The door burst open, and a figure came hurtling through. It was my father. Following him were James and Mrs. Duffit.

“By Godfrey, what’s going on?” he asked.

“Father!” said Ethel. She ran to him and gave him a big hug.

I was right behind her. “We thought you were still in negotiations.”

“I was until I heard a racket up on the roof. So what are you savages doing up here?”

He had always taught us to tell the truth. Maybe it was time we did.

Ethel glanced at Kermit and me. We nodded. She faced my father. “We can explain everything. We know we were supposed to read a book . . .”

“But, well,” said Kermit, “we found a treasure map, and we simply had to go looking for it . . .”

“And we added the numbers under your desk,” I said, “and Washington’s picture told us where, and the chandeliers told us what, and the birds on Lincoln’s bed pointed to the final clue in the bear’s pooper.”

“Archie,” said my father, “did you fall on your head again?”

“No!”

Turning to Ethel, he said, “Now, what’s this about a treasure map?”

“Actually,” she said, “it’s a floor plan, with clues written on it.” She took out the papers and showed him. He glanced at them, then tucked them into his pocket.

“And where did these clues lead you?” he asked.

“Here!” I said. “And there.” I pointed to the sky.

Kermit said, “The Big Dipper. Which is part of Ursa Major.”

“I see,” grunted my father. Gazing upward, he recited,

“Now in red, yet spared of flames,
This father the next clue gives.
Look up above the Constitution
To see where the treasure lives.”

Kermit stared at him. “How did you know that?

Smiling, my father said,

“Be Resolute of attitude
If you intend to find J. H.’s prize.
Add all the numbers of the latitude,
And there the treasure lies.”

He knew the clues! It seemed impossible. Then, slowly, it dawned on me.

“You wrote them!” I said.

My father’s eyes gleamed, the way they do when he’s taken a good hike or passed a new law.

Ethel said, “But how did you know we’d pick Treasure Island and find the map?”

Father looked at James. I could see he’s been in on it too. “With a choice between Sophocles, Shakespeare, and Treasure Island,” said James, “we were pretty sure which one you’d choose.”

Thinking about the books gave me an idea.

“You know,” I said to Kermit and Ethel, “now that we’ve found our own treasure, I want to learn about the one Jim Hawkins was looking for. Let’s read Treasure Island—and let’s finish it this time.”

“That’s fine,” said Ethel, “but in the meantime, what do we do about him?”

“Who?” I asked.

She nodded toward the other side of the roof, where a white shape had appeared.

“The ghost!” I exclaimed, pointing. “Look, Pop!”

“Where?” he asked.

“There!”

The ghost drifted closer. With a thick Russian accent, it moaned, “Four score and seven years before . . .”

“That ghost?” said my father. “The one who sounds like a Russian?” He motioned to the ghost. “Count Cassini, would you care to join us?”

I gaped at him. “Count Cassini?”

“Children,” said my father, “you remember the Russian ambassador, Count de Cassini?”

The ghost pulled off its white cloak, which turned out to be a bedsheet. “Forgive me for scaring young children. But I do what president of United States ask me to do, because I know he may softly speak, but he carry the big stick.”

Kermit said, “You mean there were never any secret messages from James Hoban or Abraham Lincoln?”

“Not that I know of,” said my father.

“And everyone knew but us?” I asked.

He shrugged. “I certainly couldn’t have pulled it off on my own.”

Ethel said, “James? The Russian ambassador? Even Mrs. Duffit?”

“Mrs. Gruffit?” said my father. “She’s an actress from New York City. Her real name is Polly Mulligan. Or is it Bulligan?”

I stared at her. Suddenly I knew the answer to another mystery.

“Aha!” I said. “I bet her real name isn’t even Mrs. Duffit.”

“He just told us that,” said Kermit.

“Oh.”

My father explained, “Your mother and I used to watch her on Broadway when I was a New York City police commissioner.”

The actress grinned and said in a voice that didn’t sound at all like a governess, “Hey, kids. Howya doin’?”

I said, “I thought your accent sounded funny.”

She waved a finger under my nose. “Watch it. Con-se-quences.”

“I don’t get it,” said Kermit. “Was any part of this true?”

“Most of it, actually,” said my father.

“The story of the Resolute?” I asked.

“True,” said my father.

“Dolley Madison saving the Washington portrait?” asked Ethel.

“True,” said my father.

“Lincoln hiding valuables in the White House walls?” asked Kermit.

“That we made up,” said my father. “But it’s a good story, isn’t it? Well done, James.”

“Thank you, Mr. President.”

Ethel said, “So the Russian ambassador didn’t really fall for Mrs. Duffit?”

“Ah,” said Count Cassini, “that part very true. It may surprise you that in Russia, women not so much this beautiful.”

He looked sadly at Mrs. Duffit. He would be leaving soon, and I could tell that he didn’t want to.

Kermit said, “Why did you do it, Pop?”

“You mean, why did we send you on a treasure hunt to find a constellation?”

“Yes.”

My father didn’t say anything. He just gazed at us.

Ethel said, “We know the answer, don’t we?”

He nodded.

She said, “It’s something you’re always telling us, isn’t it?”

He nodded.

Kermit declared, “Life is a great adventure!”

“And the worst of all fears is the fear of living!” I added

Ethel said, “By looking for the treasure—a real treasure—we had to overcome our fears.”

“We even had to work together,” I said, elbowing Kermit.

“Ow!” he said.

“But why Ursa Major?” asked Ethel. “Why was that the treasure?”

My father looked at the sky. “I figured if I was going to send you on a great chase, the end result should be pretty spectacular. And what’s more spectacular than Ursa Major?”

We gazed upward in silence. Then I looked around the roof.

“All right, then,” I said, “I have just one more question. If you were behind this from the beginning . . .”

“And I was,” said my father.

“And James knew all about it . . .”

“That’s right,” said James.

“And Mrs. Duffit was a hired actress . . .”

“Hey,” she said, “a woman’s got to work.”

“And Mr. Cassini was Lincoln’s ghost . . .”

“Is true,” he said.

“Then who is that?”

I pointed to a shimmering figure floating at the edge of the roof. It was white, like gauze, with stars twinkling around and through it. As we watched, the figure nodded, then slowly faded away, leaving us staring into the night.

I looked up at my father and grinned. I didn’t know who or what I’d just seen, but I was going to find out. And I knew one more thing.

It would be a great adventure.