the Hardy boys agreed it would be wiser to go through the grass on hands and knees, so they did this, carefully crawling across the field and pausing every few minutes to gaze around. There were numerous alarms consisting of, "I saw one! A guard! Over there! But he didn’t see us, I think." "No, ‘cause if he had, he woulda thrown a grenade," and other such exclamations, all done in what the boys fondly imagined to be whispers.

On reaching the river, Frank frowned. "We better not cross," he muttered. His imagination, less vivid than Joe’s but still very active, was busily manufacturing enemies by the dozen.

"Why not?" Joe looked tense, had ceased to limp at all, and his white-blond hair was wildly mussed.

"Too open. We’d have to go all that way without any cover. We better get into the woods," Frank waved at the thin forest several yards away, "and see if their hideout is on this side. If it’s not, then we can cross and look on the other side."

"Hey, look, it’s a footprint," Joe murmured, pointing at the ground. "And it does point at the forest, not at the river!"

"Good work," Frank told him, pleased at his brother’s quickness in taking up the scheme. "Let’s follow it."

Joe flushed with pleasure, then scurried into the woods. Frank glanced around, just as though he really did expect to see a swarm of foreigners in strange uniforms lurking in the grass, then followed.

***

Some part of Joe’s mind knew that it was only a game, but he wasn’t paying any attention to that minor detail. The enemy had attacked four times since they went into the woods, and it was only through luck and skill that he and Frank hadn’t been captured yet. The spies were armed with different things; one had a gun, one had thrown a grenade, one had fired a net at them, and the last had shot poison gas at them. That one had been Joe’s contribution, and he was still conscious of his brother’s admiring glance. Now they were taking a breather, discussing the fact that they still hadn’t found the enemy’s hiding place.

"We’re almost halfway through," Frank mused, "and there’s farms on that side. So they wouldn’t be over there-"

"They could be. They might be stealing food from the farms," Joe suggested.

"Maybe...no, that would make people suspicious. Besides, even if they did, they’d do it at night, when people wouldn’t notice as much," Frank decided, contradicting himself neatly, but both boys were too excited to notice. "They must be across the river, and we’ve got to get over and see. But we can’t use the bridge, it’s going to be booby-trapped."

Joe nodded, his faith in his brother’s scheme absolute. The ‘bridge’ was a fallen log that the neighborhood kids played on; the river was deep there and sometimes they jumped off the log into the water. Then he lifted his hands to his eyes. "I’m using binoculars," he explained at Frank’s puzzled look. "Hey, there it is! It’s in the clearing!"

Frank also cupped his eyes and stared, though the clearing was plainly visible on the far side of the river. "You’re right! That settles it, Joe. We have to get over there. But there’s four guards at the bridge- two on each side."

Joe nodded and lowered his hands, only half-aware of the dirt and grass stains on them. "If we can’t use the bridge, we’ll have to climb down and then up the other side."

Frank frowned. "But they’ll have charges set all up and down the banks," he protested. "Besides, Mom’ll kill me if you hurt yourself again," he added.

Joe sighed, the boundary between reality and fantasy blurring briefly. He wasn’t really all that nuts about climbing, either. His ankle wasn’t hurting too much, but he didn’t want to risk injuring it any more. "So I guess we can’t swing across on a vine, either."

"Well, then they’d see us."

It was a knotty problem; both boys considered it for a while.

"Maybe if one of us shows ourselves and distracts the guards, the other can get across," Frank mused.

"But then they’d shoot the one who distracted them!" Joe gasped.

"Maybe they don’t have very good aim," Frank murmured, but it was clear this would not serve.

"I know! You go one way, I’ll go the other. We’ll make noise in the bushes and they’ll come to see whether it’s us, or a rabbit or something. Then we’ll sneak back and cross while they’re not there," Joe said suddenly, his imagination suddenly arriving at a remarkably tactical solution.

"That’s fantastic!" Frank hissed, exuberant. "Great idea!"

Joe beamed at him.

"Okay...get ready... Don’t go too far, and don’t make too much noise or they’ll know it’s something much bigger than a rabbit- and if they think it’s a bear, they’ll just shoot at it," Frank directed. The details always fell to him; they made the scenario that much more vivid to the brothers. "Go down, make noise for ten seconds, wait ten seconds, and then hurry back to the bridge."

"Got it! Ready..."

"Go!"

The plan worked perfectly; Joe could very nearly hear the cries of the guards as they raced from their posts and thrashed about in the underbrush, looking for the source of the disturbance. Leaving the blackberry bush behind (and wincing at several fresh scratches) he rejoined his brother at the bridge-log.

"It worked," Frank exulted. "Quick, get across."

Joe carefully made his way to the middle of the log, then paused to let Frank come up behind him. "I hope they don’t come back now," he said rather nervously.

"They are staying away awful long," Frank admitted, frowning. "Hey...I think there’s something wrong. They should’ve been back by now. It’s like they know we’re here... and if they do, that means they wanted us to cross the bridge, which would mean-"

"A booby trap!" Joe exclaimed, following this reasoning with no difficulty. "It must be at the end of the log- they ran across it."

"Yeah- maybe they buried something in the ground!"

Joe edged forward. "There!"

‘There’ was a convenient hole where a squirrel had dug up or buried a nut recently, but it served very well as a sign of something amiss.

"We better find it," Frank said grimly, and both boys fell to digging. Several moments later, Joe came up with a large, round gray rock. "It’s a grenade!" Frank gasped. "It’s gonna go off!"

Without thinking, Joe jumped back onto the log and flung the heavy gray stone downstream. It landed with a loud splash and he wiped a muddy hand across his forehead.

"Boom!" Frank hissed in his ear; Joe started violently and nearly fell off the log. Then his brother’s hand steadied him.

"Yikes."

"Good thing we found it! That woulda taken the whole bridge out. I bet you get a medal for that," Frank said in a hushed, admiring voice.

"The guards heard! They’re coming back!" Joe gasped suddenly, and caught his brother’s glance of genuine alarm. Then he realized why; there was a noise in the forest behind them- a real one!

"Quick, hide!"

Both boys ducked behind trees- the trees here were too small for them both to fit behind the same one- and waited. Joe couldn’t see who was approaching, and after a moment he figured out why. It was dusk, and shadows were slowly filling the woods. ‘We’ve been here all day,’ he thought in astonishment. They hadn’t even remembered to go home and get lunch.

A twig snapping brought the boy’s attention back to the situation of the moment. A tall, dark figure loomed between his tree and Frank’s-

"Halt! Freeze, spy!" Frank shouted. Joe leapt out with a shout of his own.

"You’re surrounded! Give up!"

The stranger froze in surprise, and Joe suddenly saw Fenton Hardy’s startled expression. ‘Dad,’ he thought, chagrined, the spell shattering.

***

Fenton Hardy stared from one small, grubby face to another, taken aback, then smiled inwardly. He slowly lifted his hands, glancing from one excited son to the other. "All right, you got me," he said in his surliest tones. "Now whatcha gonna do with me?" There was a moment of startled silence, and then two pairs of eyes, one bright blue, one dark brown, sparkled with delight.

"Take you to the President, spy!" Frank assured him. "You and all the others!"

Fenton cast a sly look around the clearing. "You found our headquarters. But listen carefully now," he said softly, lowering his voice. "I’m not really a spy."

Joe frowned at him.

"I’m a double agent. They thought I was on their side, but I wasn’t. While you two were distracting them, I called in the President’s own troops, and they moved in from behind. They raided the stronghold and the spies all just got taken out in chains."

Frank and Joe whooped in delight, cutting some very amusing capers as they did so. "All right! We got ‘em!" Joe squealed.

"And, I’ve been sent to bring you to the victory feast," Fenton finished.

At this, Frank laughed. "Dinner, you mean?" he said wryly. "I didn’t know it was so late."

"Me, either, I only just saw it was getting dark. And boy, I’m hungry," Joe agreed, grinning.

"Well, let’s get home and have it, then. Tell me more about these spies of yours," their father suggested, leading the way back across the fallen log.

His sons shared their exciting story as they cricked and crunched through the darkening forest, trod across the meadow, and finally walked down Elm street. "You two have very vivid imaginations," Fenton commented. "The things you come up with are amazingly detailed."

"That’s Frank, mostly, he thinks of that stuff," Joe explained.

"You did real good today," Frank replied to his brother. "He thought up the poison gas, and he did the diversion so we could get across the br- I mean the log," he added to Fenton.

As they approached the house, Joe suddenly heaved a big sigh. "That was fun, I wish we could do it again," he said wistfully.

"You could," Fenton suggested, but he knew Joe’s wistfulness was not without cause. It would never be quite as much fun the second time around. Pausing on the walk, he looked from one young face to another. "As a matter of fact," he said quietly, "I have a tip for you two. My sources-" he glanced around suspiciously. "My sources tell me there’re jewel thieves operating in the area, and they’ve buried some treasure nearby!"

As his sons’ faces lit up in delight and something akin to worship, Fenton found himself wishing his father had ever joined in his own childhood games. "Wow!" Frank whispered. Joe, too excited by Fenton’s sudden participation to say anything, simply bounced on his toes several times.

"Come to my study after dinner and I’ll give you the rest of the information," the detective concluded. He would teach them a few useful tricks of observation and give them something to serve as gems; their own imaginations would amply supply the rest. "Jewel thieves and buried treasure require a different approach than spies, you see," he concluded. "All right, inside for the feast, and don’t forget to wash your faces and hands," he ended, putting a fond hand on each child’s head and mussing their already tousled hair. "And comb your hair."

"Now that you messed it up for us!" Frank laughed, and scurried into the house, Joe hot on his heels.

***

The ‘feast’ was not really a feast in any Roman sense of the word, but to the hungry boys, it more than sufficed. Baked chicken, potatoes, corn on the cob and Aunt Gertrude’s nice soft biscuits were all devoured ravenously. Gertrude told the boys several times to not eat so fast or they’d make themselves sick; Laura smiled and shook her head. "Somehow, they never do," she told her sister-in-law bemusedly. "I’d swear sometimes I can actually see them growing while they eat."

Gertrude sniffed quietly at this fancy, but said nothing more.

Dessert was mince pie a la mode. The boys took the ice cream but declined the pie, neither being fond of the sticky-gooey interior of mince pie. "All the more for me," Fenton commented with a half-teasing smile. Mince was high on his list of favorites. "And a nice treat, too, this is really more a holiday dessert than a summer one." He glanced at his sister, who blushed unaccountably. Gertrude hated to get caught in a good deed, but was also very pleased that it hadn’t gone unnoticed.

After dessert, the boys were pressed into helping clean up, while Fenton retired to his study. It was almost half an hour before Frank managed to pull Joe out of the kitchen without raising a commotion from either of the women, and they both hurried up the stairs as quietly as they could. "I thought we’d never get out of there!" Joe whispered as they paused on the landing. "They clean too much!"

Frank nodded; he wondered himself why Mom and Auntie went to such lengths to clean everything. It was just going to get dirty again anyway! And though he could see the point of washing dishes and clothes, he’d never figured the point to making beds. "It’s just something they like to do," he concluded. "C’mon," he added, nodding at the door of the study. It was open just a crack, which meant ‘you can come in, just knock first.’ Joe knocked.

"Come in. Ah, there you are," Fenton said, looking up from his desk and smiling. There was an open book before him; he marked the place, then closed it. "Sit down." The boys obeyed, both fidgeting with excitement and trying not to feel a bit silly. The spell of their imaginations had worn thin during the perfectly ordinary dinner, and the thought of jewel thieves seemed awfully far-fetched now.

Fenton rose from his desk and opened a small, dusty box on one of the bookshelves. Taking out a pouch, he put it on his desk, then picked up the book and went to stand between the chairs his sons were sitting in. Opening it, he crouched so they could see.

"Wow!"

"Whoa, neat!"

The book was a dictionary and the page it was open to was an illustrated example of many of the gems of the world, in various types of cuts. "These are cut jewels," Fenton explained. "They don’t look like this when they get mined; they just look like little colored pebbles. But when you take them to a jeweler, they cut and polish the stones, and they end up with their shapes and sparkle. The common ones you know: diamonds, emeralds, rubies, sapphires. Now these yellow ones, these are topazes, they’re rather less known. And pearls are considered jewels, though of course those aren’t cut. This one is carnelian, and this is what they call a star sapphire, because of this phenomenon here." Fenton’s finger traced the ‘star’. "This is onyx..."

The boys listened in fascination as their father continued, naming the jewels and giving them a little information on each. "I never knew there were so many kinds," Joe said at last, when Fenton had finished.

"Most people only think of the clear stones," Fenton agreed. "And that’s because the clear ones are usually more valuable than the others. But opals and jade and pearls get a fair amount of respect, too, particularly if they’re in unusual colors. Black pearls, or yellow jade or fire opals, which are blue, not white, and shine red more than anything else."

"Wow," Frank repeated, dazzled.

Fenton gave the book to Frank. "Read up on jewels, see where they’re mined and how valuable they are... and some of the greatest thefts ever recorded," he suggested. Frank took the book eagerly, and Joe fidgeted. "You’ll both need to know, since you might get split up," Fenton amended, catching the movement.

"Split up?" Joe queried.

"Well, you never know. If you’re following two people and one goes left and the other goes right...who’s going to the headquarters? You don’t have any idea, so you want to follow them both. And who knows if the other one is going somewhere important? Jewel thieves don’t always keep thier treasures in their headquarters."

"Like pirates," Frank suggested. "Sometimes they kept their gold on their ships, so when the ship sank, the gold did too. But sometimes they buried it on land."

"Exactly," Fenton agreed. "That way they could go back and get it, after they escaped in a life-boat." He went back to the desk and picked up the pouch, opened the top and poured out something that rattled and clacked. "I’m going to teach you an observing trick. A great writer once wrote about this method of teaching yourself how to notice things." He extended a handful of marbles. "Take a long look."

The boys, looking puzzled, obeyed. Fenton gave them thirty seconds, then closed his hand. "How many red ones?"

"Um..." His sons looked at each other helplessly.

"Close your eyes and try to draw a picture of the marbles in your head."

Two pairs of eyes squinched shut, and two small forehead wrinkled with effort.

"Four?" Joe said at last.

"I think it was five."

Fenton opened his hand. "Two solid red and one with red-and white streaks. Don’t look so discouraged," he added, taking in their disappointed expressions. "It requires a great deal of practice."

Half an hour later, the boys were having much better luck with their memory exercise. "I take a picture," Frank remarked. "Like a camera."

"I tried that, but I don’t think my memory camera is very good," Joe answered with a sigh. "I just count and make a list."

"Either way works quite well," Fenton assured them. "In time, both of you might end up using both methods. Keep practicing. Notice things. You don’t need to remember everything you see, but try to get into the habit of telling yourself what’s all around you. Don’t just look at a car and think, ‘car’; think ‘dark brown Dodge sedan’. Or my desk- it’s not just as desk, there’s also papers, pens, pencils, the telephone..." Fenton paused and frowned. "And my coffee cup, which I thought I took downstairs this morning, but obviously didn’t."

His sons exchanged a look and a small giggle.

"You see, no one is perfect," Fenton ended with a smile. "Everyone forgets, and some things you will overlook, but most people only use about ten percent of their observation skills. And those skills are just like anything else, the more you use them, the stronger they’ll get. Now. Your assignment."

The boys grew serious at once, serious in a highly excited manner, if such a contradiction was possible.

"All we know for sure is that the jewel thieves are independent of the spies, meaning they are working in a different area. Where exactly that is, is going to be up to you to discover. You’ll have to use your observational skills to follow the trails- one will lead to the treasure and the other will lead to the thieves. Report to me when you complete one or both of your missions."

Frank nodded eagerly, Joe jumped up and then sat right back down again and bobbed his head.

"Tomorrow, son, not tonight," Fenton chuckled, and the boy blushed, grinning.

"I can hardly wait!"

"Well, that’s your instructions, boys- now, I believe there’s a bath or two to be taken, no?"

"Aww..." Joe groaned and Frank sighed, but they both got up and went out of the study; Fenton could hear them debating about who had to go first.

"Flip a coin," he suggested through the crack in the door, and the squabble cut off immediately. Then he took his coffee cup and the bag of marbles downstairs, kissed his wife, and started making a few simple preparations.

***

Joe Hardy was tired, hot, hungry, and determined. He knew his older brother, who was plodding through the tall grass in front of him, was feeling all of the same things. Except that Frank was getting frustrated, the ten-year old amended. You could tell by the way he was walking- stomping.

The sun was high and hot; Joe’s new watch read one-thirty-eight. The grass made his legs itch and he could feel sweaty spots on his t-shirt. His eyes scanned the ground, searching diligently for another sign that they were on the right track.

The first trail had been a lot easier. They’d found the first red marble a few feet from the house, and another one in the side yard and figured out that these were their trail-markers. After following the zig-zaggy track for a while, they had ended up at their own half-built treehouse over in the field near Willow Woods. The boys’ reaction had been a blend of equal parts indignation and amusement. How dared the thieves use their own fort as a hiding place?! There had been a battle royal and now all of the criminals were safely secured in prison.

But none of the imaginary enemies had revealed where the jewels were, so the boys had searched around the area until they found another marble. Now they seemed to have hit a dead end and were wondering if they hadn’t missed their clue.

They had spent a fair amount of time speculating over what the treasure would be and where it would be hidden. Buried seemed most likely, but Frank had pointed out that it might be hidden in a tree stump, or tied to a branch. The ‘criminals’, of course, had insisted they were innocent, so the boys had to find the stolen treasure- the evidence- and bring it back. Whatever it turned out to be. Joe speculated that it was gems, but Frank thought it might be actual jewelry. "They wouldn’t’ve had time to pull all the stones out of the necklaces and stuff," he had reasoned.

"What do they do with the gems when they get ‘em out?"

"Sell ‘em to jewel stores," Frank explained; he had read a good deal of the book before going to sleep the previous night. "They do that because if you steal somebody’s crown and try to sell it, someone’s probably going to recognize it. So they pull the jewels off and sell them, and then melt the gold into a lump and sell that."

"Clever. Sort of," Joe amended after a moment. "Bad, though."

Frank had glanced up from the grass and grinned at him. "Both," he agreed. "If they weren’t clever, the police would’ve caught ‘em before we did."

Their conversation had lagged after that as they concentrated on finding the marbles. Joe had never imagined how hard it could be to follow a trail. The grass wasn’t too thick, for it had been a rather dry summer, but it was tall nontheless. The boys had to push it all aside and peer at the ground to make sure no marble was sitting quietly at the roots of a weed or clump of grass.

"I’m awful hungry. Why don’t we go home and have lunch and then come back and try again?" Frank said suddenly, stopping in his tracks. Joe nearly walked into his brother before he managed to halt himself.

"Well," he said doubtfully, somewhat taken aback by the suddenness of the suggestion, "okay." Joe didn’t really like stopping in mid-search, but his stomach was grumbling very loudly, and he was thirsty, too. And who knew how long it would take to find the treasure? Besides, and almost as important, they might get scolded if they missed two lunches in a row. "But we better stamp the grass down so we know where we stopped."

"That’s a good idea," Frank agreed, and began flattening the grass down all around them. Joe helped, and when they were satisfied with their marker, they turned around to go home.

"I really wonder what the treasure is," Joe mused as he fell into step beside his brother. His runaway imagination had ebbed enough to realize that it wouldn’t really be gemstones they found.

"I dunno. Probably something neat, though."

That was a given; Dad wouldn’t give them a treasure that wasn’t neat. "Hmmmm. It’s probably not very big. Something a thief could slip into their pocket and walk away with and no one would notice."

"Good thinking. Only there’s a lot of things that aren’t very big," Frank said with a grin. "And since there’s a lot of thieves, there’s probably more than one of whatever it is. Or maybe a couple different whatevers." Then he grimaced a little. "I wonder if Dad will tell us where it is if we don’t find it?"

Joe thought about that as they went into the nice cool house, then dismissed the question in the bustle of hand-and-face washing. There was another bustle going on, he realized as he munched on his hot dog. After Mom gave them their lunch, she kept going into the sewing room, carrying things in and out. He caught Frank’s eye and nodded at the room, just as Mom carried a bunch of fabric out and took it upstairs.

Frank turned to watch and his eyes widened, then narrowed in a perplexed frown. A moment later, their aunt Gertrude went into the room, carrying a bunch of hangers, a pillow, and a pile of sheets. "Oh," he said softly, and his expression became one of uncertainty and almost dismay.

"Yeah." Frank sat at his desk, frowning a little. "I don’t know if I like this."

"I-" Joe stopped, glanced at the door, then shook his head. "I don’t like it," he whispered. "She’s mean!"

"She’s not always mean," Frank reminded him. "Just sometimes."

"Lots of times."

Frank didn’t argue.

"And she’s bossy. Always telling everyone what to do, and don’t do."

"Not to do," Frank corrected. He sighed. "Well, she cooks good," he offered.

"Oh, she likes you. She was worried about you when you left, remember?"

"I thought she was just mad. Said I needed- needed- whatever it was. Dis-something."

"No, she was worried. Trust me," Frank assured him.

The boys discussed the matter for a little longer; Joe mused that Mom was probably not very happy about having to take her sewing stuff into the attic. "How’s she going to sew in there? It’s all dusty and hot," he remarked.

"Yeah, she should put it in the basement," Frank agreed. "That way she’ll have more room. Near the laundry room."

"Why?"

"There’s a plug-in there," Frank reminded him, referring to the electrical outlet.

"Oh yeah." Joe yawned, suddenly feeling weary. "You should tell her that."

"I will," the dark-haired boy agreed, and left the room to do so. Alone, Joe yawned again, then stretched out on the bed and pulled the pillow closer. He wasn’t going to take a nap, he assured himself. Naps were for little kids. He was just going to enjoy being nice and cool until Frank came back...

***

When Frank returned to his room, he was not terribly surprised to see that his little brother had fallen asleep. He felt sort of tired from all their ‘investigating’, as he fondly called it, this morning, too. But he was glad he was awake and Joe was asleep, because there was something he really wanted to do.

Playing ‘Catch Spies’ yesterday had been the most fun he’d had all summer. Today was a little more frustrating, but he was still having a lot of fun- it was a challenge, this mystery their Dad had set up for them. And he was happier than he could say, to be doing things with Joey- no, Joe, he corrected himself- doing things with Joe again. He had forgotten how much imagination and perseverance his brother had. And yet, when Frank had suggested they come home, Joe had agreed at once. It was a pretty agreeable feeling to be the one in charge again, instead of being the least significant of five.

Not that he was going to take advantage of the situation to tyrannize his brother. Joe wouldn’t ever tolerate anyone being bossy just for the sake of being bossy, and it went against Frank’s values as well. He didn’t like being bossed around, so he wasn’t going to do it to anyone else. Not unless they really deserved it.

Frank smiled at his sleeping brother, then sat back down at his desk. He quietly opened some drawers, gathered a few things together, and then set about his secret plan. He’d wanted to do it last night, but he’d sort of forgotten until it was too late; he’d been reading the book about jewels instead. And there hadn’t been time this morning. He wanted it to be a surprise, so he couldn’t do it while Joe was watching, which was a little tricky now that they were friends again. But now that Joe was asleep he should be able to manage it, as long as he didn’t make much noise.

The eleven-year-old quietly cut, then glued, then found his gold marker and wrote something on his construction. Then he threw away his scraps, hid the item in the drawer, and put his materials away. Getting up from his chair, he too flopped down on the bed, feeling the weariness of a vigorous day in the hot sun collide with the lazy contentment of a full stomach and a nice cool, soft pillow.

Frank woke up when an elbow collided with his side; he opened his eyes with a grunt and pushed idly at the elbow. The elbow pushed back. He shoved again, then leaned over and dug his fingers into the ribs that were just beside the elbow. The elbow’s owner squealed indignantly and leaped off the bed.

"I’ll get you for that!" Joe threatened, putting his hands on his hips.

"I was getting you!" Frank retorted, grinning. "You woke me up."

"Well, I’ll get you back anyway. Tickling’s no fair." Joe was trying not to grin too, but he wasn’t doing very well.

Frank sat up, stretched, and wiggled his toes. He hadn’t taken his shoes off, and his feet felt a little peculiar. "My feet went to sleep," he remarked and pulled off one shoe. As he was taking off the other, Joe sprang forward, grabbed his ankle and tickled the bottom of his foot. Now it was Frank’s turn to yell; he launched himself off the bed and the two boys wrestled for a moment before the door to the bedroom swung open.

"Cut out that racket," their aunt said sharply.

"He was tickling me," Frank explained as he let go of his brother and sat up. Then he realized he should’ve simply said "okay."

"You tickled me first!" Joe retorted from where he lay on the floor, half under the bed.

"I don’t care who did what to whom! I said to keep quiet," Gertrude snapped. Joe sat up and looked at her for a long moment.

"You’re going to live with us, aren’t you?" he said in a voice that sounded more like a statement than a question.

Gertrude looked surprised. "Yes, I am. Your father offered again and I decided to accept."

"Why?" Joe asked her. "You don’t like us, so why do you want to live with us?"

The older woman’s eyes opened wide; Frank winced and got up from the floor, thoroughly expecting Joe to be yelled at. But their aunt said nothing, only stared- glared, he thought- into Joe’s curious face. Then she turned around and walked away. Joe frowned, taken aback. Then he got to his feet and looked uncertainly at Frank, who just shrugged. "Why’d you say that?" he asked at last.

"Because I wanted to know," Joe answered in his ‘what kinda silly question is that?’ voice. "I hope she’s not going to get me in trouble with Mom. I wasn’t rude, just curious," he added after a moment’s thought.

"I thought she was going to yell at you," Frank explained. Then he walked over to his desk and pulled out the thing he’d made. Slipping it into his pocket he suggested, "Let’s go back out to the field and see if we can find the treasure."

"Okay!"

To Frank’s relief, neither their aunt nor their mother tried to stop them as they left, so at least Joe wasn’t in trouble again. He led the way to the meadow and found the trampled spot easily, and they began to search again.

It took almost twenty minutes to find the next marble, a black one this time. Joe carefully scooped it up and put it in his pocket. "Well, they don’t seem to have put it in the forest," he said thoughtfully, for this trail was headed more towards the river. Of course, it probably zigzagged too, just like the first one.

"No, Dad said they weren’t working with the spies," Frank reminded him. "Oh, gosh, I hope there’s no explosives around it!" he added in a lower voice.

Joe’s eyes widened a little. "I hope not too, but that would be one way to make sure nobody but them gets it," he thought aloud.

"Yeah. We’ll have to be very careful- all this tall grass- there could be a trap anywhere."

Joe shuddered in rather pleasant fear...pleasant because it was all make-believe. "Ooo, Frank, what if they put poisonous snakes around it? Guard dogs would be too easy to see, but snakes could hide in the grass-" Joe stopped when he saw how pale his brother had just turned. "But then the snakes would bite the thieves, or just crawl away, so they probably didn’t," he added comfortingly.

Frank went even whiter. "Then there could be snakes anywhere in the field, Joe! Oh, jeez, you just had to think of that, didn’t you?"

"Well..." Joe had forgotten just how much the thought of snakes scared his older brother. Most of Frank’s bad dreams involved snakes or dragons. "Well, if they wanted to guard the treasure, they’d have to keep ‘em close to it," he pointed out. "So they’d probably put a stick or something in the ground and tie the snake to it, like by the tail, so it wouldn’t go crawling away. And we’d see the stick," he finished encouragingly. "We’re looking very carefully."

"Yeah, but what if it got loose!" Frank hadn’t taken a single step since the discussion began.

Joe bit his lip, feeling a little bad. It was time for a reality check, he decided. "They’re only pretend snakes," he reminded his brother. "And pretend thieves." He watched as some of the color returned to Frank’s face. "And the only snakes around here are the garden ones anyway, and they’re scared of people. Remember when Chet tried to catch one and it got away from him?"

"Well, yeah." Frank unclenched his fists and scowled, trying to recover his dignity. Taking a breath, he moved forward a few steps, then paused and looked carefully around. Joe followed, wondering if he should offer to go first for a while, but decided Frank wouldn’t like that. "That was really not nice of you," Frank grumbled over his shoulder, moving a few more steps forward. "Now I’m all creeped out. I should start talking to you about spiders. Hey, what if there was Shelob-"

"Don’t!" Joe shouted, thumping his brother’s shoulder with his fist. He’d had nightmares for a week after seeing the infamous spider-monster of the ‘Return of the King’ movie. It was ironic that his favorite superhero was Spiderman. "Anyway, Shelob isn’t real and no thieves could tame her, she’d eat them," he argued, shivering slightly despite the summer sun. "And we’d see her from miles and miles away," he added, more to comfort himself than anything else.

"Not if she was hiding up a tree," Frank taunted, turning back long enough to give him an truly mocking older-brother smile.

"Shut up, you brat."

"You’re the brat. You’re younger."

Joe couldn’t argue with that, at least not the younger part, so he forcibly returned his attention to the trail. It was another half an hour before they found the ‘treasure’ spot, which turned out to be a circle of marbles on a bare patch of ground.

"The marbles, they must be the booby traps," Frank decided, sounding relieved to be out of the concealing grass. He and Joe had both been very jumpy for the past thirty minutes, both starting at an unexpected movement or sound, fearing to see a snake slither past or a big spider crawl by.

"Bombs," Joe agreed. "We better shut them off-"

"Shhh. Some bombs are triggered by noise," Frank whispered. "And some by movement."

The solution to this problem was to creep forward very slowly, very silently, and cautiously poke each marble with the ‘deactivator’, which was well-disguised as a long stalk of grass. After this was done, Frank explained that the reason he knew that particular piece of grass was the right one was because it didn’t look like the other grasses.

Joe agreed that this was true, it looked more like a stalk of wheat than grass. Then he pointed out that the thieves would have to keep it nearby. "So they can get the gems later without getting blown all into tiny pieces," he concluded. Then he carefully picked up the ‘deactivated bombs’ and, in a move that would have horrified a bomb expert, dropped them into his pocket.

"Or add more to the hiding pace," Frank amended, dropping to his knees beside the circle.

"We should’ve thought to bring a shovel," Joe remarked as he moved closer and began pawing at the dirt.

"Maybe it’s not buried too deep." Frank grabbed a stone to dig with, but discarded it after nearly gouging Joe’s fingers. Then he exclaimed in excitement as he touched something that wasn’t soil. A few moments more and they pulled out a rather dirty blue plastic bag. Inside the bag they discovered two small pouches of gold-foil-covered chocolate coins.

"Neat!" Joe shouted, beaming.

"This is a great treasure!" Frank said decisively, tossing one small bag into the air and then catching it again. "Hey, let’s go back to the treehouse and eat ‘em there. It’s shady, and they won’t melt too fast."

Joe nodded and picked up the bag, then frowned and shook it. Water dripped onto the ground. "Water?" he said curiously.

"Hmmm..." Frank thought about that for a minute. "Oh! Ice! He put ice in so they’d stay cool, and the ice melted," he proclaimed, very pleased at his deduction.

"Hey, that’s smart thinking." Joe gave him an admiring glance and Frank tried not to look too pleased with himself.

"Thanks. C’mon."

It was only a short walk to the shade of the trees where their unfinished fort stood, since they were no longer following a meandering trail. They had decided to make the treehouse on the edge of Willow Woods instead of trying to do it in their own backyard, because there were a lot more trees, which meant a much bigger fort. It also meant no grown-ups, which was the point of the whole thing. Joe had been all for going deep into the woods, but Frank and Chet (who didn’t want to walk quite that far lugging heavy boards) convinced him that it would be better to be able to look out over the meadow and see danger coming from afar. "We can always retreat into the woods if we need to and climb separate trees to confuse the enemy," had been Frank’s conclusive argument.

The boys climbed into the tree (Laura had relented on this point that morning, after Joe insisted his ankle didn’t hurt at all now) and sat on the edge of the platform, legs dangling, enjoying the relative coolness of the breeze. They munched silently on their chocolate coins for a while, careful not to let the wind blow the scraps of gold foil away.

***

When all the coins were eaten and the foils put into a little box they called their ‘safe’, Frank slid his hand into his pocket and pulled out his special secret. For a moment he wasn’t quite sure how to do this, then remembered what he’d said the other day and sat up straighter. At the last moment, he also called to mind a spy movie. "Special Agent Joe," he said seriously, and his brother turned to look at him quickly, wide-eyed. "The president was notified about your brave action on the bridge, so he sent a Secret Service man with your award." Frank opened his hand and revealed his surprise, and Joe’s eyes went saucer-sized.

The ‘award’ was a palm-sized medal made of construction paper. The top part was a silver circle; two blue strips formed the bottom ‘ribbon’. Across the silver was carefully printed, ‘Awarded to Joe Hardy’ in gold marker. The word ‘bravery’ had been written in vertical capitals on each of the ribbons, also in gold. On the back was the date and Frank’s rather wobbly cursive signature.

Joe stared at this token of affection and admiration for a long moment, the color rising fast into his face and his mouth slowly falling open. Then he reached out, carefully lifted the medal from his brother’s hand and sat gazing at it. Frank grinned, feeling a little color heat his own face for how pleased Joe was. He was pleased, wasn’t he? He was just sitting there and looking at it with the most peculiar expression. Maybe- maybe it wasn’t fancy enough? Maybe he should’ve put some sparkles on it. Or made the circle gold, not silver. Or-

Frank’s worries stopped in mid-thought; he was taken completely by surprise when his brother suddenly turned and hugged him very tightly. "Thank you so much, big brother!" Joe whispered.

***

"Aww, wookat de widdle babies!" a sneering voice shouted, and Joe let go of his brother with a puzzled, insulted scowl. Leaning over the side of the platform, he made a face of disgust at the four unkempt youths standing under the tree.

"Isn’t dey cute? All huggy-wuggy!" another of the other teens agreed, smirking. That was Robby, the one with the really mean streak and the crew cut. He was thirteen, and smoked more than any of the others.

"You’re just jealous!" Joe snapped, glaring at them. "You wish someone liked you enough to give you a hug every now and then, but nobody does."

There was a moment’s silence and Joe became aware of his brother’s impressed glance. Another of the boys- Carlos, Joe recalled- scowled and moved a few steps closer to the tree. This one was dark like Tony Prito, but a lot dirtier and his hair was a lot longer. He was fourteen and seldom spoke, but he often hit his ‘friends’. He was also the best at stealing.

"So you’ve decided you ain’t gonna be cool after all, Frank?" John remarked, just as if Joe hadn’t spoken.

"Actually, I decided my brother and my real friends are a lot cooler than the bunch of you," Frank replied indifferently. "All you’re going to do is end up in prison."

"You make it sound like that’s a bad thing," Carlos taunted. "My brother’s a con. He knows lots of people in jail, they get him all kindsa deals."

"If being in jail is so cool, how come you always say getting caught by the police is bad?" Frank wondered aloud. "I mean, you have to get caught, you can’t just walk into jail and pick a cell for yourself."

There was another brief silence from down below and Joe grinned at his brother. Another point for Frank!

"So you’d rather hang out with some stupid sissy brats than us," John concluded, trying to ignore that comment.

"I wish I had a walnut!" Joe growled. "I’d hit him right in his big dumb head!"

"He’d probably just throw it back," Frank pointed out quietly.

Joe scowled, but had to agree. Not that it mattered, he didn’t actually have a walnut handy. "I’m not stupid and I’m not a sissy!" he yelled down. "I’m not the one who thinks going to jail is fun! And I can run faster than any of you, ‘cause I’m not stupid enough to smoke! You just want my brother to hang out with you so that people will think you’re all smarter than you really are."

Bobby, his unhandsome face contorting in a grimace, stomped up to the tree and started to climb up the strips of wood that served as a ladder. "Going to get you for that, you little-"

Joe’s eyes went wide and he stared at his brother. "He said the f-word!"

"He says it a lot."

"He called me the f-word!" Joe repeated in horrified wonder. Springing to his feet, he grabbed up a long chunk of loose wood and slammed it hard against the trunk of the tree. "You come up here and I’ll hit you with this," he promised. Bobby paused, considering this unexpected turn of events. Joe backed up his threat with another whack on the unoffending tree.

"Hey!" Frank snapped suddenly, and Joe turned to see his brother stamp hard on a set of fingers that had just latched on to the edge of the platform. There was a startled yell, and then Trent dropped to the ground, landed on his butt, and cursed a blue streak. Trent was also fourteen, big and foul-mouthed and the ‘enforcer’ of the group. He did whatever John told him, and John usually told him to threaten other kids and take whatever they had that was valuable. But he was also very slow, both of body and mind.

"You shut up, you’re lucky I didn’t use the hammer. But I will the next time!" Frank told him, and lifted up the tool as proof.

Joe turned back to Bobby, who was still looking undecided. Scrambling onto the top rung, he banged his chunk of wood against the rung between him and the young hood. Bobby, a coward at heart, scowled but slowly descended to the ground.

John frowned, considering the situation and looking from Bobby to Trent. His two strongest had been cowed and he didn’t feel like trying to take on either the hammer or the chunk of wood himself. And Carlos would just refuse to do it. "Aw, forget it, these brats aren’t worth it," he finally told his cronies, trying to save face. "We gave little Frank a chance, but I guess he’s not grown up enough yet."

"If growing up means being like you, I’ll take never growing up," Frank retorted. "At least people care about me. Have fun trying to get respect from each other, you won’t get any from people who really matter."

"Yeah. I bet even your parents don’t like you." That sank in, Joe thought as he saw John stiffen and glare upward. He said something that made the boy shudder, and for several minutes the air was full of venomous insults as the gang vented their spleen. Frank and Joe made no attempt to reply to the volley of abuse, but when the shouting died down, Joe looked over at Frank. "Boy, they sure lie a lot, don’t they?" he said calmly.

"Yeah," Frank agreed. "I don’t know why they think it matters to us what they say about us, but then they really don’t have much sense."

This sparked a new outburst, but it lost impetus as the gang simply repeated themselves. John, realizing his cronies were losing even worse now than before, spit on the ground and then turned and stalked away, shoving several of the other teenagers as he went. The Hardy boys watched as their enemies followed the leader, and hoped the Crabbs gang wasn’t going to just hide somewhere and ambush them as they went home.

"Man, they really talk nasty," Joe said soberly when the foursome were out of sight, climbing back onto the platform and putting down the piece of wood.

Frank nodded. The look on his face was a peculiar one. "I can’t believe I ever thought they were okay kids," he said with a sigh. "They’re awful."

Joe agreed, but his mind was on something else. "Frank," he said tentatively, "what does it mean?"

"What does what mean?" Frank stood up and put the hammer back where he’d left it.

"That word."

"What word?"

"Eeeeuuuuu! No wonder it’s the worst possible word!" Joe shuddered and rubbed at his arms. At ten years old, he was still intensely opposed to what he called ‘kissing and all that gross stuff.’

Frank laughed a little and Joe frowned at him. "You might change your mind when you get older."

"You’re crazy. I bet you’d like being kissed and...bleah!"

"I dunno, I haven’t tried it yet," Frank answered with a shrug.

"I’m never gonna try it. I’d rather catch spies and jewel thieves..." Joe’s voice trailed off and he smiled. "I think I wanna be a detective when I get older. Just like Dad. This is really neat!"

"Yeah," Frank agreed, and he cocked his head to the side. "We could work together. Like Dad does with Sam." Sam Radley was their father’s assistant, and a great favorite with both boys.

"That would be cool!" Joe agreed, his eyes shining. Then he jumped up. "Hey, we never reported to Dad!"

"Oh, yeah, we better do that!" Frank grinned and got to the ladder first, leaving Joe to thump his heels impatiently on the wooden floor until his brother reached the ground.

"We need another exit. Like a fire exit or something," he suggested as he hopped off the last rung.

"Maybe a rope," Frank mused as they walked towards the edge of the field.

"That’d be cool, we could pretend it was a fireman’s pole to go down," Joe remarked.

***

Fenton Hardy was in the living room, relaxing in front of the television, when two sweaty, grubby, rumpled, hyperactive young boys rushed into the room and planted themselves on either side of his easy chair. He immediately noted the chocolate smudges around their mouths and smiled inwardly. "Well, well, the scouts return," he commented, plucking a leaf from Joe’s hair. "Let’s see, I’d say you’ve been in or near a tree."

"Treehouse. We beat ‘em good!" Joe exclaimed, bracing his hands on the armrest and hopping up and down."

Fenton muffled a laugh at his older son’s indignation. "So, stage one was completed. Stage two?"

"We followed the other trail, and we-"

"Had to come home for lunch," Joe inserted.

"And then we went back out and found it and dug up the bag- you had ice in there, didn’t you? To keep the treasure from melting!"

Fenton’s brows went up. "Very good, Frank. How’d you decide that?"

"Joe’s hands got wet from the water when he opened up the bag." Frank beamed. "So I figured it was melted ice cubes."

"Well done. So, I imagine the treasure has been, shall we say, disposed of...?"

Both the boys grinned, nodding, and then Joe’s expression changed suddenly to pure pride. "Look," he said, shoving a hand into his pocket and pulling something out. "Look at my medal!"

Fenton sat up a bit straighter and took the piece of construction paper from Joe’s hand with great care. "Bravery," he read. "Presented to Joe Hardy...well done, son." He had not missed the date and signature on the back, and he quietly squeezed Frank’s shoulder in approval. "This would be for your action against the spies?"

"Yep! Frank said the president sent it, and he gave it to me after we were done with the treasure," Joe explained, his blue eyes alight.

"Ah, I see. Congratulations." Fenton smiled at the look on his youngest son's face. "Well, supper’s almost ready," he changed the subject, hoping they hadn’t dulled their appetites with his ‘treasure’ snack. "Why don’t you two go tidy up? You look exactly as if you’d spent the entire day outdoors."

Both the boys laughed and headed for the stairs. Their father stood up from his chair and looked at the medal again, a smile crossing his face. Joey would treasure the scrap of silver and blue paper with gold writing for the rest of his childhood- probably for most of his life. ‘There’s a lesson for you,’ he thought as he went up the stairs and laid it on Joe’s bed. ‘It’s not what you make it out of, it’s what you put into it. A little effort and a lot of love beats a chunk of money any day.’