The creatures hurried back through the storm.   At each flash of lightning, Saumagen cried out in pain until finally he could take no more. He sat down squarely in the mud.  Durst immediately bumped into him, and Bettelarm collided with Durst.

"Keep moving!" shouted Bettelarm.

"Get up!" snarled Durst.

But Saumagen stayed where he was, covering his head with a dishtowel.  He had been crying and didn't want anyone to know it. 

"My ears are full of water!" he moaned into the towel, "And I’m sick of this lightning!  Where did this storm come from, anyway?" 

"It’s those messengers!" answered Durst with a sneer, "I'd recognize one of their disgusting clouds anywhere.  Didn’t expect lightning, though.  Wonder how they got the authority for that?"

"It was because of Rindskopf," explained Bettelarm, "He uprooted a perfectly good tree. You know if any of us interfere with the laws of nature, our actions will be counteracted.”

"Oh, enough!" snapped Durst, "We know the Way of Things as well as you do."

"I’m surprised to hear you say that," remarked Bettelarm coldly, "Lately your actions so have suggested otherwise, Durst."

Durst snarled something extremely rude under his breath.  

"Hundreds of dead trees in the world," Saumagen fumed into his towel, "and he picks the strongest, healthiest one in the forest to uproot. . . . then we’re punished for it."

"Let tonight's storm be a lesson to us all," continued Bettelarm, shouting over a sudden clap of thunder, "All weakness can be used to our advantage. Anything strong or well-rooted, be it tree or human, is a potential hazard.  To achieve our goals we must target weakness, and navigate around strength."

"Why lecture us?" snapped Durst, "Speak to the idiot."

"Very well," said Bettelarm, turning around, "Rindskopf, come here.  I want to talk to you."

"He's been unusually silent through this ordeal," remarked Durst.

"No, he hasn't," contradicted Saumagen, "I heard him sniffing back there.  Big crybaby."

"That was you," said Durst.

"It was not!" shouted Saumagen.

Bettelarm spoke fiercely, "Rindskopf, come here."

More thunder rumbled in the distance and lightning lit up the sky.

"Ouch!" yelped Saumagen.

"Rindskopf!" commanded Bettelarm.  He was tall and terrible.  "Don’t be such a coward. Come here!"

The creatures looked expectantly up the path, but there was no sign of Rindskopf.  Bettelarm called his name again. Nothing.  Durst stooped over to pick up a long stick and suddenly thrust it up a tree, hoping to catch Rindskopf unaware.  But only a bird's nest fell from the branches, landing on Durst's head with a goopy-sounding squelch.   

Saumagen hurried up the path to find Rindskopf.  A minute later, he returned, alone.

"He's gone all right," said Saumagen, "And from what I can tell, his footprints haven't been with us for a while."

"Just as I thought," said Bettelarm, "He’s gone after the boy."

Durst pulled broken eggshells from his ear and cursed. Rindskopf taking any matter into his own hands was a recipe for certain disaster.

*    *    *    *
Henry no longer felt irritable.  In fact, after the cloud rescued him, all he wanted to do was to find his way home.  It was so dark though, at that moment he wasn’t sure exactly where home was.  

A sudden flash of lightning lit up the sky and gave him a chance to look around.  He had landed in one his uncle's experimental fields, and in the distance he spotted some cauliflower plants.  Cauliflower, his Uncle Oliver’s favorite vegetable, was always planted near the house, so Henry knew if he reached them, he could easily find his way home.  

Staying low to the ground (because of the lightning), Henry crawled alongside the rows of plants toward his uncle's farmhouse. The rain had soaked though his clothes and he was cold and miserable.  He kept working his way through deep furrows of mud and mulch though, until he finally saw the familiar outline of his uncle's house.  Henry rushed to the front door and ran inside the house. 

"Uncle Oliver!" he called, though the house was cold and dark, "Are you here?"

He snapped the porch light and thought he heard a shriek of pain.  The sound unnerved him a little.  "Uncle Oliver?"  he called again, alarmed. There was no answer.  Henry felt very odd and alone now.    

On the kitchen wall was a calendar, where Henry had crossed off every day his uncle had been gone.  Six days, he thought, he's been away six full days.  He sat at the kitchen table and stared at the letter left on the table: 

Henry,

Business has called me away.  I should be gone only one night, but do not be alarmed if I am away longer.  I have arranged for you to stay with the Harper-Post’s.  Please take care of the fields while I am gone.  

Uncle Oliver

Re-reading the letter, Henry sighed.  Staying with the Harper-Posts had not been easy.  He felt a little guilty even thinking that, for everyone knew the Harper-Posts were nice people.  They had nice clothes, nice faces, spoke to each other nicely and drove a nice family car.  Their house was in a nice neighborhood, and Mrs. Harper Post chose a nice color to paint it that coordinated perfectly with the flowers and their children’s bicycles.  Everything they read was nice; everywhere they went was nice; everything they thought was nice. 

In fact, Dr. and Mrs. Harper-Post were so good at avoiding anything that wasn’t nice, they’d learned to smile (their teeth perfectly aligned and sparkling, thanks to years of Dr. Harper-Posts’ cosmetic dentistry), and completely ignore anything difficult, unpleasant or messy until it went away.  Usually it did.  If it didn’t, they just acted like it had, which was almost as good.  They were raising their children to do the same, and except for baby Billy, who bit the calf of every new person he met, they were very much the same way.

But Uncle Oliver being gone six days without an explanation wasn’t nice.  Each day that passed without contact from him made the Harper-Posts’ smiling more strained and crazed.  With taut cheek muscles trembling from exertion and frustrated, bulging eyes that pleaded for Uncle Oliver’s unexplained absence go away, it seemed pretty clear to Henry that if Uncle Oliver didn’t return soon, someone would be seriously hurt by all that smiling.  Soon.

Though none of them ever said a word, their frenzied expressions always seemed to ask, "Your uncle's not back yet?  Where could he be?  You'd think he'd have told you where he was going. Will he ever come back?"  Dr. Harper-Post drove by Uncle Oliver’s farm several times a day and left messages on his answering machine frequently.  

Henry fully understood how unusual his uncle’s disappearance was; no one knew better than he how seldom his uncle ever went anywhere. Since Henry had come to live with him two years ago, Uncle Oliver hadn’t left the farm once to shop or visit, or even just go for a drive.  He sent out for everything he needed, and spent all his time with worms and plants.  Henry suspected his absence must have something to do with one of those topics, for only a worm or a cauliflower would have the power to make his uncle drop everything and leave.

The trip must have come up suddenly, for his uncle hadn't even told him he was going. When he’d arrived home from school, Mark's mother had been in the house, cleaning.  She said Uncle Oliver had called her up that afternoon. Leaving no forwarding address,( he explained it would be impossible to contact him), he left an hour later.  Mrs. Harper-Post’s perfect teeth had been clenched almost constantly ever since.  It was all very, very odd.

As Henry climbed the stairs to his room, he peeled off muddy, soaked clothing with each step and thought about what he had seen that day. Many strange things had happened: a silver floating strand sailing by, a tree almost falling on him, a friendly cloud rescuing him from danger. He toweled off and changed into a dry pair of jeans and a corduroy shirt.   It was well past dinnertime.  He knew he should call Mrs. Harper-Post, for she had been expecting him.  

But as Henry stood at the phone, practicing a suitable apology to her for being late, he heard something in the backyard.  He ran to the window.

Uncle Oliver’s storage shed was rocking back and forth. Its roof glowed with electricity as the foundation flopped up and down, tipping over potted plants and lawn furniture.  Every so often Henry heard the buzzes and screams of garden tools.  Then, just as he thought he would never see anything quite as strange as what he was already seeing, the door of the shed opened, and Uncle Oliver's large, ride-on lawn mower rolled out into the rain. Behind it flew a shower of sparks.

The lawn mower seemed to have a mind of its own.   It traveled haphazardly down grassy slopes, passing through several of Uncle Oliver's experimental gardens along the way.  Then it circled around again and headed back towards the house where it smacked into the front porch with a huge thud.  

"How did the mower start itself?" wondered Henry. 

Henry, of course, did not know there was someone on the mower. 

Rindskopf hadn't meant to come out of the shed; he had become attached to the mower while fashioning a blindfold out of two garden gloves and some duct tape. Quite a lot of tape had become looped around his shoulders.   Before too long, the handle of the mower had also become entwined in the loops and was bound fast to his enormous spotted neck.  His panicked thrashing started the machine and shortly thereafter he crashed through the wall, unable to stop.  

Now he was trapped, upside-down, with his head dragging on the ground. He had no idea where he was going or how to escape, and to make matters worse, in the position he was in, chopped-up grass, cauliflower, broccoli, chrysanthemums, cabbage, dirt and roses poured from the back of the mower into his mouth.  

"UCK!" he shrieked.

Henry couldn’t see Rindskopf, but he certainly heard his cries of disgust.  The sound sent shivers up and down his back.  He wondered what he should do. The eerie sounds of that crazy lawn mower on the loose made him reluctant to go outside alone.   Perhaps, Henry thought, it would be safer to wait for someone to help him or at least until the mower ran out of gas.

Meanwhile, Durst and Bettelarm had reached a dark section of forest near Uncle Oliver's farmland.  From the shadows, they squinted down at the scene.  

"You can use your eyes, now, Saumagen," called Bettelarm down the path.  Saumagen still had a dishtowel over his head and had fallen behind.

Saumagen emerged from behind some nettles and joined Bettelarm and Durst. Together the three of them stared down in horror at Rindskopf, who appeared to be headed for some fruit trees and a pond.  The mixture of plant materials and dirt continued to pour into his mouth.

"Is he mowing the lawn or eating it?" asked Saumagen. 

He expected a sarcastic response from Durst, but there was none.  Looking around, he saw that Bettelarm and Durst were gone.  

"Durst?" Saumagen called, "Bettelarm?  Where are you?"

Behind him the tips of a bush began to glow and sparkle. Saumagen reached for his towel, but it was too late. At that moment, a very bright beam of light broke through the trees, fully illuminating his face.  Saumagen bawled. Attached to the enormous light was a little white dog running straight towards him.

"Jump!" came a whispered scream from the trees above.

Saumagen didn't need to be told twice.  He blindly threw himself down on the path and let his rubbery body take him up high past the treetops like a giant red rubber ball.  As he fell to earth again, a bloodless arm reached out from a pine tree. Bettelarm skillfully caught his tail and wrapped it around a strong branch to act as a bungee. 

"IT’S one OF those DOG-things," screamed Saumagen, "Get RID of IT!" 

Saumagen had a good reason to be nervous.  Dogs could not only see creatures, but also they could do serious harm to them, too.   A dog's strand was its weapon, lit brilliantly on its outer surface. On a sunny day, one glimpse of a dog could render a creature useless for weeks.  Now there was little any of the three could do now except hope this dog would go away on its own, which was highly unlikely, judging from the nasty and enthusiastic way it snapped at Saumagen’s bobbing heels.  

After a few moments a girl and a boy came along the path.  The boy was fat and tall, the girl small and thin.   They were both dressed in full rain gear and carried flashlights.  

“Come here, Fidelis” said the boy, calling the dog.  

“Fidelis, COME!” shouted the boy again.  The dog ignored him and barked louder.

“Anna, get Fidelis, will you please? Perhaps he has treed some animal.”

The girl called the dog, softly and politely.  Fidelis turned his head still wouldn’t leave the tree.  He continued leaping and growling.  

"Oh, perfect," grumbled Durst, his face pressed tightly against the tree, "Two sweet children with flashlights and a poorly trained dog.  This evening just couldn't GET any better."

“I wonder what he’s found,” said Anna, “He seems so upset.”

“Come along now, little fellow” said the boy, cornering Fidelis against the tree, “We want to get to Henry’s before it starts raining again.”  He leapt forward and grabbed the dog quickly.

"Grrr!" growled Fidelis, leaping from his arms.  The dog’s bright strand came close to brushing Saumagen, who cringed in terror.  As Mark leaped over to try to recapture him, Fidelis anticipated his move and escaped. He couldn’t be caught.  Fidelis was so fast and agile, when he wanted to stay free, he stayed free

Anna  and Mark continued to speak to the disobedient dog gently and politely, “C’mon, old boy,” she whispered, “Come away from the tree.”

Fidelis eyed her warily.

"It sounds like the girl is directly beneath me," whispered Durst to Bettelarm. He felt around for his saliva tube, "From here, I can easily spit on her."

"All right," agreed Bettelarm, "But be quick about it.  We need to focus on getting Rindskopf back."

"If she's an acquaintance of Henry's," grinned Durst, "A little negative energy from my saliva spray might be helpful to us."

He pulled out the same tube he had used on Henry.  The disgusting mist floated down from the tree, toward the girl's hair.

But Fidelis saw it first.  Instantly he turned around;  his rear legs kicking watery mud and sticks in her face with enthusiasm and vigor.  She leapt back. Durst’s saliva missed her.

“Naughty, Fidelis!” she cried, wiping mud from her eyes.

"Did you get her?" whispered Saumagen excitedly to Durst.

Durst returned the tube to his pocket.  His ears, finely tuned from years of listening in the dark, had told him he’d missed Anna.  

“What did you do that for, Fidelis?” she cried in frustration, “Look at me!  I’m covered in mud!  Bad dog!”

“Of course I sprayed her. See, it’s working already,” he lied.  

No sooner had he said that, though than Anna stood up and cheerfully brushed herself off. “Good thing this raincoat is easy to clean!” she said.

Saumagen looked at Durst in disgust.  “That’s the best your mist can do?”

“When they start off nice,” explained Durst, “You don’t get much from them.”

“HA!” sneered Saumagen, “You missed.”

Fidelis now ran ahead on the path, barking for Anna and the boy to follow.  Before they disappeared around a bend in the road, Fidelis turned his head one last time to growl behind him. 

Anna shrugged, “I wonder why he’s acting that way,” she said, “He’s never done that before.”

“Best not to think about it,” said Mark, “It’s over now.”

**The creatures lingered in the branches waiting for darkness and silence.  Only when they were sure the horrible white dog and the children were finally gone did they open their eyes.  

Bettelarm leapt from the tree easily and beckoned for the others to follow him. Durst, though spry, was still too old and creaky to jump.  Instead, he climbed down slowly, choosing each branch with care.  An impatient Saumagen decided the easiest route for him was just to unwind his tail from the branch and fall.  He fell to the ground with a fat, rubbery crash, bounced, and on the way back up knocked Durst out of the tree.  The two of them fell together in a writhing, cursing heap.

“Careless oaf!” shouted Durst, as he poked Saumagen with a sharp, pointed nail.

“You should talk!” retorted Saumagen, spitting on Durst’s outstretched nail and painting it red.

A vicious biting contest was quickly ended by Bettelarm knocking their heads together. Then he dragged them to the crest of the hill to watch Mark, Anna and Fidelis through his observation shard.  The children had reached the farmhouse, now lit up warmly in every window.  He turned away.  The cheerful sight made him sick.

Far away, a lawn mower hummed.

"Sounds like Henry is catching up on his chores," said Mark.

"I doubt it," replied Anna, knocking on the door, "Henry wouldn’t mow a wet lawn in the dark."

She was right.  Henry looked through the window before letting them in.

"Hi, everyone!" he said.  He knelt down to pat the dog.  "Hi, Fidelis!"

Fidelis did not wag his tail.  He just looked sorrowfully into the woods and whined.

"What's with you, Fidelis?" he said, scratching the dog's chest.

"He’s a rascal," answered Mark pleasantly, "Barks at empty trees, then suddenly can't get away from them fast enough. Who knows what he's mad about now?"

Fidelis glared at Mark.  A very gentle growl emerged from him, and he looked away again.

"Sorry," said Mark.

"What happened to you tonight, Henry?" said Anna, patting Fidelis gently, "You missed dinner.  It was lacto-ovo vegetarian night.  You missed some great food."

"I know," he answered, "I got caught in the storm."

"Is your uncle back yet?"

"Not yet," answered Henry.

"Then come home with us," said Anna, "This old house doesn’t seem very nice to hang out in alone."  

Henry wasn’t ready to leave his uncle’s house quite yet.  He wanted to investigate.

"Who is out there mowing your lawn?" asked Mark.

In the distance, the mower continued to whine, though it sounded much farther away to Henry than it had before.  Now Henry really had to see what was going on, but how he would explain what he was doing to Mark and Anna without sounding completely crazy, he didn’t know. 

He didn’t have time for a long explanation.  "Anna, I can leave in a couple of minutes," said Henry, putting his coat on and grabbing some rope from a closet, "But first, I have to check something out."

"What are you talking about?" said Anna.

"Something strange happened to the shed during the storm," Henry began, “I saw some sparks along the roof and heard strange noises. Then the mower started up on its own and headed over the hill."

Anna looked at him suspiciously.  "Good story,” she said with a frown, “Now what’s really going on, Henry?”

 "It’s the truth," he answered, "I want to try to catch that mower." 

"That doesn’t sound very safe," said Mark, who disliked anything risky.

 "Wait, Henry," objected Anna, "This is crazy. You’re going to chase a lawn mower in the dark?” 

He put on a raincoat. “Yup,” he answered cheerfully.

Fidelis stood by the door and growled.  

“Well,” she said doubtfully, “Mark, maybe you should go along.  Then if something happens, you can call for help.”

“Uh . . . uh . . .”stammered Mark, reluctantly.

“Oh, all right,” said Anna, “I’ll go.”

“No, no,” said Mark, “I’ll go.” 

“And take Fidelis.  You don’t know what’s out there, and he could protect you.”

"Are you kidding?" Mark exclaimed, "Protect us?”

"Anna, Fidelis should stay here with you,” said Henry, tactfully “That way you won’t be here alone.  We'll find the mower and come right back.  Promise.”

Anna nodded. She called to Fidelis, who slowly and very reluctantly came to her as the boys slipped out of the door into the darkness. 

Mark and Henry followed the sound of the mower's humming. Freshly cut trails of mown grass led higgledy-piggledy over the fields to the crest of a hill.  The erratic curves led over the slope to an apple orchard.

As they scanned the area with their flashlights, wet leaves and numerous apples on the ground glistened but there was still no sign of the mower. Then they saw it.  The mower had almost slipped into the pond; only a sharp rock prevented it from slipping completely into the water. 

Apples lay everywhere, but a group hungry ducks seemed particularly interested in one pile of small, sweet fruit that had fallen on one side of the mower. Several ducks were slowly munching their way through the pile.   All at once the boys realized that with each apple the ducks ate, the mower slid further toward the pond’s edge. The apples had showered heavily on one side, weighing it down like a seat on a seesaw.

"Quick!' exclaimed Mark, "Get rid of those ducks!  A few more apples and they'll the mower will go right into the pond."

Henry rushed over to the mower waving his arms wildly.  “Shoo!" he shouted at the ducks, “Go away!”

But they didn't budge.  In fact, it seemed to Henry that they ate more vigorously.  

Behind him, a curious sucking sound came from the pond.  Since Henry was looking in another direction at the time, he didn’t think too much of it.  The ducks, however, had a much different reaction. They immediately stopped eating and began attacking Henry, flapping their wings, trying to shoo him away.  

Though ducks had never seemed like particularly vicious animals to him before, Henry’s opinion was changing. One duck pecked Henry so hard she took a chunk out of his ankle and he had to back away from her. As he did so, a piece of tape peeled from the edge of the mower and stuck to his wrist, fastening him tightly to the handle.  The duck then lunged at Henry’s other wrist, which he pulled away just in time to avoid another injury.   A second piece of tape that would have attached both hands to the mower missed him and fell to the ground.   

Two drakes flew towards him, aiming for his head, and as stepped quickly away to avoid them, a third piece of tape, wet, slimy and cold, seemed to leap from the pond, narrowly missing his neck. The mower’s engine lurched back to life and one wobbly, slightly bent wheel started to spin.  The mower was going into the pond, with Henry’s right hand attached to it.  Trapped to the huge, heavy mower, Henry would go into the pond with it and drown.

Ducks came from every part of the orchard now and swooped over to the mower, piling on one side to weigh it down and to prevent it from going over the edge.  Henry wrestled with the tape and finally freed himself.  As he pulled away from the mower, it made one last heaving sigh, toppled on to the shore with a huge crash, and the engine died for good. 

When everything was over, Mark rushed over to him.  “Lucky you got yourself free,” he said, “I thought you were going in for sure.”

“Me, too,” answered Henry, “That was weird.”

"Yeah.  And what's with all this tape?" asked Mark, pulling a sticky loop from Henry’s hair, “It’s pretty dirty.”  

“I have no idea,” answered Henry, “Let’s get out of here.”

“Not without the mower,” Mark reminded him, “Hey, look, the ducks are all leaving now.”

The ducks now appeared to have lost interest in the boys altogether.  They were very docile and sweet again; in fact, Henry thought most of them looked quite pleased with themselves as they waddled past.  One drake, however, looked quite cranky and glared at something as he stomped through the grass.  Shortly afterwards, Henry heard him quacking angrily in the orchard.  Henry shone the light into the trees, heard the odd shrieking sound he’d heard earlier, then all was quiet.

Henry shivered again, but turned his attention to the mower. The front fender was damaged, and one of the wheels was flat.  "What do you think, Mark?" asked Henry.

“It’s not too bad," Mark said with a grin, "We'll tie ropes around it, front and back, and ease it up the bank. But keep your hands away from the blades underneath.   It’s already started up once for no reason, and we don’t want to take any chances.”

Henry nodded.  Mark wasn’t the bravest person in the world, but sometimes his cautiousness came in handy.  The two boys lowered themselves down the muddy bank, wrapped each end of the mower with rope and carefully pulled it up the muddy slope.  They were glad to see the axles were not bent.  Once on the grass, it rolled easily again.

When they reached the shed, Mark was shocked.  The shed looked quite ordinary and all the plants had been lined up neatly along its foundation again.

"Now, Henry!" Mark scolded, "This shed doesn’t look destroyed.  Sparks?  Rocking back and forth?  C'mon.  You made up all that stuff, didn't you?" 

"No, I did not," exclaimed Henry.  As they walked inside Mark felt inclined to believe him.

Inside, the shed was a disaster.  It looked as if it had been turned upside-down, shaken several times and set right again. At one end of the room lay piles of broken crates, ripped-open sacks, and an unrecognizable array of bent and broken objects that at one time might have been tools. Almost everything had been packed into one corner, and was now covered with some kind of bad-smelling brown soot.  The only thing that had stayed put was a pitchfork, impaled in one wall at the other end of the shed. 

Above the pitchfork, an overturned workbench had damaged a wall.  The force had been so great that it had dislodged a pegboard that hung there, which to Henry's surprise, revealed a door. Soft, gray-green light filtered out through the splintered wood, and he caught a glimpse of an aquarium.   The smell of flowers wafted though the crack in the door, a welcome change from the other odors in the room. 

"Well, maybe I believe you,” said Mark, "What a mess!"

"There’s a door," exclaimed Henry, "I had no idea a door was hidden behind that wall.”

Henry tried to open it, but the door was locked.  Mark, tall and strong for an 14-year-old, helped him push, but it wasn’t until Henry got the idea of breaking the doorknob off with what was left of a spade that they got it open. Once the doorknob was broken, the door opened easily and the two boys pushed their way into the room.

"Whoa!” breathed Mark, 

“I can’t believe this,” gasped Henry.

The room behind the door was more elegant than either of them had ever seen before.  Tiled with hundreds of circular green and gold disks, its roof curved upward like a dome, low at the edges, and high in the center. The room was lit by clear green tubes that ran around the edges of the dome, filled with water.  In the center of the room stood shiny wood cabinets; above them hung a huge silver candelabra, decorated with stars and birds. One silver bird had fallen from it and lay on the floor beside an overturned cabinet. Other than that, everything seemed very orderly and undisturbed.  

Around the room were flowering plants, which grew near the green lights. Between them illuminated tables lined the walls, made of narrow trays filled with soil.  The trays were stacked on top of one another and rotated every so often.   A fine water spray continuously flowed from the tubes, keeping the soil moist.   The yellow worms wriggled to the surface in rows; cameras mounted above each of the tables took pictures of them.  Then, after several minutes, they disappeared into the soil again, and another tray rotated to the top.  

Henry bent over and picked up a folder.
 
"We should go,”  Mark said suddenly.

“What?” exclaimed Henry.

 “We shouldn’t look at it,” replied Mark, “This all belongs to your uncle;  it’s pretty clear he’s kept it a secret.  It’s none of our business what’s in that file.”

Henry looked at him in disbelief.  “Well, if you’re not going to look, I’m going to.”

He looked inside a cabinet and frowned.

"Hmmm.  Annelids Fall 1936 . . .Annelids Winter 1936. . .Annelids Spring1937." he read from the labeled folders, “These folders are all stuffed with pictures of these worms.”

"Henry, I told you, you shouldn't be looking in his private files " said Mark, although he was a little interested himself.  Mark was right, no one really knew what his uncle did for a living.  He always seemed like he had plenty of money, but never really did anything but grow a few plants and dig up worms.  Finally, he thought, there might be something in this room that would explain why.

"If you are overwhelmed with guilt, look at it this way,” Henry said, as he leafed through another folder, ”It’s kind of like cleaning up," Henry pointed to the filing cabinet that had been overturned.  "It’s impossible to re-file something without reading what it is, right?”

His argument was quite logical.  Unable to control his curiosity any longer, Mark moved to the center of the room and pulled open one of the cabinet drawers.  The first folder he selected was full of worm photographs, too.  

“Ew!” Mark screamed, dropping the folder, “Professional worm portraits.”

Henry stopped what he was doing.  “Mark,” said Henry, “Promise that you won’t tell anyone about this room.  There must be a reason why my uncle has kept it secret, and maybe no one should about it until we find out why.”

Mark had already moved away from the center of the room, “Fine with me,” he answered, “Though I don’t see why.  Who would care about this kind of junk?”

“I don’t know, but this just feels like a secret room.  I have a feeling we shouldn’t tell anyone about it,” Henry stumbled on a drawer that had fallen out of a cabinet.  "Help me put this drawer back, will you?" he asked Mark.

The two boys centered the drawer on its runners, but couldn’t push it completely in.

"Hang on, there's something in the way," said Henry. He pulled a small, green notebook out of the cabinet, "Looks like a kid's handwriting.  Some sort of diary," observed Henry.

Mark snatched away the book quickly, "A diary, Henry?" he said, "Some of your uncle’s most innermost meaningful thoughts?  Something that he wouldn’t want anyone else to read, right?"

Mark was so much taller than Henry he held it easily above Henry's head.  Henry knew he had to think of something quickly.

“Mark,” he said, “Anything in this room has the potential for giving me the information I need to find my uncle.  I think that diary might have some information about where my uncle is now.”

Mark brightened.  He knew how desperately his family wanted to be rid of Henry.
“Alright,: he said, “Under one condition.  I’m older than you so I will read it to you.  If there is anything unsuitable in this, I will skip it.”

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding!”

“Take it or leave it,” he said, smiling all the time.  Henry nodded.

Without any further fuss, he stood very straight and began to read, "Ahem,” he said, clearing his throat, “Camp Patagonia, July 1."

He turned to Henry, "He went to camp."

"I know" answered Henry angrily, "Keep reading.”

"The paper looks old," Mark said, "I'll be extra careful of this ancient relic."  

"Today is my first day of camp. Good thing I brought my geometry book." 
Mark looked up. "Geometry book? Who brings a geometry book to camp?"

"I guess my uncle did.  Sounds like him, actually.  

“And look, there’s a picture here,” Mark handed Henry an old photograph, ”Same glasses, same brainy look. Is that really short hair, or was he bald when he was a kid?”

Henry looked at the old, faded picture.  A boy’s thin, anxious face peered back at him helplessly while Mark continued reading. “Today I was locked in the outhouse.  One of the other boys must have mistakenly thought it was empty.  Fortunately I had my geometry book."

"Oh, dear," said Henry, "Locked in the outhouse on his first day at camp.”

“Maybe I shouldn’t read any more.  This is too pathetic."

“No, read, READ!”

Mark read for a while silently.  He sighed and looked up.  "This is terrible.  ‘Locked in the outhouse again.  I am beginning to suspect this is not accidental on the part of the other campers.  I did, however, discover a fascinating specimen of annelid in the outhouse, which kept me entertained until the counselors came to rescue me at nightfall.’"

"What is an annelid?" Mark asked, when he caught his breath.

"It is a type of worm.  Like these ones," said Henry, pointing to the trays, "He still loves his worms.”

Mark leafed through the diary and frowned.
 
"this is unpleasant," he said, "About halfway through the book, he stops writing and starts drawing worms."

Mark lowered the book so Henry could see, but Henry immediately tried to snatch it away from him, so he held it up high again.  From what Henry could see, the book had rows of small squiggles and loops on it, each about the size of a worm.

"Nice try,” said Mark, “But I’m going to keep this little book.  There are some things that I’m sure your uncle would not want you to see.”  After a few moments he started reading again.  “Here's another entry in his regular writing,” continued Mark,  “ ‘I fainted again.  I was alone by the boathouse.  The school nurse found me.  They don't know how long I was out."

Mark stopped again and leafed through pages.  “Then lots more of that weird code,” he explained.

Henry nodded, and waited for Mark to continue reading, "Hmm. ‘Good day.  Today we had Nature Walk.   . . my friends, the annelids, and like no others.  My usefulness in life is assured . .whoa,"   Mark stopped reading. “How odd.”

"Oh, annelid must mean something else," replied Henry, "Maybe it’s the name of a camp group of something.  Otherwise this makes no sense.  Let me see," said Henry, trying again to get the book from his hands.  Two papers fell out.

The paper read:

MEDICAL DISCHARGE

To Whom It May Concern:

For medical reasons, Oliver Duncan, age 12, will be released to the care of his parent/guardian.  

Cause of release: fainting spells of unknown origin jeopardize your son's safety.

“Hmmm,” mused Henry, “So he was sent home from that camp.”

“What’s the other thing?” asked Mark.

“It’s a newspaper clipping,” said Henry.

LOCAL BOY HERO

Joy and relief were the emotions of the day when John Googlelston III, missing since July 19, was found alive and well after days of intense searching by the community and law enforcement.

It was a 12-year-old boy, however, who actually found Googleston.  Oliver Duncan, a camper at nearby Camp Patagonia located the hungry and tired 2 year-old who had wandered away from his parents at a family picnic and had disappeared.  

“He saved a kid?” said Henry, “I’d never heard that before.”

Suddenly the door rattled.  Both boys jumped.  

"Uncle Oliver?" cried Henry, but there was no answer.  Someone was in the shed, listening to them.  An odd scraping noise came from outside, and he door to the wonderful room banged several times, as if a great weight had been thrust upon it. Then it fell heavily on the floor, narrowly missing Henry.

The boys stood motionless, staring at the door.

A short, white nose appeared around its edge..

"Fidelis!" cried Mark, in relief.

Anna’s voice came from outside.  "Mark?  Henry?  What's going on out here?  I thought you said you'd be . . .” Her voice trailed off as she looked around the room. “Wow!” she gasped.  “What’s this?”

“Cool, isn’t it?” said Mark, “It’s some kind of secret lab that Henry’s uncle uses.”

“Mark!” exclaimed Henry in disgust, “We agreed that . . .”

“Well, I can’t exactly HIDE it from her, since she’s here, can I?” said Mark, “I mean, she’s right here.”

Henry frowned.

“I won’t tell anyone,” said Anna, “But . . but . . “ 

“Hi kids!  Yoo hoo!” came a shrill voice from outside the shed.

At the sound of Mrs. Harper-Post, Rindskopf scampered into the woods.