for Ramona to admire. Because everyone

was watching, Ramona said politely, “He’s a

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nice bear.”And he was a nice bear, the nicest bear Ramona had ever seen. He was big and

soft with a kindly look on his furry face

and—this was the best part—each of his

four big paws had five furry toes. You could count them, five on each paw. Even though

Ramona felt she should be outgrowing bears,

she longed to hold that bear, to put her arms around him, hug him close and love him.

“Would you like me to hold the bear for

you?” she asked.

“No,” said Willa Jean.

“Ramona,” whispered Mrs. Quimby, “take Willa Jean into the kitchen and sit her at the table so she won’t spill orange juice on the carpet.” Ramona gave her mother a balky

look, which was returned with her mother’s

you-do-it-or-you’ll-catch-it look. Mrs.

Quimby was not at her best when about to

serve a meal to a living room full of guests.

In the kitchen Willa Jean set Woger care-

fully on the chair before she climbed up

beside him, displaying her ruffled under-

pants, and grasped her orange juice with

both hands, dribbling some down the front

of her fresh pink dress.

Mrs. Quimby, assisted by Beezus, set out

a platter of scrambled eggs and another of

bacon and sausage beside the gelatine salad.

Hastily she snatched two small plates from

the cupboard and dished out two servings of

brunch, which she set in front of Ramona

and Willa Jean. Beezus, acting like a grown-

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up, filled a basket with muffins and carried it into the dining room. Guests took plates

from the stack at the end of the table and

began to serve themselves.

Ramona scowled. If Beezus got to eat in

the living room with the grown-ups, why

couldn’t she? She was no baby. She would

not spill.

“Be a good girl!” whispered Mrs. Quimby,

who had forgotten the marmalade.

I’m trying, thought Ramona, but her

mother was too flurried to notice her efforts.

Willa Jean took one bite of scrambled eggs

and then went to work, patting the rest flat on her plate with the back of her spoon.

Ramona watched her charge give her egg

a final pat with the back of her spoon, pick up her bear, and trot off to the living room, leaving Ramona alone to nibble a muffin,

think, and look at her artwork, arithmetic

papers, and some cartoons her father had

15

drawn, which had been taped to the refrigerator door for the family to admire. Nobody missed Ramona, all alone out there in the

kitchen. Conversation from the living room

was boring, all about high prices and who

would be the next president, with no men-

tion of children or anything interesting until someone said, “Oops. Careful,Willa Jean.”

Then Mrs. Kemp said, “No-no, Willa

Jean. Mustn’t put your fingers in Mr.