It wasn’t until almost half an hour later that Fenton learned what else had happened during the day. Gertrude had served the meal in silence, which was unusual for her, and had listened in silence as the boys- now a great deal cleaner, but still very animated- described their adventures to their mother. It seemed the Crabbs Corners boys had tried to pay a call on Frank and Joe in their treehouse, and had been soundly told off. A proud feeling grew in the detective; he had half-feared the delinquent gang would try to coerce Frank back into their ranks. "I hope you wouldn’t ever really hit anyone with a hammer, son," he remarked after the tale was finished.

"No, I just wanted him to think I would," Frank agreed. "I didn’t really want to hurt him, but I didn’t want him hurting me or Joe, either. So I tried to scare ‘em."

"Sensible thinking," Laura approved.

Gertrude snorted. "Really, Fenton, playing such childish games," she remarked, speaking for the first time since dinner began. "And ruining their appetites with treats they hardly deserve-"

"I don’t think I’d say their appetites were ruined," the detective replied, frowning at his sister. She could see for herself that both boys were on their second helpings. "As for childish, you may dismiss it as such, but learning through fun is much more pleasant than having things drilled into your skull. I happen to know," he added rather sharply when he saw her about to protest. "I’ve done it both ways."

"Your remark about ‘not deserving a treat’ has me quite confused," Laura spoke up, also frowning.

Fenton saw his sons exchange glances, and realized that they’d both stopped eating. Joe was pale. "Do explain," he said mildly. He was addressing the boys, but Gertrude took it as her invitation and pointed across the table at Joe.

"That child had no more manners than to tell me I was unwelcome here."

"I did not!" Joe shouted, jumping up from his chair and nearly overturning it in the process.

"No he did not!" Frank declared in almost the same breath.

"Joe, sit down please, and try to calm yourself," Laura said quietly.

"I didn’t say that," Joe insisted, and sat down with a thump as Frank tugged gently on his arm.

"You asked if I was remaining here, and when I said I was, you said you didn’t like me and wished I wouldn’t stay."

"That is not what he said!" Frank retorted. "And I was right beside him, so I should know," he added to Fenton.

Fenton held up his hands and silence descended. Joe looked ready to cry from pure frustration- and, the father suspected, a bit of fear. "Frank, since you’re the calmest of the lot, why don’t you tell me what happened."

The eleven-year-old took a breath, put down his fork, and slowly repeated what had happened. After lunch both boys had taken an inadvertent snooze; had woken up; there had been some tickling which devolved into wrestling, and then their aunt had crossly ordered them both to be quiet. "Joe asked, ‘You’re going to live with us, aren’t you?’ and Aunt said, ‘Yes, I am. Your father offered again and I decided to accept.’ And then Joe said, ‘Why? You don’t like us, so why do you want to live with us?’ And Aunt didn’t say anything, just walked away." Frank paused and looked across the table at Gertrude. "You really don’t like us, if you make up lies about us," he said bitterly. "And I’ll tell you this, I don’t like you, and I do wish you wouldn’t stay. You are so mean!"

"That will be enough, son," Fenton said warningly.

Frank took a deep breath and straightened his shoulders. "I’m sorry I was rude, but it’s how I feel and I wanted you to know. And-" he stopped at Fenton’s frown and turned to his brother. Joe was huddled in his chair, feet on the seat, arms locked around his legs and his face on his knees.

"Well, Gertrude?"

His sister said nothing, simply got up from her chair.

"I believe you owe Joe an apology," Laura said sharply. "Both for misrepresenting his remark and for your attitude about it. Frank and Joe may not be adults, but they’re as entitled to their opinions as you are to yours. If one or both of them don’t like you, then perhaps you might want to reconsider your behavior towards them. Perhaps if they didn’t find you ‘mean’, this sort of thing wouldn’t happen."

"You know very well I am anything but ‘mean’ to them, Laura, and-"

"You’re nothing but mean!" Joe cried out, suddenly lifting his head. "You yell, you frown, you scold us, you tell us to be quiet, you say we’re bad when we aren’t- everything you do is mean! Everything we do, you say something nasty about! And you like making us feel bad!" Overwhelmed at his own audacity, the ten-year-old ducked his head back down and burst into tears.

"Laura, why don’t you take the boys upstairs. I think things are getting a little too emotional," Fenton suggested quietly. His wife rose with alacrity and coaxed her youngest to stand so she could lead him upstairs. Frank cast a glower at Gertrude over his shoulder as he followed, holding his brother’s hand.

***

"Fenton-"

The detective stood up from his chair and gripped his elder sister’s arm. Guiding her into the room that would now be her bedroom, he closed the door and turned to her. "You will apologize to Joe for deliberately twisting his words. That is not an option, Gert."

"Adults do not-"

"Adults who have any sense whatsoever of responsibility apologize when they have done something wrong. Underhanded, even."

"Fenton, I swear to you, I did not hear what Frank claims Joe said. I heard exactly what I told you."

"And did you have your hearing aid in?"

Gertrude’s gaze fell. "You know how I hate that thing," she finally replied in resigned tones.

"I think we can trust Frank’s take on the matter. He’s remarkably objective for his age," Fenton pointed out tightly. "And if you didn’t have the device hooked up and working- Gert, you know perfectly well your hearing is bad, why didn’t you ask him if he’d said what you thought you heard? Is it really so awful to ask a child to clarify? Kids slur and stutter all the time, especially when they’re emotional."

The older woman heaved a sigh. "I thought I heard him say I wasn’t welcome, wasn’t liked, and- it- why would I want such a thing clarified?"

"To verify that he didn’t say it," her brother retorted sharply. "Now, there’s no compromise on this. You will apologize, like it or not. I won’t have any of that ‘kids are unworthy of apologies’ bull that Father tried to drive into your head. It’s wrong. And it’ll only make them think less of you if you don’t."

"Seems they think poorly enough of me as it is," Gertrude muttered, sitting down on the freshly made bed. "Calling me mean-!"

"Gert, you are not kind to them."

"Fenton-!"

"You aren’t! Joe was absolutely right. You don’t show affection the way that Laura and I do. They don’t know how to look under the surface and see your good intentions. They don’t see you trying to improve them, they see you ordering them around and being sharp and cross. More to the point, sister, is this: that sort of improvement is not yours to deal out! Laura and I can raise our children without the need for this...harshness. I realize it’s due to how Father raised you and Miles and I, but that’s all the more reason to knock it off. You know perfectly well how deeply you resented Father. You said to me often enough that you felt nothing you ever did was good enough for him. From being born, onwards."

"Don’t remind me," Gertrude said bitterly. "You and Miles were his sons, and all he ever wanted was a son. I was a mighty disappointment, especially being the eldest-"

"I was there, Gert. I remember," Fenton said more gently. "And that was when I made up my mind to raise my children with love, not harshness. I don’t know why you’re using Father’s tactics, but you’ve got to stop. You’re doing to my sons what Father did to you, and I’m not going to tolerate it."

His sister stared at him for a moment, then buried her face in her hands.

***

"Feeling better?" Laura asked softly, pausing in her gentle backrub. Joe, lying face-down on the bed, nodded. His tears had stopped and his breathing was calmer. Backrubs did a great job of soothing an upset child, the mother thought affectionately, smoothing her younger son’s rumpled hair.

"Don’t worry, Joe. Dad believes you," Frank tried to reassure his brother. He was seated at the end of the bed, occasionally patting his Joe’s leg. Laura had a feeling that this gesture of Frank’s had done as much as the backrub to calm the distraught child.

"Of course he does," she agreed. "You’re a truthful boy, Joe." She hadn’t forgotten how hard he’d taken it- was it really just a few days ago?- when she’d accused him of lying about using the pinking shears on her sewing project.

"Mommy," Joe whispered, turning to look at her, "why’s she so mean all the time? She never said anything when I asked why she didn’t like us. Why doesn’t she?"

"Your aunt doesn’t realize that the way she behaves to you is unkind," Laura tried to explain. "It’s how your grandfather raised his children- things were very different then. They believed in being very stern and strict, to make sure their kids grew up ‘right’. "Spare the rod and spoil the child"- it meant that if you didn’t discipline them, weren’t harsh with them, they’d grow up spoiled. It wasn’t until later that they began to realize all that strictness usually did more harm than good- it made kids angry at their parents, but too afraid to say anything about it. So the kids would get rebellious and do bad things just to have a way of getting back at their parents." Laura paused and sighed. "I was luckier than your aunt and your father, my parents were part of the more enlightened times. They felt that even though I was little and didn’t know as much as them, I could still have very important feelings and thoughts."

"Dad’s not like her," Frank said thoughtfully as Joe turned over onto his back. Both the boys were wearing very intent expressions as they took in what she was saying.

"No, your father and your uncle Miles got treated less harshly. Your grandfather was disappointed in having a daughter, you see. But your father still holds a lot of resentment towards Grandpa. It was when he was about your age, Frank, that your father made up his mind to raise his kids properly- which is to say treating them with respect and love- instead of the way his own father had done."

Joe’s brow furrowed. "Grandpa doesn’t respect Dad?" he asked incredulously.

Frank looked equally astonished. "How could anyone not respect Dad?" he wondered, looking at Laura with a puzzled frown.

The woman smiled, thinking that she must remember to tell her husband about this reaction. He’d be very touched- and pleased. "He does now. But he didn’t when your father was a child," she clarified.

"Oh."

"It’s hard to think of Dad as a kid," Joe remarked thoughtfully.

"I’ll have to show you some of the pictures sometime," Laura was saying when the door opened. Joe swiftly sat up as Laura turned to see Gertrude standing there. But she didn’t look like she was planning to deliver another lecture. Just the opposite, she looked... almost embarrassed.

"I wanted to tell you I’m sorry," the older woman said quietly. "I mis-heard what you said earlier. I’m glad you didn’t tell me I’m not wanted here. And I will try very hard not to be so- so cross, but please be patient with me. I do care about you- both of you- but I am not very good at showing it. When I am worried or upset, I usually sound as if I was angry, and I usually am not."

Joe looked very taken aback. He obviously had no idea what to say in reply to this extraordinary development. Frank looked more unconvinced than surprised, but spoke up after a few seconds. "Maybe if you just remind us now and then that you’re not mad or something, that would help us be patient," he suggested.

"I’ll try that." Gertrude gave him a rather forced smile and looked at Joe, who still had not opened his mouth.

"I think you’ve startled him," Laura offered. Joe’s expression was still one of complete astonishment; he’d probably have been less surprised if the sun had suddenly turned purple. "Thank you, Gert, I know that couldn’t’ve been easy for you."

Finally Joe stirred, nodding. "Thanks for telling me," he echoed. "I really thought you didn’t like me at all, and I didn’t know why not. I’m glad it’s not like that."

"Well." Gertrude let out a breath. "This is quite a beginning to what I’m sure will be an eventful time! Now, I know you two have already had chocolate today-" She paused, looking from one boy to the other. Laura hid a smile at the expressions on her sons’ faces; they looked as though they could see their desserts vanishing.

"So I suppose neither of you is interested in chocolate chip cookies. Which means, Laura, that you and Fenton and I will have to eat them all. Too bad, I made so many..."

"I am!" Frank cried eagerly, bouncing up from the bed.

"Me too!" Joe chimed in, bouncing on the bed.

"Really? You’re sure you aren’t tired of chocolate by now?"

"We never get tired of chocolate!" Frank declared, grinning.

"Amazing, isn’t it? Well, come down and clear your plates and we’ll see what we can do to reduce the overabundance," Laura suggested with a laugh. And as the boys ran full tilt for the stairs and the dining room, she turned to her sister-in-law with a chuckle. "You are one devious lady, Miss Hardy."

The angular woman’s face had softened with a smile. "My father would never approve," she said quietly. "Running and yelling...such an overload of emotions...more than one treat in a day...he would have lectured them for an hour, at the top of his voice- then probably made them write a hundred lines or so about controlling themselves." She shook her head. "And my father," she finished firmly, drawing herself up, "would have been utterly in the wrong if he did." She looked at Laura. "I’ll do my best to not let Father talk through me anymore, Laura. But please do give me a frown if I start backsliding. The last thing in the world that I want to do is break their spirits."

‘As yours was broken,’ Laura thought, but she kept that to herself. "I will. C’mon, we’d better get down there before they eat the whole batch of cookies," she said, taking the older woman’s arm. "I’d like a few for myself!"

***

"What do you want to play today?"

"I dunno." Joe frowned. "I can’t think of anything right now."

It was nearly ten in the morning. Both boys were sitting on the back porch, gazing idly over the grass and racking their brains for something exciting to do.

In the week that had passed since they’d ‘captured the jewel thieves’, Fenton Hardy had given his sons several more lessons about detecting techniques. The boys had had a lot of fun experimenting with them, but today they were feeling rather uninspired. The problem was, Dad had left on a new mystery yesterday and the boys were morose about it. Much as they loved their mother, the house never really felt right when Dad was away.

At least, Joe thought, there hadn’t been any more explosions with their Aunt. He was still a little surprised that she’d actually apologized and said she liked them, and both he and Frank had been a little doubtful about it for a couple days. But he was pretty sure now that she really meant it. She was still sort of sharp sometimes, but it was a more funny kind of sharp than before. Teasing, sort of. Like the way she’d teased them about the cookies.

"I wish Chet was out of school," he murmured, making a mental leap from cookies to their pal who loved to eat. "We could work on the treehouse with him."

"Yeah. Well, we can do that tomorrow, since it’s Saturday then." Frank didn’t sound enthusiastic.

Joe sat up straight. "Hey, why don’t we play that hunter thing Dad told us about? You know, one’s the wolf hiding and the other is the hunter trying to find him? That way we can practice, and when he comes home we can show him we got good at it." Showing Dad that they were practicing his lessons sounded like a great idea to him. Dad would be happy when he heard, and they never knew when it might be useful

Frank raised his eyebrows as he thought it over. "Okay," he said, cheering up a bit. "Let’s go into the woods, that’s where wolves are a lot. And there’s more to hide behind, too; the meadow would be too tough."

"Yeah." Both the boys hopped up. "Who gets to be the wolf first?"

Frank grinned. "You sound like you want to be him. If that’s what you want, go ahead, since you thought of it."

"Cool!" Joe grinned back and picked up his pace as they approached the woods.

"Now remember the rules. You get two minutes for a head start, then you can either find a den and stay there- like hide and seek- or you can keep moving and try to catch the hunter. Like tag, except we’re both It."

Joe nodded. "And you can’t watch me go," he reminded his brother.

"Right." Frank turned his back and stared down at his watch; Joe took the opportunity and scurried away.

The best thing to do, Joe decided after panting through the forest for five minutes- and making a terrible racket in the process- was to ‘den up’ and wait to see if Frank could find him. If he kept going the way he was now, Frank would find him right away just by the noise! Joe stopped, looked around and frowned at his options. There was a prickly bush, a couple of skinny trees and a few other shrubs that wouldn’t hide a mouse. Then he spotted a pile of old leaves; it was off to the side of the rough path that he was standing on. That would work! He lay down by a tree and used the leaves to cover himself. He was sorry he couldn’t climb a tree, but who’d ever heard of a wolf in a tree? At least the leaves were all dry and there didn’t seem to be anything nasty crawling around in them. Like spiders.

Joe grimaced, wishing he hadn’t thought of that, and wondered if he had time to change his mind and find somewhere else to den. But a moment later he heard footsteps rustling nearby. Joe held his breath as the footsteps drew nearer, more because he was trying to squash a sudden urge to laugh than because he really thought his brother would hear him breathing. The footsteps slowed a little- Frank was only a few steps away now- and then, suddenly, Frank gasped in a breath and let out a terrifying scream!

Joe sat straight up in shock and caught one glimpse of his brother flailing wildly at the air before Frank turned and ran like crazy. Then movement caught his wide eyes and he nearly screamed himself. A thick stream of bees was pouring up into the air from the ground! Joe sprang up and flung himself through the forest, not knowing or caring where he ran, just as long as it was away from the bees!

After running full-tilt for several minutes, Joe found himself suddenly slithering down a steep bank and into Willow River with a splash. He sat sputtering for a moment, half-dazed from fear and the sudden cold of the water. Then he remembered why he’d been running and scrambled to his feet, casting a scared look over his shoulder. No bees.

"Whew!" Joe stood panting, knee-deep in water, and shivered. He’d never seen anything like that in his whole life. Where had all those bees come from? Maybe their nest had fallen from a branch- or maybe someone had knocked it down. It was just lucky he hadn’t stepped on it himself... His eyes went wide as he remembered his brother’s terrified scream. "Oh, gosh," he whispered between breaths of air. "What if they’re chasing Frank?"

Biting his lip, Joe started splashing downstream, still wondering what exactly had happened and what in the world to do about it. He’d seen a scary movie once about a huge swarm of bees; they had stung people till the people died. But that had been a big swarm, enough to cover a whole town, so that probably wasn’t going to happen. After all, the awful bugs weren’t even at the river yet. With this comforting thought in mind, Joe gathered the nerve to leave the river and run over the forest floor. He cringed with almost every step, more than half-expecting another swarm to start boiling out of the ground. The buzz of a fly near his face gave him a bad scare, but when he realized what it was, he calmed down a little. Eventually he reached the edge of the woods and looked worriedly around for his brother.

‘There he is!’ Sitting on the ground and leaning against a tree not far from where they’d started was a small figure with dark hair. "Frank!" the ten-year-old called gladly, and ran to his brother’s side. But what Joe saw when he reached Frank made him start to shake. Frank’s face was all stung and swollen; his arms were stung, his legs... His eyes were closed and he was breathing so weird, gasping. "Frank? Frank! Can- can you walk home?" Joe asked timidly, afraid to touch his brother. It would probably hurt!

Frank’s swollen eyes opened just the slightest bit.

"Get..."

Joe started, leaned forward to catch what his brother was saying between gasps of air.

"...help..."

Get help. "I- I will!" Joe bit his lip, jumped to his feet and ran for home, running faster than he ever had in his life. Across the meadow, down the street, up the steps...why was it taking so long?! "Mom! Mom, something’s wrong with Frank!" he tried to shout as he charged into the house. He was panting too much to shout very loud, though.

"What?" Laura came out of the kitchen, a glass in her hands. "What’s happened?"

"We- we were in the woods. I was hiding, he was looking for me, and then he screamed and there were all these bees and-" Joe gasped in a breath. "And we ran and he got stung all over and he’s breathing so weird, he could hardly even say anything!"

Laura’s face went pale and she whirled. Joe edged into the kitchen and watched as his mother swiftly picked up the phone and dialed three numbers. She tapped her fingers impatiently against the wall for a moment or two, frowning, then spoke. "Hello? Yes, my son is having an allergic reaction to multiple bee stings. He’s having difficulty breathing- Joe, where is he?"

"In- the meadow, right by the trees, close by the river," the boy choked. Tears were slowly streaking his face. If Mom was scared, something must be horribly wrong!

"By the meadow at the end of Elm street, near the forest. Yes. Hardy. Thank you." Laura hung up the phone. "The ambulance is coming for him. Take me to where he is. Were there any more bees where he’s sitting?" Her expression was trying to be calm, but Joe could hear how worried she was.

"I d-didn’t see any," Joe sniffed. "Or hear any. And I was listening hard!" He led the way out of the house and ran back down the street, his mother following behind him. "There," he gasped, skidding to a halt as he reached the meadow. He put a hand on his side; he had a terrible stitch! His mother ran past him and sort of fell to her knees beside Frank. Joe pushed on and reached them in time to see Laura press her finger lightly against the side of Frank’s forehead.

"His breathing. Is it worse or better than when you left him?"

Joe listened. There was a wheezing, whistling sound with every breath. "It- he wasn’t making that noise, before," he answered uncertainly.

Laura nodded, frowning, then lifted Frank into her arms and started to carry him towards the far side of the meadow. Joe trailed behind, looking up at the sound of a siren. "Thank God," he heard his mother murmur, and wiped at the renewed tears that wouldn’t stop coming out of his darn eyes.

As they reached the street, the men from the ambulance met them. Joe watched as they took his brother from Mom’s arms and put him on a stretcher, then hurried down and put the stretcher into the emergency vehicle. Then they closed the doors and drove Frank away, siren howling and lights flaring.

"Joe, listen to me," Laura said softly, crouching before him and taking his hands. "First, did you get stung?"

The ten-year-old tore his gaze from the rapidly-departing emergency vehicle and looked at his mother. "N-no," he whimpered, shivering despite the heat of the day.

"Good." Mom hugged him tight, even though he was still all wet from falling into Willow River. He sniffed against her shoulder for a moment, feeling just slightly less scared. "You did exactly right, honey, and because you did, I’m sure Frank’s going to be okay."

"I h-hope so." Joe stood up straight again and rubbed his cheeks with his arm. Mom stood up too and took his hand.

"Hurry, now, we need to get home. You’re going to stay with your aunt and I’m going to drive to the hospital to be with Frank."

"I want to go with you!" Joe protested tearfully. "I want to be with him, too!"

"Honey, you can’t. You have to be fourteen to see someone in the hospital," his mother replied, urging him down the street. "Stay home with your aunt and be good, and if your father calls, tell him what happened. All right? I’ll tell Frank you’re thinking about him."

That was as good as he was going to get, the boy realized miserably. He trotted behind Laura as she strode down the street, feeling his stitch start to ache again. At least it wasn’t far to go. When they got home he didn’t go in the house, but sat down on the front steps to catch his breath. Mom hurried inside; she came out again a minute or two later carrying her purse. She paused to kiss him, then got into the car and drove away.

Joe stared after the car until it turned the corner, then slowly got to his feet and went inside. He dragged himself up the stairs to his room, stopped in the doorway, then changed his mind and went further down the hall and into his brother’s room. Flopping on the bed, he buried his face in Frank’s pillow and cried hard. Frank was sick, badly sick. He’d never had to go to the hospital before. And in an ambulance! Joe knew what that meant; it meant someone’s life was in danger.

‘What if Frank dies?’ was the thought that consumed him. Bad enough he was so sick, couldn’t breathe; bad enough he was sick enough for Mom to get scared. The thought of his brother in a hospital room with doctors all around, machines and needles and goodness knew what else- that was awful enough, but what if he died? The people in the movie had died from being stung too much. And everyone knew movies exaggerated. Maybe in a movie it took a hundred stings for someone to die; maybe in real life it only took ten!

***

Frank Hardy was very scared.

He’d never been in an ambulance before. He’d never been stung by sixty-million bees before. And he had never, ever had his throat start feeling smaller and smaller until he could hardly get any breath!

He wondered if he was going to die, and the thought made his slender body shake uncontrollably. He wished Mom and Dad were there; he wished Joe was there. Instead it was just a strange guy in a medical suit, doing things like checking Frank’s pulse and putting a mask over Frank’s nose and mouth. That must be an oxygen mask, there was air coming out of it and it did make it easier to get his breath. The stings hurt like crazy, but Frank tried not to squirm. He knew that the more you scratched a mosquito bite, the more it itched; it was probably the same with bee stings, except hurting, not itching.

The man didn’t say anything, didn’t even seem very interested. Once he’d finished checking Frank over, he just sat quietly beside the boy, frowning a little. Frank tried to stop shaking, but he couldn’t. Where had all those bees come from? They’d looked like they were flying out of the ground! Why did it have to happen to him? One thing he knew: when he got home, he wasn’t going to play in Willow Woods anymore!

If he got home...

A few minutes later, the ambulance slowed down and then stopped. The doors opened and the man did something with the stretcher. Frank wasn’t paying much attention, he just lay still and wished he wasn’t so dizzy as they rolled him into the hospital.

Inside, it was cool and busy-noisy and people were hurrying all over the place. His stretcher was rolled down halls and around corners and the ambulance guy spoke over Frank’s head to a woman doctor, using complicated words. Frank felt tears sliding out of the corners of his eyes; this place was too big and too scary and he felt so awful...he wanted Mom! The rolling stretcher stopped in a room and the man who had pushed it left. The woman doctor stayed and took Frank’s wrist, and another man came in with a tray of medical stuff. This guy ran a cold, wet piece of cotton over Frank’s other arm and then stuck a needle in!

"Ow!" It was just a gasp through the oxygen mask, but the guy heard it.

"Oh, c’mon, it’s no worse than-" the man stopped suddenly, cleared his throat.

"Is so," Frank choked, suddenly resentful. Grown-ups, they always said the same thing about shots. ‘No worse than a bee sting.’ Ha!

The man wrapped tape around the needle and Frank’s arm, and didn’t say anything else. He looked a little embarrassed, though. Then the woman was shining a light into Frank’s eyes, pressing her fingers against his throat and frowning. She turned to the man and said something that started with, "Thirty cc’s of-" and got more complicated after that.

"Where’s my Mom?" Frank managed to ask as the man went out.

"She’ll be here soon. What’s your name?"

"Frank Hardy," the boy whispered. He was even more dizzy now. "Feel like...I’m falling..." It seemed to take a tremendous effort to talk.

The man came back in with a pole that had a bag hanging from it. Frank watched, panting into the mask, as the doctor quickly attached the bag to a long tube and the tube to the needle in his arm. "Stay with him. He’s going into shock," she told the man briefly. "I’m going to call down for a vital signs..."

That was the last thing Frank really noticed for a while. He could still sort of hear and feel, but he couldn’t keep his eyes open, and he kept getting that dizzy falling feeling. He tried to listen, having the feeling that he better not sleep, but nothing made any sense and after a while he started to cry quietly. What was happening to him? Where was Mom? He wished again that Joe was there; Joe would sit beside him and tell him a silly story to make him smile and feel better. Joe always did that whenever Frank wasn’t feeling good. Even when Frank had chicken pox and Joe couldn’t come in the room, he’d sat outside the door and talked through the crack and made Frank laugh.

The eleven-year-old had no idea how long it was before he noticed the dizzy feeling seemed to be going away, but it felt like a very long time. After a while, he realized that someone was holding his hand, that there was a blanket over him, and that he wasn’t shaking anymore. Opening his eyes, he looked into his mother’s serious face. "Oh, Mom," he whispered, and somewhat to his own surprise, started crying again. "I’m scared."

"You’re all right now, honey," Laura assured him gently. She reached over to a little table he hadn’t seen, pulled a tissue out of a box, and wiped the sides of his face. "You’re going to be back to normal very soon. You’ll be staying here tonight, but they’ll probably let you go home tomorrow."

Frank’s tears slowed to a stop; he heaved a deep, trembly sigh of relief and noticed in passing that it was much easier to breathe. "Is Joey here?"

"He couldn’t come. You have to be fourteen to visit people in the hospital," his mother explained.

"Bet he’s mad about that."

"He was pretty unhappy, yes. He wanted to be with you."

The thought made Frank feel warm inside and he relaxed even further. "What- what’s wrong with me?" he asked rather tremulously.

"You’re allergic, I guess," his mother answered. "Either that or you just got too many stings for your body to deal with. You know how a bee sting swells up-" Laura pushed back the blanket and pointed to his arm, where the swollen bumps still showed red on his tan skin. "What happened was that all those stings made your throat swell up too, so that you couldn’t get enough air. So they’ve given you a medication to take the swelling down, and as soon as you feel well enough, you won’t need the mask anymore."

So it had affected him both inside and outside. Weird. And scary! "They were in the ground," he said wonderingly, remembering that aspect. "I’ve never seen bees come out of the ground before."

"Yellow-jackets," Laura muttered. "They look like bees, but they’re more like wasps, they can sting more than one time without dying. And they’re much more aggressive than regular bees. They often make nests in the ground."

Frank had a feeling he knew what ‘aggressive’ meant; the horrid things had chased him through the woods for a long way before he finally got away from them. He told Mom that; after that he didn’t feel like talking anymore so he didn’t. He just lay still with his eyes closed, gripping his mother’s comforting hand.

***

"Joe?"

Joe started at the sound of his aunt’s voice, turned over and sat up. "Y-yes?" he asked shakily, too miserable to care if she noticed he’d been crying or not. He’d finally stopped crying, and had just been laying still and feeling scared for what felt like a very long time.

"Your mother just called from the hospital. She wanted me to tell you that Frank’s doing much better. He’s not in as much pain, and his breathing is nearly back to normal. He’s talking and asking questions."

A smile spread slowly over the troubled boy’s face. If Frank was asking questions, he was fine. Well, maybe not fine, exactly, but he couldn’t be dying... "I- I was afraid he might die!" he blurted out, before considering that Auntie G might laugh at him.

"People have died from bee stings," Gertrude agreed. "But you got him help so quickly, he wasn’t in nearly as much danger of it." She walked into the room and laid a light hand on his head. "Your mother said he was wishing you were there."

Joe wasn’t sure whether to smile at being wanted or scowl at not being able to be with Frank in the hospital. The resulting expression was a rather peculiar one. "When is he gonna come home?"

"Probably some time tomorrow."

That was definitely something to frown about, and Joe did so. "Not tonight?"

"They want to make sure he won’t relapse," his aunt explained. Joe blinked at her and she added, "A relapse is- is when the thing that’s wrong fools everyone into thinking it’s gone when it isn’t. Like if you have a cold and you think you’ve gotten better, so you go out ice-skating and come home feeling sick again."

"Ohhh. Sneaky!" Joe exclaimed, scowling. "No fair."

"So it wouldn’t do any good to bring him home and then the swelling starts making it hard for him to breathe again," Gertrude concluded. "Your mother will be home later tonight, though. Since he’s in good shape, they won’t need her to stay past visiting hours. It’s getting late," she added, changing the subject. "Nearly six- come down and help me with supper."

Joe nodded, then looked at his dirty, damp clothes. "I should wash, I guess," he said ruefully. "I fell into the river when I was running away from the bees."

"You are quite messy. Go do that," Gertrude agreed mildly, and went back downstairs. Joe slid off his brother’s bed and went down to the bathroom, suddenly noticing he needed to use the room for more than one reason. After he was clean, or at least cleaner, he went downstairs, but slowly. He was thinking that, though he wished Mom was home, it would be better if she could stay with Frank. Frank wouldn’t like being alone in the hospital all night. But then, he’d be sleeping, wouldn’t he? And how could Mom sleep if she was in the hospital room?

Joe eventually forgot his questions as he helped his aunt with the supper. He set the table, peeled the carrots and potatoes, held his nose when she chopped the onions, and did all the running back and forth to the refrigerator for butter, milk, grapes, and a bunch of other stuff. When everything suddenly halted, there was a pot of wonderful-smelling stew, warm bread with butter and little bowls of fruit salad.

It was while Joe was finishing up his dessert, a small bowl of chocolate and vanilla ice cream, that the door opened and his mother walked in, looking weary but much less worried. Joe dropped his spoon, launched himself out of his chair, and flung his arms around Mom’s waist. "Oof," Laura Hardy remarked, dropping her purse, and then she hugged him. "You’re getting very strong, Joe."

"Is- Frank’s-?"

"He’s all right. They still haven’t decided when they’ll let him go home, though; it depends how quickly he improves, how he does tonight. And when he gets home, there’s some precautions we’ll need to take. He’s going to have to get shots each week to desensitize him to bee stings," Mom explained, as much to Aunt Gertrude as to Joe himself. "And he’ll have to carry an emergency kit, just in case he gets stung again before the shots take effect."

"He won’t have to administer his own shot, will he?" Gertrude sounded concerned.

"They said they have it in tablet form."

This discussion was leaving Joe behind, but he did gather one thing. "You mean if he gets stung again, this could happen all over?" he asked, appalled.

"Exactly. But once he’s had this series of shots, he won’t react that way anymore." Mom sat down and Auntie brought her a bowl of stew and a plate of bread. Joe returned to his own chair to finish his ice cream, frowning. Sounded nasty to him, to have to get shots in order not to get sick from bee stings.

"Did Fenton call?" Mom’s question brought Joe out of his muse and he shook his head, then heard his aunt reply.

"No, not yet."

Laura frowned, glancing over at the clock. It was nearly eight-thirty in the evening, Joe noticed. He also noticed that, while his mother didn’t say anything more, the frown didn’t leave her face. He wasn’t sure what to make of that, and was a little relieved to finish his ice cream, take his bowl and spoon in to the dishwasher, and head upstairs for his bath. It was always best to avoid Mom if she was mad, even if you weren’t involved.

He was just drying off when the phone rang. That wasn’t so unusual, even fairly late at night, but he hoped it wasn’t the hospital calling to say Frank had gotten one of those relapse things Auntie had talked about! Joe hauled on his pajamas so fast they nearly ripped, then hurried to the top of the stairs and listened to his mother’s voice. Mom was talking to someone about Frank being in the hospital. Then he heard her ask why they hadn’t called sooner, and knew it was Dad on the other end. Now he understood why she’d been frowning. She always worried when Dad was late calling; she was afraid he’d get hurt.

Joe returned to the bathroom and brushed his teeth, then went down to Frank’s room and straightened up the bed; it was rumpled from him laying on it earlier in the day. Frank was always so neat with his stuff... Joe sat down on the bed and looked around the room, wondering how his brother managed to be so organized. Mom was always after Joe to keep his room a little neater, but Joe could find whatever he was looking for in there without having to open all his drawers or his closet...

The boy yawned, hearing footsteps come up the stairs. A minute or two later, Mom was standing in the doorway. She was smiling now. "That was your father calling. He should be home the day after tomorrow."

"Good!" Joe got plenty of enthusiasm into it, but a moment later he yawned again. Mom smiled and beckoned.

"Time for bed," she told him. "It’s been a very eventful day." Joe didn’t argue, just slid off the bed and pattered down the hall in his bare feet. He remembered his mother tucking him in and kissing his cheek, and then he didn’t remember anything.

***

"When is he coming down?" Joe Hardy murmured impatiently, trying not to squirm in his chair in the busy waiting room of Bayport General Hospital. His mother, seated beside him, just sighed and gave him an irritable look.

Joe pressed his lips shut and sat on his hands. He knew he’d asked that question too many times, and he knew if he kept it up, his mother would get seriously annoyed. She didn’t know when the doctors would bring Frank down, whether he’d be in a wheelchair, whether he’d feel like doing anything, or any of the other questions Joe had peppered her with. But she was a grown-up, he thought half indignantly. She was supposed to know stuff!

Something else was bothering Joe, too- something he hadn’t mentioned to his mother, because he wasn’t sure she’d understand how important it was. And he wasn’t at all sure what to do about it. His eye kept catching the little gift shop over in a corner of the waiting room and wondering what he was going to do about the get-well. You were supposed to give people who got sick a card to tell them you wanted them to get better- and Joe had really, really wanted Frank to get better! But he hadn’t done it, and now Frank was better- and Joe wasn’t quite sure what to make of the situation. He wanted to go over and get a card from the shop, but wouldn’t Mom just say it was too late?

"Finally," Laura murmured. Joe looked up, startled from his thoughts, and saw his brother and a woman in a white coat step out of the elevator. The blond boy pulled his hands out from under him, hopped off the chair- and was firmly restrained by his mother when he would have dashed across the waiting room. "You’re going to knock someone over and hurt them," Laura said sternly. "Walk, please, don’t run."

So Joe walked as fast as he could past the rows of chairs with people sitting in them, and people standing around in his way and talking, and kids playing with toys and watching the big screen television. Towards his brother, who hadn’t seen them yet and who was looking around with an anxious frown. "Frank!" he called out, but there was an announcement being made and his brother couldn’t hear him because of it. "Stupid, shut up!" Joe hissed crossly at the speaker overhead.

And then Frank saw him and his dark eyes lit up with his happy smile. Joe forgot about walking and ran to his brother’s side; he was about to hug Frank but then he saw the sting marks on his brother’s arms and wondered if it would hurt. Probably, he thought, so he just stood there grinning and suddenly feeling a little shy. "Are you okay?" was the only thing he could think of to say.

Frank nodded. "I’m kinda tired," he began as Mom came up.

"Joe, I asked you not to run. You nearly knocked over an old gentleman with a cane. I want you to go back and apologize to him," Laura said. She didn’t sound very mad, but Joe bit his lip and looked at the floor. "Right now," she added, and Joe turned dejectedly to see the old man looking at him curiously.

Fortunately, the old man was very understanding when Joe explained why he’d been in such a hurry. "Don’t worry about it, sonny," he said in a cracked old voice. "Tell you the truth, if I had your energy, I’d probably knocking some people out of my way, myself. Too many people in too small an area here. Go on and git your big brother home and enjoy the pretty day."

"Thank you, sir," Joe said gratefully, and turned back to where he’d left his mother and brother. Then he blinked; they were gone.

"Over here," he heard, and then as he looked wildly around, Frank appeared and grasped his hand. "Mom’s at the desk, doing the discharge thing and talking to the doctor," the dark-haired boy explained.

"Oh. Goodbye, sir," Joe managed over his shoulder with a little wave. The old man smiled and lifted the cane in farewell. "He’s nice," the younger boy remarked, and repeated what the gentleman had said. Frank laughed.

"I know how he feels," he agreed, winding through the narrow spaces between the rows of chairs. Then they reached the doors and stood there, waiting for their mother and keeping out of the way as people went in and out.

"You’re really okay?" Joe asked again, looking over at his brother with concerned eyes. Frank’s normally dark skin seemed paler and his eyes were rather red.

"Well, I was okay until they told me I’d have to get a shot every week!" Frank answered wryly. Joe made a grimace of sympathy. "And I’m awful tired, ‘cause they kept waking me up all night to take my temperature and stuff. I- well, I don’t feel like doing anything much. I guess Chet will be disappointed, he wants to work on the treehouse..."

"He was by this morning, before we left," Joe recalled. "He was a little disappointed, but he was cool about it. He said to tell you hi when I saw you, and said we can work on the treehouse anytime."

Frank smiled, relieved. "That’s nice of him."

Joe nodded and inched a bit closer. "I’d’ve given you a hug," he said shyly. "’Cept it looks like it might not feel very good."

Frank looked at his arms and made a face. "It doesn’t hurt too much," he replied. "But- it doesn’t exactly feel great, either. It’s like having a really bad mosquito bite that you scratched too much; itchy and sore at the same time. They put some weird gel stuff on and it helped a lot, but it wears off."

Laura approached then, smiling, and waved towards the doors. The boys scampered out and Joe guided his brother towards where the car was parked. By the time they got there, Frank looked even more tired, and he flopped down in the back seat with a sigh. Joe slid in beside him, frowned a little, then scooted to the far edge of the seat and patted his knees. Frank turned his head and regarded the younger boy for a moment; then enlightenment crossed his face and he lay down across the seat, resting his head on Joe’s lap. By the time they got home, he was sound asleep.

***

"Am I still in the hospital?" Frank Hardy stared at the white ceiling above him with a frown.

"No," his brother’s voice answered at once. "Were you dreaming about it?"

Frank sat up, both surprised and pleased to see that he was in his own bed at home. "The ceilings are the same color," he explained, rubbing carefully at his eyes and then looking at his brother. Joe was sitting at the end of the bed, paging through a comic book. He’d been doing that for a while, if the pile of comics beside him was any sign. Looking at the nightstand clock, Frank blinked in renewed surprise to see that it was nearly two-thirty. "Gosh, I slept a lot," he muttered.

"Mom said that the doctor said that that was normal." Joe put his comic book down. "Especially if they woke you up fifty times last night."

"I don’t think it was fifty, but I wasn’t counting," the eleven-year-old returned, amused. "But it was a lot, and they always did the same thing, too. I was glad when they took that mask off- it was to help me breathe," he added in explanation to Joe’s perplexed look. "And it did, but it wasn’t very comfortable." Frank rubbed his arm reminiscently, recalling the IV needle. "In fact, none of it was. They stuck me with a needle, here." He held out his arm and Joe scooted up to look.

"Jeez, you’ve got a bruise and a half. That must’ve been a big needle," Joe said uneasily, idly flicking his finger against the hospital ID bracelet that still hung from Frank’s wrist.

"It wasn’t really, but it made a big pain." The older boy frowned.

"That sucks. I wish I’d been there, but-"

"I know, Mom told me." Frank wrapped an arm around his blond brother’s shoulders, heedless of any discomfort. "I wished you were there, too. That’s just dumb, making people be fourteen to go see somebody. I woulda felt better if you were there."

Joe ducked his cheek against Frank’s chest and put his own arm around the older boy. "Frank?" he said hesitantly. "I- I wanted to make you a get-better card, but you got better so fast I didn’t have time to. I’m glad," he added quickly, "but-"

Frank grinned and hugged his brother. Joe always sounded so shy when he was trying to do something nice for people. "It’s okay. It was a nice thought, and that’s the important part."

"Well..." Joe didn’t sound convinced. "See, I was gonna put a little story in it, to make you feel better, since I couldn’t be there and tell you myself. Dumb rules," he added as an afterthought.

"Oh! You can tell it to me anyway, though, right?" Frank coaxed, letting go of Joe so they could both sit up straight again. His brother’s stories were always wild flights of imagination; they’d never really happen, but they were a lot of fun to listen to.

"Yeah," Joe replied, brightening. "Okay, well, this is about a wolf that climbs trees..."

Frank laughed quietly and leaned back against the wall as the story unfolded.

"That was a very smart wolf," he commented as the tale ended.

"He was a werewolf," Joe explained. "And he got stuck and couldn’t turn into a man anymore, but he still thought like a man."

"Okay, that explains a lot. That’s why he could read the road signs?"

"Yeah." Joe looked very pleased, as he usually did after one of his stories was well-received. "And how he knew which tree to climb up, and how to climb. See, he used to be a phone-line repair guy."

Frank laughed again, and then- to his immense surprise- his laugh broke and there were tears behind it. The next thing he knew, he was crying and his brother was hugging him close and whispering, "What’s wrong? What’s the matter?" in a voice that was only one step above tears itself.

"I’m, I’m, okay," the older brother panted after a moment, trying to get a grip on himself. "I’m okay. I just...I’m so glad to be home. And I was so scared, Joe! I didn’t tell Mom, but I- thought..." He didn’t want to say it. He didn’t want to scare his brother- or himself- by saying it out loud.

"I think I thought what you thought," he heard Joe whisper in his ear. "I was scared, too, Frank. I remembered that horrible movie, and..." Joe stopped and sniffed rather violently. "And I couldn’t quit thinking about it, even though I really wanted to!"

"I c-couldn’t st-top thinking it either," the eleven-year-old sobbed softly. "An- and I didn’t want to- to- die."

"But you didn’t." Joe sniffed again and sat up, determination settling on his teary face. "You didn’t," he repeated firmly. "And you’re not gonna, and it’s not gonna happen again ‘cause you’re gonna have those shots- even if they’re awful. And they have that pill you carry around with you just in case, to keep it from ever happening again."

Frank stared into the blue eyes and let go of what was burning inside him. "But if it hadn’t been for you, I would’ve died. If you hadn’t been there- I heard the doctor say that it was a good thing it got reported so fast, ‘cause it was a poten- po- something... fatal reaction."

Joe’s eyes widened and a tear slithered down each cheek. They both knew what ‘fatal’ meant. But he didn’t lose his determined look. "That’s- that’s like when Dad says it was a good thing Sam was around or he might’ve got hurt," he remarked, his voice a little shaky. "That’s what detective partners do, right? They- they back each other up and make sure they don’t get hurt or- or killed. And we’re gonna be partners, so we do that too, and you’re my brother so I’d- I’d do it anyway, even if we weren’t partners!"

Frank flung his arms around his little brother and hugged him again, sighing in relief as the last of his fear started to fade away. Usually it was Frank who kept Joe from getting hurt; Joe was the one who didn’t stop to think what could go wrong. Not that Joe hadn’t managed to keep Frank from getting injured on several occasions, but Frank had never imagined that his younger brother might someday save his life.

Joe sniffed again and Frank looked around the room. Then he got up and fetched the box of tissues from the bathroom; both of them used several to remove the evidence of their emotions. "Oh," Joe said suddenly, throwing his tissues one at a time at the wastebasket and ‘scoring’ all of them. "Dad called last night and said he should be home tomorrow."

"That’s good!" Frank, not to be outdone, ‘scored’ as well. Then he leaned back against the wall and sighed. "Great, now I’m all tired again," he murmured, rubbing his eyes. A heavy weight came down across his legs and he smiled at his brother, who had suddenly sprawled over the bed- and Frank’s legs.

"Me, too. Actually, I’m hungry. It’s way after lunch." Joe sat up again. "Let’s go eat. Bet you feel better then."

Joe was right; after a good thick sandwich, a pile of chips and a glass of chocolate milk, Frank felt a great deal better. Not exactly energetic, but active enough to go down into the cool basement and hook up the computer for Tetris.

***

"Why are you being such a brat?" Frank exploded, stamping his foot on the porch and glaring at Joe. Joe looked back at him with his best ‘you’re not fooling me, dimwit’ look.

"I’m always a brat," he answered coolly. "According to you. I just want to know why you won’t come with us to work on the treehouse. And it’s not because you don’t feel good. You wanted to go roller-blading a little while ago. But you did promise to help, and you’re the one who made the plans for it, and-"

"Oh, shut up!" the older boy snapped, turning his back. Chet Morton looked from one Hardy to the other in dismay.

"Well, if he really doesn’t want to, I guess we won’t," the plump boy murmured, shrugging. Joe felt kind of bad for fighting with his brother in front of Chet- it was plain Chet was embarrassed about it and wasn’t sure whose side he should be on. "Joe, you and I could-"

"Yeah, but we’d probably do it all wrong and then we’d have to do it over again," Joe explained. "Unless- Frank, have you just decided you don’t care about the treehouse at all? ‘Cause if you aren’t interested, Chet and I can make our own plan."

He knew that was a mean thing to say, and he almost wished he hadn’t when he saw his brother’s hands clench into fists. But he also knew he wasn’t going to let his brother get away with lying to himself- or anyone else. To be scared but try and pretend he wasn’t was wrong, and that was just what Frank was trying to do. He wouldn’t admit that he felt scared to go near the place he’d been stung so badly, he’d just made up an excuse and expected them to believe it.

"Fine," Frank said tonelessly, still staring away from the two younger boys. "I’ll go with you. And if anything happens, it’s your fault," he added grimly, turning to glare at Joe.

"If you fall out of the tree or hammer your finger or get a splinter, it’s your own fault," Joe retorted with a shrug. "That’s about all that could happen. And you probably won’t be doing even that, if you really feel so awful." He turned to Chet, who looked he’d changed his mind about wanting Frank to come along. Joe didn’t really blame him; Frank didn’t get mad often, but when he did, he was almost as bad to be around as Mom. Just not as scary. "Let’s see if Auntie’ll give us some cookies. And I’ll bring my canteen, in case we get thirsty."

Chet brightened at the mention of cookies and followed the younger Hardy into the house. Frank followed, still looking surly, and he dragged well behind when the time came to walk through the meadow and up to the edge of the forest.

They didn’t get a lot done that day, since they got such a late start, and especially because Frank was incredibly jumpy at first. He seemed to think a swarm of yellow-jackets was going to hunt him down somehow, and spent a great deal of time nervously looking around between arranging boards and hammering in nails. But he did help, and after a time he even settled down a little and stopped flinching every time a gnat flew around his head. Chet was in a world of his own and cheerfully ignored both Frank’s jumpiness and the tension between the brothers. Joe was accustomed enough to Frank being mad at him to know it would probably not last very long.

By the time they stopped to take a break, the floor was nearly complete and the partial wall was a lot less partial. Plus, Frank wasn’t scowling every time he looked at Joe, so that was definitely good. There were more than enough of the peanut-butter cookies for all three of them, and since Frank had grudgingly brought his own canteen, there was plenty to drink.

After the snack and a rather long rest, they got back to work again, moving more slowly but enjoying it more than they had at first. Frank was a lot calmer, now that nothing horrible had happened- he hadn’t even gotten any splinters, while Chet and Joe had several each. Fortunately, they kept a pair of tweezers around, tied to a nail with string. It was something Frank had suggested after their first day of building, when they’d all had splinters.

As the sun started to sink, Chet stopped hammering and said with a sigh that he needed to go home. "I’ve got chores to do," he explained, rubbing absent-mindedly at his hair. He was still getting used to the crew-cut that he’d gotten a week ago. Joe had thought his friend looked a little weird at first, with his hair all flat and short and sticking up and sort of fuzzy-looking, but he was getting used to it. "I shoulda done ‘em this morning, but Ma let me off so I could come see you guys. We got a lot done!" he added proudly, thunking his hammer lightly against the sturdy floor and regarding the nearly complete wall. "Now we just need the other two walls here, and the roof, and the bridge over to that tree, and then we’ll have the first room done."

"The roof’ll be easy," Frank replied, looking down at the big sheet of plywood that was going to serve as the roof for this ‘room’. "All we’ll need to do is nail it down on the edges- take half an hour, maybe." That had been Tony’s contribution; it was a flawed piece of wood that his contractor father had given the boys.

"Yeah!" Chet grinned, then heaved another sigh. "I better go. See y’all. Thanks to your aunt for the cookies."

"See you, good luck in that horrible school," Joe told him.

"Later." Frank smiled as their pal descended the ladder and trudged off towards the town, walking his bicycle through the tall meadow grass. Chet lived in a farm several miles out of town, but regularly rode his bike in to see his friends. The Hardys, in their turn, often biked out to the farm to see Chet; his little sister Iola, who Joe thought was a lot more fun to play with than most little girls; and Mrs Morton. Chet’s mother was a fantastic cook and a very friendly lady. There was always something interesting to do or see on the farm, usually something to do with the animals. Mr. Morton wasn’t often there; he worked in real estate, but also delivered farm food- vegetables and stuff- to people and stores.

Joe pushed his thoughts away from Chet’s family and wiped his hand across his sweaty forehead. He regarded the piece of wood he’d just finished hammering into place, wondering if they’d finish the wall today. Then, as his hammer was yanked out of his hand, he figured probably not. "Gimme that back," he said calmly, turning to look at Frank. "Please," he added as an afterthought.

"We’re going home, you brat."

"Go ahead. I kinda-"

"I said, we are going home." Frank was scowling again.

"Why?"

"Because we are."

Joe had just about had enough. He’d kept his temper all day, he’d been reasonable, he hadn’t done anything to embarrass his brother in front of Chet. "You can’t boss me around like that," he said crossly. "If you have a reason, okay, but I’m not doing anything just ‘cause you say so."

"You’re the one that dragged me out here, so I get to decide when we leave," the older boy snapped. His hair was darker than usual with sweat, but he seemed not so much tired as uneasy.

"Why don’t you just admit you’re scared?" Joe asked irritably, too cross to be tactful any longer.

The question hung unanswered between them. Frank didn’t seem to know how to take the blunt attack. "Who- who says I am?" he said at last, unconvincingly.

"I do! Because you are," Joe shot back. "You have been all day."

"If you knew I was scared, why the devil did you make me come out here?!" Frank yelled, stamping his foot.

"If you were scared to come, why wouldn’t you just say so?" Joe retorted. "You think I’m gonna let you get away with lying to me, saying you don’t feel good, when the truth is that you’re scared you’ll get stung again?"

Frank just blinked at Joe, but he looked a little ashamed of himself.

"And I didn’t make you come out here. I just kept asking why you wouldn’t. And you wouldn’t answer," the blond boy reminded him. "I’m not stupid, all right? I knew what the problem was- but if you won’t even say that there’s a problem, what’m I supposed to do? Give you an excuse to be chicken?"

"Chicken?" Frank spluttered. He tried to say something more, failed, and turned to kick the tree as hard as he could.

"Being scared doesn’t make you chicken, big brother." Joe rather regretted his choice of words, but he was stuck with it now. "Being chicken is when you’re scared and try to act like you aren’t- like something else is the problem. It’s telling a lie and trying to make yourself believe it."

Frank stood very still, his arms at his sides, fists clenched again, shoulders tense and breath coming quickly. Finally he turned around again, but he couldn’t seem to meet Joe’s gaze. "Don’t- don’t you know how hard it is to say I’m scared?" he asked almost pleadingly. "Even...even when I know- especially when I know that what I’m scared of is probably never gonna happen?"

"Well, yeah," Joe agreed. "Especially then, because you think people will laugh at you. But I wouldn’t have laughed at you. I was scared too, remember?"

Frank sat down on the wooden floor and leaned against the tree-trunk. Both the boys were silent for a while as the sun sank closer to the horizon. The heat had eased considerably and the evening breeze was nice and cool.

"That was really mean of you," Frank said softly after a while. "Why couldn’t you just- just say so? Why’d you have to-to-" he stopped and took a shaking breath. Joe got up and went to sit beside him.

"’Cause it wouldn’t’ve worked," he answered simply, putting his arm around his brother’s hunched shoulders. "If I tried to say, ‘You just won’t come with us ‘cause you’re scared’, you would’ve said, ‘No I’m not, I don’t have any reason to be, the chances of it happening again are too small to worry about’. Right?"

Frank laid his head against the arm of Joe’s rather dirty red-and-white shirt. "Well, yeah, probably," he sighed. "Especially with Chet there."

"Everyone always says I’m stubborn," the blond boy observed without rancor. "And I am, I guess, but you are too, Frank. You get a thought and you just keep it."

"Until you come along and take it away," Frank muttered.

"Well, if you want to keep a lie..." Joe frowned over at his brother.

"No. No, not really." Frank still hadn’t sat up. "Okay- you want the truth? I was so scared I thought I’d puke. And I kept wondering if this pill they gave me-" Frank touched his pocket- "would really work or not, and thinking maybe it w-wouldn’t and I’d just..." Frank caught his breath and finished, "just- die."

"You didn’t before," Joe pointed out the obvious. "You think I wouldn’t run just as fast if it happened again? And the pill would help, even if it didn’t work as well as a shot." Both boys had long believed that shots were more effective than tablets; there had to be some benefit to the pain that was involved in getting a shot.

Frank nodded. "Yeah, but...I didn’t want to do it again!"

"No," Joe admitted. "But you didn’t have to. I mean- Frank, how many times have you gone outside in your life? And how many times, before yesterday, have you got stung? Just ‘cause you’re allergic doesn’t mean you’re going to get stung every time you go outside now."

"I know that!" Frank said sharply, and then he bit his lip. "I’m just...trying to believe it." Then he sighed. "Let’s go home?" he asked tiredly. "I’m all hot and tired and hungry."

"And Dad might be home by now," Joe recalled suddenly, scrambling to his feet. Then he paused, looking down at the older boy. "Still mad?" he asked ruefully.

Frank paused in the act of getting up and regarded him for a long moment. Then he smiled a little and shook his dark head. "Not really. I’m glad you don’t think I’m chicken. I- I did kinda feel like one...but you were awful mean, Joe. Next time I do something like this, don’t be so mean, okay? Tell me I’m lying or something, but don’t act like it doesn’t matter to you that I’m afraid."

"I didn’t mean to do that," Joe replied slowly, frowning. "Of course it matters. If you’d just said you were afraid, I woulda tried to help you feel better. I don’t like it when you’re scared, ‘cause it makes me scared, too."

Frank got to his feet, but then stood still, frowning. "Why?" he asked eventually.

"I dunno. It just does. I guess...you don’t get scared very often, so if you do, it’s probably pretty bad," Joe answered with a shrug. He’d never thought about it very much, it was just the way things were. The younger boy shoved his sweaty hair out of his eyes and carefully climbed down the ladder, waiting at the bottom as his brother followed. "You know, I bet we’re going to get in trouble for having cookies for lunch," he predicted gloomily, starting for home.

"Aw, man, you’re right. We are." Frank sighed and moved up to walk alongside him. Then he flinched a little as a bumblebee rose from a clover and hummed off. Joe glanced over, grabbed his brother’s hand, and pulled him into a run.

"Betcha I win!" he shouted, releasing Frank’s hand, and the rest of the journey home was a full-out race.

***

End