her to then?

“You have to be the dog,” said Willa Jean.

“Why?” Ramona kept an eye on Mrs.

Kemp as she wondered how far she dared go

in resisting Willa Jean’s orders.

“Because I’m a beautiful rich lady and I

say so,”Willa Jean informed her.

“I’m a bigger, beautifuler, richer lady,”

said Ramona, who felt neither beautiful

nor rich, but certainly did not want to crawl around on her hands and knees barking.

“We can’t both be the lady,” said Willa

Jean, “and I said it first.”

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Ramona could not argue the justice of this point.“What kind of dog am I supposed to be?” she asked to stall for time. She glanced wistfully at her book lying on the chair, the book she was supposed to read at school, but which she was enjoying so much she brought it home.

While Willa Jean was thinking, Mrs.

Kemp said, “Sweetheart, don’t forget Bruce is coming over to play in a few minutes.”

“Bruce who?” asked Ramona, hoping

Willa Jean and Bruce would play together

and leave her alone to read.

“Bruce who doesn’t wee-wee in the sand-

box,” was Willa Jean’s prompt answer.

“Willa Jean!” Mrs. Kemp was shocked.

“What a thing to say about your little friend.”

Ramona was not shocked. She understood

that there must be a second Bruce at Willa Jean’s nursery school, a Bruce who did wee-wee in the sandbox.

As things turned out, Ramona was saved

37

from being a dog by the arrival of a small boy whose mother let him out of the car and

watched him reach the front door before she drove off.

Willa Jean ran to let him in and introduced him as Ramona expected,“This is Bruce who

doesn’t wee-wee in the sandbox.” Bruce

looked pleased with himself.

Mrs. Kemp felt a need to apologize for

her granddaughter.“Willa Jean doesn’t mean what she says.”

“But I don’t wee-wee in the sandbox,”

said Bruce. “I wee-wee in the—”

“Never mind, Bruce,” said Mrs. Kemp.

“Now what are you three going to play?”

Ramona was trapped.

“Dress up,” was Willa Jean’s prompt answer.

She dragged from the corner a carton piled with old clothes. Willa Jean shoved one of her father’s old jackets at Bruce and handed him an old hat and her blue flippers. She

38

unwound the curtain from her shoulders, draped it over her head, and tied it under her chin. Then she hung a piece of old sheet

from her shoulders. Satisfied with herself, she handed a torn shirt to Ramona, who put it

on only because Mrs. Kemp was watching.

“There,” said Willa Jean, satisfied.“I’ll be Miss Mousie, the beautiful bride, and Bruce is the frog and Ramona is Uncle Rat, and

now we are going to have a wedding party.”

Ramona did not want to be Uncle Rat.

“Mr. Frog would a-wooing go,” sang

Willa Jean. Bruce joined in,“Hm-m, hm-m. ”

Apparently this song was popular in nursery school. Ramona hm-m ed too.

“Say it,”Willa Jean ordered Bruce.