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anything.”
    “Oh, hi, kids.” Uncle Morten took a breath, looking normal again. The fisherman still didn’t look so sure. “You kind of caught me off guard there for a minute.” Then he saw that they were staring at the other man. “Olaf, this is my nephew Peter, my niece Elise, and their friend Henrik. They’re fine.”
    Peter thought that was a strange thing to say. What else—are we supposed to be sick or something? But before he could wonder anymore, the Swede was gone. Peter didn’t know if his uncle knew they had heard him talking in Swedish with the other man.
    “Here, I have to go back to town,” said Uncle Morten. “Is that the way you kids were going?” He was doing his best to sound cheery, but he looked embarrassed about the other man. Peter wasn’t sure why. “I’ll ride back with you—that is, if my bike is still there.” Henrik hadn’t said a word, and Elise was quiet, too.
    Uncle Morten led the way back up the trail toward the road and their bikes. Peter was still wondering who this Olaf was when Henrik held him back for a second, grabbing his arm.
    “I saw something else,” he whispered hoarsely into Peter’s ear.
    Peter just looked at him with his “What next?” expression.
    “Right as we were coming up the path, I saw your uncle giving that Swedish guy a lot of money. A lot of money! The guy was counting it when we walked up.”
    Elise, who was following Uncle Morten at a distance, turned around and frowned at Peter and Henrik. She made a “Be quiet!” sign with her finger on her lips.
    Whatever it all meant, Uncle Morten never volunteered any explanations, at least not for a while. No one said much on the ride back to the boathouse—maybe because they were wondering about the mysterious Swede—and Uncle Morten seemed content to stare straight ahead as he rode. In fact, no one said a word until they pulled up to the door of the little shack. No one seemed in a hurry, either, and they carefully leaned their bikes against the outside wall by the door.
    When they peeked inside, Grandfather told them Number Three had won that time, which made Elise grin real big. That must have been all she wanted to know because without a word she turned around, took her bike by the handlebars, and started off. For once not wanting to stay around the boathouse, Henrik and Peter followed her.
    “Bye, Uncle Morten. Bye, Grandpa,” called Peter.
    “See you later, kids,” came Uncle Morten’s voice from inside the shed.
    The three walked their bikes in silence, not knowing what else to do with the day. “Oh well,” said Peter, trying to think of a joke as they headed toward home. They were tired of riding, and disappointed at the way things had turned out with Uncle Morten. “At least Number Two came in second this time.”
    But what was Uncle Morten doing in the woods? Peter thought again as he pushed his bike past a pothole in the street. Henrik and Elise said nothing more.
     
     

The Wind Changes
     
     
    5
     
     
     
     
    Peter, Elise, and Henrik spent a lot of time down at Grandfather Andersen’s boathouse the rest of the summer, but when they ran into Uncle Morten, no one ever mentioned their meeting in the woods. Peter’s uncle didn’t act differently, though, probably because he hadn’t realized how much the three had seen. Peter decided that since he couldn’t really figure it out, he wouldn’t think about it anymore, and he tried not to let it bother him. But Henrik brought it up again one afternoon when they were starting a paint job on a little rowboat inside the shed.
    Elise had managed to find a couple old cans of paint and had poured one called “Gunmetal Gray"—mostly hard with chunks of dried paint—into a larger, older can of something called “Easter Lily Yellow.” Then she skimmed off the top with a rag and carefully stirred the lumpy new blend. The boys grinned when they saw the ugly awful color it made.
    “A new discovery,” Grandfather told them as he