The Treasure Hunt by Rebecca Martin

“You scared me! Look at the water we lost.”
    â€œSorry. Water’s precious, isn’t it,” he said, taking the pail.
    â€œMother is afraid that the well will go dry. It’s pretty low already. The water was for the lettuce.”
    Joe began splashing each lettuce plant until Lydia protested. “Let me. Mother taught me how to give just enough water but not too much.” Carefully she gave each little head of lettuce a measured splash.
    He sat in the hot, sandy soil watching her. “You can’t guess what I found along the creek the other day.”
    â€œA flickertail?” she asked without looking up.
    â€œNo. Better than that. I said you can’t guess.”
    â€œWell, then gold?”
    â€œHuh. Who wants gold? No, this is—well, it’s pretty mysterious.”
    Lydia poured out the last drop of water and stood looking at her big brother. His yellow hair was all mussed up. Mischief twinkled in his blue eyes. “Well, if I can’t guess, why don’t you just tell me?”
    â€œEither that, or I could show you,” he said. “Want to go for a walk up the creek?”
    She dropped the pail and answered, “Sure!”
    Joe’s strides were so long that she nearly had to run tokeep up with him. It made her feel a wee bit sad because it was just another reminder that Joe really wasn’t her playmate anymore. What fun it was to be doing something with him once more! The farther up the creek they hiked, the more she wondered what he was going to show her. A bird’s nest maybe? But no, he’d said I couldn’t guess.
    â€œCreek’s almost dry,” he commented over his shoulder. “We sure could use some rain.”
    â€œI wish it would rain for a whole week!” she replied.
    He pointed to the wheat fields. “The crops don’t look too good.” Some of the small green plants were turning yellow, nearly the color of the parched soil. “Father says it reminds him of the first year they were in North Dakota. It was pretty dry that year too.”
    â€œI hope we get rain. I’m so tired of watering the garden.”
    Joe stopped so suddenly that she nearly ran into him. “There. Do you see it?”
    At first she noticed nothing unusual—just some crooked cottonwoods sprouting at odd angles from the bank. Then she saw it. “A door! Right in the bank!”
    â€œShhh!” he said with a finger to his lips. “Maybe somebody’s home today.”
    Lydia watched as Joe went up to the door and knocked. “Who would live in a stream bank?”
    â€œI have no idea. There was nobody here when I found the place, but it is definitely somebody’s home. I’ll showyou.” Having knocked three times without receiving an answer, he pulled open the door.
    Lydia gasped when she saw the snug interior. “It’s like a playhouse! Do you think it is one?” she asked, utterly charmed.
    Joe shook his head. “Can’t be. That stove is real. I touched it the last time, and it was hot. Somebody had cooked porridge.”
    She clasped her hands. “Can we go in?”
    â€œBetter not. We’d be trespassing. We really shouldn’t be standing here spying on somebody else’s place.” He shut the door and looked all around. “Still nobody in sight. Let’s cut across the field to get home.”
    Joe walked more slowly so Lydia could keep up easily. “Have you told Father about this place?” she asked her brother.
    â€œNo. I figured I’d keep it a secret, but then I decided to tell you.”
    â€œYou mean I’m not to tell Lisbet—or Mother?”
    He stuffed his hands deep into his trouser pockets. “I guess a fellow needs to enjoy a secret sometimes.”
    Lydia felt troubled. “But why wouldn’t we tell?”
    Head down, Joe stepped carefully across the rows of new wheat. “Just because. Maybe we’ll tell later