“Joe? Is that you?” Mom called as he slammed the front door. “We’ve got a visitor.”

Joe raced into the living room, not bothering to take off his sneakers, which were still muddy from playing in the park. And there was Uncle Charlie, lounging on the sofa sipping a cup of extra-strong black coffee.

“Joe!” he said, beaming. “How are you, buddy?” He stood up and gave Joe a bear hug. “You’ve grown! You’re nearly as tall as me!”

That wasn’t strictly true—Uncle Charlie still towered over Joe. As always, Joe’s great-uncle was wearing an old khaki safari suit and had his gray hair slicked back, and even though he was pretty ancient (if you counted wrinkles the same way as tree rings, he’d be about the same age as a great oak!), his eyes sparkled with energy.

“Uncle Charlie’s just back from Egypt,” said Mom. “Look what he brought me!” She held up a beautifully carved wooden camel.

“Cool,” said Joe.

Joe thought his uncle Charlie was amazing. He was an archeologist and spent most of his time abroad, digging up old relics. Usually they wouldn’t hear anything from Uncle Charlie for months, then suddenly he’d turn up on their doorstep with tales of lost cities and secret temples and treasure . . .

“So, what was Egypt like?” asked Joe.

“Hot! Very hot! And fascinating, too!” Uncle Charlie replied. “We found a lost pyramid buried underground. Imagine that, Joe—a three-thousand-year-old tomb containing lavishly decorated sarcophagi, golden statues, a chariot as big as a bus . . .”

“Mummies?”

Uncle Charlie grinned. “Of course!”

“Wow!” Joe loved hearing about Uncle Charlie’s adventures. He was already drifting off into a daydream about the secret pyramid and the treasures hidden within, when Uncle Charlie nudged him playfully, bringing him back to the real world with a bump.

“Now, I want to hear all about you, Joe. What’s been happening? Have you gotten that dog yet?”

Joe’s mom grimaced. “Don’t mention the D word. That’s all I hear from morning to night!”

“Every kid should have a dog.” Uncle Charlie winked at Joe.

“Exactly!” said Joe. “That’s what I keep saying!”

Mom frowned. “But I only have to hear the word pet and I start sneezing!” As if to prove the point, she wrinkled her nose, blinked twice, and then gave a loud ACHOOO!

Joe scuffed the carpet with his foot. It didn’t matter how desperate he was for a dog; with Mom’s allergies, he had no chance.

“Cheer up, Joe!” said Uncle Charlie. “Go and look in my bag. I’ve got something for you.”

Joe brightened. Uncle Charlie always brought back the most amazing gifts. Once, he’d given Joe a tiger’s tooth that he’d had to dig out of his own thigh. Then there was the super-spooky glass eye that had belonged to a long-dead pirate—it sat on top of Joe’s dresser, eyeballing anyone who dared enter his room.

“Look for the old cigar box—it’s in there.”

Joe rummaged around inside Uncle Charlie’s battered old leather satchel and found a few notebooks, a pair of socks, and quite a lot of sand . . . Then he spotted the cigar box. He flipped open the lid and peered inside.