corner of the dining-room carpet washing his paws, was behaving like a satisfactory pet.

31

This morning was a time for sharing confidences. “Mother, did I used to be like

Willa Jean?” Ramona asked the question

that had worried her since the brunch.

Mrs. Quimby answered when she came

to the end of her seam. “You were a lively

little girl with a lot of imagination. And you still are.”

Ramona was reassured by her mother’s

words.“I would never throw Kleenex all over

the living room when someone had a party,”

she said virtuously.

If only every Saturday could be like this

one: no errands to run, and the two of them

sewing and talking together.“Are you going

to stop working now that Daddy has a job?”

Ramona asked as Beezus, her hair wet but

combed, came into the dining room with a

paper bag in her hand.

Mrs. Quimby looked up from the collar

she was pinning to her blouse. “Why, no,”

32

she answered as if she were surprised by the question.

“Why not?” demanded Ramona as Beezus

pulled some sewing out of the bag.

“Because we got behind on our bills when

Daddy was out of work,” explained Mrs.

Quimby, “and because we have plenty of

ways to use money. Beezus will be ready for

college in five years, and in a few more years you will be ready, too.”

College, to Ramona, was a faraway school

for young grown-ups. When they went to

college, their mothers worried about them

and mailed them boxes of cookies that they

called Care Packages. She had learned this

from listening to some of the neighbors talk to her mother. Ramona was surprised to learn that she and her sister would be expected to go to such a school someday.

“Besides,” continued Mrs. Quimby,“I like

my job. The people are interesting, and Dr.

33

Hobson is pleasant to work for.”

“I wish Daddy liked his job.” Beezus’s

head was bent over the skirt she was basting together.

Ramona understood what Beezus meant,

because she felt sad, too, and her stomach

felt tight when her father came home tired

and discouraged after a day in the checkout

line. People were in a hurry, many were cross because the line was long, and some customers acted as if he were to blame because

prices were so high.

“So do I wish he liked his job.” There

was a hint of sadness in Mrs. Quimby’s

voice. “But maybe when he has worked at

ShopRite longer, he will like it better. New jobs take getting used to.”

Ramona held up the two pieces of cloth

she had cut out for the front and back of the slacks. Both were the same. Until now she

had fastened together whatever she was

34

making with Scotch tape or a stapler. Now Ramona felt the time had come for her to

advance. Beezus had been using the sewing