rocking. He sat up with a jerk, trying to figure out where he was. A fisherman friend of Uncle Morten’s was tying up the front end of the boat, but Peter couldn’t see his uncle.
“Hey, sailor, we’re back.” There he was, poking his head into the wheelhouse.
“Oh,” said Peter, still a little groggy. “I must have fallen asleep.”
“Yeah, you really conked out. Must have been all that swimming.” Then he looked around for a moment. “Why don’t you just go ahead; I have plenty of help here unloading. Besides, you’d trip over yourself in those old clothes.” He chuckled. “They’re a little big for me, too. I don’t know where I got them.”
Peter looked down at himself. The shirt was twice as big as he was, and the only way the big pants stayed on was with a cord wrapped two times around. But he had to laugh, too, it looked so silly.
“Well, okay. But I feel pretty stupid walking through town like this. I hope nobody sees me.”
“Up to you, Peter. You could change back into your salty, wet clothes.” Peter shuddered at the thought but considered it. “Tell your mom and dad that I’ll be by in about forty five minutes. I’ll explain to them what happened when you fell in.”
“Thanks, Uncle Morten. You saved my life.”
“Well, hardly,” he smiled. “We’re still working on that.”
Peter shivered, thinking again about his wet clothes that had wrapped around him like seaweed, about the numbing cold water, and about everything his uncle had told him that afternoon. With his wet clothes rolled up and tucked under his arm, Peter jumped down onto the dock and ran toward home.
Home for Dinner
8
As the pigeon flies, it was only about six city blocks from the harbor to the Andersen home. Eight to Henrik’s apartment above the little bookstore on Star Street. First Peter had to check in with the birds, though. He poked his head in the door of the shed and counted: One, two, three, four, five.... All there. He knew Number Two would make it back just fine.
Now he had to find a quick way home, without being seen by anyone. He tried a few back streets, smaller ones like Mountain Street and Stone Street. It was getting dark, he thought, so maybe no one would see him there. At least he didn’t hear anybody laugh yet, but a couple of boys on their bikes—older teenagers—gave him a good stare. I look like some kind of hobo. Down Rose Spring Street, past the red brick City Hall with its tall tower and large entryway, around the corner, and Peter was home.
He almost made it to his room, but Elise caught him in the hallway. “So, Peter, who designed your new wardrobe? No, really, it’s kind of cute, and the color matches—"
Peter slipped into his room and slammed the door. Sisters.
Even though Peter was glad his uncle came by for dinner and explained what happened, Elise still kept grinning the whole time. It was a funny story, but maybe not that funny.
“Hey, don’t laugh,” he growled at her. “That water was cold.”
“But how long were you in the ocean?” asked Mrs. Andersen. She seemed the most concerned, even after Uncle Morten had explained to everybody that he had turned right around and picked up Peter within minutes.
“Really, not long,” Uncle Morten explained. He tried again to make everyone understand that it wasn’t such a big thing. “It only took me a moment to realize Peter had flipped off the back end, and...”
“But how did you get so tipsy, Peter?” asked Elise. At this point, Peter hated having to explain himself.
“I told you,” he said again. “I had some bread, and I was just throwing it to the seagulls.” That was enough to send off another round of giggles.
“Speaking of birds,” said Elise, looking more serious. “Henrik and I were down at the boathouse when Number Two came back, at two thirty. We got the message you sent. Henrik said to tell you he got it, if he didn’t see you first.”
“Oh,
“Hey, sailor, we’re back.” There he was, poking his head into the wheelhouse.
“Oh,” said Peter, still a little groggy. “I must have fallen asleep.”
“Yeah, you really conked out. Must have been all that swimming.” Then he looked around for a moment. “Why don’t you just go ahead; I have plenty of help here unloading. Besides, you’d trip over yourself in those old clothes.” He chuckled. “They’re a little big for me, too. I don’t know where I got them.”
Peter looked down at himself. The shirt was twice as big as he was, and the only way the big pants stayed on was with a cord wrapped two times around. But he had to laugh, too, it looked so silly.
“Well, okay. But I feel pretty stupid walking through town like this. I hope nobody sees me.”
“Up to you, Peter. You could change back into your salty, wet clothes.” Peter shuddered at the thought but considered it. “Tell your mom and dad that I’ll be by in about forty five minutes. I’ll explain to them what happened when you fell in.”
“Thanks, Uncle Morten. You saved my life.”
“Well, hardly,” he smiled. “We’re still working on that.”
Peter shivered, thinking again about his wet clothes that had wrapped around him like seaweed, about the numbing cold water, and about everything his uncle had told him that afternoon. With his wet clothes rolled up and tucked under his arm, Peter jumped down onto the dock and ran toward home.
Home for Dinner
8
As the pigeon flies, it was only about six city blocks from the harbor to the Andersen home. Eight to Henrik’s apartment above the little bookstore on Star Street. First Peter had to check in with the birds, though. He poked his head in the door of the shed and counted: One, two, three, four, five.... All there. He knew Number Two would make it back just fine.
Now he had to find a quick way home, without being seen by anyone. He tried a few back streets, smaller ones like Mountain Street and Stone Street. It was getting dark, he thought, so maybe no one would see him there. At least he didn’t hear anybody laugh yet, but a couple of boys on their bikes—older teenagers—gave him a good stare. I look like some kind of hobo. Down Rose Spring Street, past the red brick City Hall with its tall tower and large entryway, around the corner, and Peter was home.
He almost made it to his room, but Elise caught him in the hallway. “So, Peter, who designed your new wardrobe? No, really, it’s kind of cute, and the color matches—"
Peter slipped into his room and slammed the door. Sisters.
Even though Peter was glad his uncle came by for dinner and explained what happened, Elise still kept grinning the whole time. It was a funny story, but maybe not that funny.
“Hey, don’t laugh,” he growled at her. “That water was cold.”
“But how long were you in the ocean?” asked Mrs. Andersen. She seemed the most concerned, even after Uncle Morten had explained to everybody that he had turned right around and picked up Peter within minutes.
“Really, not long,” Uncle Morten explained. He tried again to make everyone understand that it wasn’t such a big thing. “It only took me a moment to realize Peter had flipped off the back end, and...”
“But how did you get so tipsy, Peter?” asked Elise. At this point, Peter hated having to explain himself.
“I told you,” he said again. “I had some bread, and I was just throwing it to the seagulls.” That was enough to send off another round of giggles.
“Speaking of birds,” said Elise, looking more serious. “Henrik and I were down at the boathouse when Number Two came back, at two thirty. We got the message you sent. Henrik said to tell you he got it, if he didn’t see you first.”
“Oh,
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