know. As Beezus had predicted, her parents

were sure to talk on and on with Howie’s

parents about their children. Mrs. Kemp

would say Howie needed to learn to be cre-

ative, and Ramona’s mother would say

Ramona needed to learn to be responsible

like Beezus. There was no telling what the

fathers would say, although fathers, Ramona

knew, did not spend as much time as mothers

thinking up ways to improve their children.

Ramona decided to act. She got out of

bed and pattered down the hall in her bare

feet.

Howie’s grandmother looked up from her

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knitting. “It’s past your bedtime, Ramona,”

she said.

So time had passed after all.“I know,” said

Ramona and could not resist boasting a little.

“I have to leave a note for my mother.” On

the note pad by the telephone she carefully

printed:

Come here Moth

er. Come here

to me.

No need to sign the note. Her mother would

know who it was from, because Beezus wrote

cursive. Ramona left her note on the table

beside the front door, where the family always looked for mail and messages. She sidled

closer to Howie’s grandmother, pretending

interest in her knitting, which appeared to

be a small sweater of strange shape.

93

“Is that for a doll?” asked Ramona.

Mrs. Kemp’s eyes were on the television

screen, where two boring grown-ups were

saying good-by forever to one another. “It’s a sweater for my little dachshund,” she

answered.“When I finish I’m going to make

a little beret to match. Now run along to

bed.”

For a moment Ramona had enjoyed

relief from her troubles. Reluctantly she

returned to bed. She heard Beezus take her

bath, get into bed, and turn out her light

without being told.That was the kind of girl Beezus was. Beezus would never get herself

into the sort of mess Ramona faced.

Ramona’s conscience hurt, and a hurting

conscience was the worst feeling in the

world. Ramona thought of the ghost and

the boneless gorilla that she and Beezus had scared themselves with the night of the hole in the house, but she quickly squashed the

94

thoughts by thinking how surprised her mother would be when she discovered what

a grown-up note Ramona had written.

Ramona must have fallen asleep, because the

next thing she knew, her mother was whis-

pering, “Ramona?”

“I’m awake, Mama. Did you get my

note?”

“Yes, Ramona. I had no idea you were

old enough to leave a note.” Mrs. Quimby’s

words gave Ramona a good feeling. Her

mother knew the right answers to ques-

tions.

Beezus called out from her room. “What

did you talk about at the Kemps’?”

“Your mother’s new job,” answered Mr.

Quimby.

“Oh,” said Beezus. “What else?”

“The high cost of living. Football. Things

like that,” said Mr. Quimby. “No family

secrets.”

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Mrs. Quimby bumped against Ramona’s

bed in the dark.

“Mama?”

“Yes, Ramona.”

“What did Mrs. Griggs say about me?”

Mrs. Quimby’s answer was honest and