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trees. He crossed the bridge over Milky Creek and passed the mercantile and the feed store. Through the town he walked, past the Milkydale Savings and Loan, past the Milkydale Coffeehouse, until his feet led him up the steps of the schoolhouse and into the coatroom, where he closed thebook with a disappointed sigh. No success, yet, but he wouldn’t give up. Then he placed it on a shelf because that was the rule.
Schoolhouse Rules
     
    1. Muddy boots must be left in the coatroom
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2. Gum, food, and drinks must be left in the coatroom
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3. Homer’s maps and anything else relating to “treasure hunting” must be left in the coatroom
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4. Anything dead must be left in the coatroom
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    Gwendolyn stomped into the coatroom, pulled yesterday’s squirrel out of her bag, and set it on the same shelf. Carlotta took off her yellow cardigan and hung it on a hook. Homer made sure his Galileo Compass was tucked beneath his shirt, then he followed his sister into the classroom.
    “Find any treasure yet?” Wilbur asked as Homer walked to his desk. He asked that question most every day, in a real nasty tone.
    Homer used to answer that question. When he was little, he used to tell the other kids all about how he was going to help his uncle Drake find the lost treasure of Rumpold Smeller the pirate, but that always made themlaugh, and not in a nice way. They’d also laugh when they caught him digging holes or searching the fields with his metal detector. “You ain’t never gonna find nothing,” they’d say.
    And that’s what Wilbur said that very morning. “You ain’t never gonna find nothing.”
    Homer bit his lip. He hadn’t found any treasure because, like most kids, he wasn’t allowed to take off and explore places like Egypt, or the Bermuda Triangle, or Dead Man’s Island, which is what a professional treasure hunter does. He wasn’t even allowed to go into The City on his own.
    “Better use your compass or you might not find your desk,” Earl said, poking Homer in the leg with a pencil.
    Homer hurried past the snickering kids and settled into his seat. Then he picked up his English composition book and stuck it in front of his face.
    A bell rang and the class settled. “Homer and Gwendolyn, I was very sorry to hear about your uncle,” Mrs. Peepgrass said. Mrs. Peepgrass taught all the grades in Milkydale, since there were only twenty-one students. “Would you like to postpone your oral report, Gwendolyn, on account of the tragic circumstances?”
    “I’m ready.” Gwendolyn strode to the front of the classroom and pulled the stuffed frogs from her pocket.
    Mrs. Peepgrass rapped her fingers on her desk. “Now, Gwendolyn, you know the rule.”
    “But these are for my report.”
    “I have told you many, many times that I cannot abide having dead animals in my classroom. It’s unsanitary. You’ll get germs everywhere.”
    Gwendolyn squeezed her forehead into one big crease. “I washed these frogs real good before I stuffed them. I bet there’s more germs in your nose than what’s on these frogs.”
    Mrs. Peepgrass covered her nose. “Gwendolyn Maybel Pudding, do I have to telephone your mother?”
    “Go ahead and call my mother. She thinks that my interests are interesting.”
    Mrs. Peepgrass rushed at Gwendolyn and tried to grab the frogs but Gwendolyn darted down the aisle. The kids laughed. Homer rested his chin in his hand. It was going to be a long morning. Gwendolyn wasn’t the kind of person to give up an argument. He rubbed the sore spot in his leg where Earl had jabbed the pencil. Wouldn’t Earl feel stupid when an entire museum was named the Homer Winslow Pudding Museum of Treasure? He set the English composition book upright on his desk, then stuck his hand into his jean pocket and clutched the gold coin.
    That’s when a shadow passed over Homer’s desk.
    The sun, which had been shining through the row of windows, suddenly disappeared. Homer peered over his English composition book. Outside