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hull shape, same sail plan. I always liked the look of the cutter rig. We’ll put up the stays’l later. Remember, that’s the sail on the little boom in front of the mast. Then maybe we can get her all the way up to
five
knots. All right, Nicholas, come back here so I can teach you how to steer.”
    With a huge grin on his face, Nicholas sat on the cockpit seat opposite his uncle and took the tiller in his hand.
    Nick showed him how to find a spot on the land to aim for, always watching the angle that the forestay made to the horizon, and how to make gentle corrections when he got off course. The twins watched his wake carefully, pointing out every little wiggle with a
tsk-tsk
.
    “You’re a natural,” said Nick. “I can tell already that you’re going to be a good sailor—people either have a feel for it or they don’t. Now, you see that dark spot on the water ahead? That’s what we call a ‘puff,’ a place where the wind is stronger and, lots of times, where the direction of the wind changes a little, too. A good helmsman is always scanning the water ahead, looking for puffs, so he can prepare. This time, I want you to just do what you’vebeen doing; pretend you didn’t see it, so you’ll feel it in the tiller.”
    Nicholas bit his lip in anticipation, not sure what was going to happen when
Goblin
hit the darker water. He was on a steady course, aimed at a flagpole on the shore, when suddenly the boat heeled over several more degrees and started to turn to the right on its own. He pulled harder against the tiller, finding it difficult to stay on course for the flagpole, and glanced nervously at his uncle.
    “You’re doing fine—doing fine. Now feel the difference when I do this.” As he let the mainsheet out a few inches,
Goblin
stood up noticeably. “Feel that in the tiller? Less pressure, right? Mainsheet’s kind of like the gas pedal. When you start to heel too much, take your foot off the gas a little.”
    Nicholas nodded, getting back on his original course with no trouble.
    “Let’s do it again,” said Hayley.
    “Let’s not,” a more nervous Hetty replied.
    “I’m sure we’ll have more opportunities,” said Nick. “But there’s lots more to do. Time to put you two to work.”
    For the next three hours,
Goblin
made her way up and down the lake, never straying too far from home, and by lunchtime, the three Mettleson children, Nick declared, were no longer landlubbers. They were officially sailors. At noon, they anchored in the cove where their father had filmed the first scene in
The Seaweed Strangler
andfeasted on peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, carrot sticks, and warmish cans of soda.

    The twins, eager to try out the minuscule sink, volunteered to clean the dishes while Nicholas and Nick scrubbed the decks. When the girls finished, they lay down on the cushions in the cozy little cabin and began to formulate a plan of their own.
    “Can we sleep here tonight?” Hayley shouted up at her uncle. “It would be just like in the book!”
    “Well, I hope not
exactly
,” he said. “I’d rather not have
Goblin
drifting out to sea in a heavy fog. But I don’t see why not, as long as I can have one of the long berths. I’m too tall—and too old—to sleep in the forepeak.”
    “Jim Brading slept on the
floor
,” Hetty reminded him.
    “I’m definitely too old for that,” said Nick with a laugh. “It should be a nice night, and you kids can use your sleeping bags, I suppose.”
    “Yay!” shouted the twins.
    “Everybody ready for lesson number two?” Nick asked. “Come on, Nicholas. I’ll pull up the anchor, and you take us out of this cove.”
    “Aye, aye, Captain,” said Nicholas, saluting.
    “We’re going to head for a buoy about three miles south of here; should take us an hour or so to get there. It’s going to be upwind, so we’ll have to tack back and forth a few times, and then we’ll have a nice reach back to the mooring.”
    * * *
    As the afternoon