stepped bravely out of bed and, in the faint light from the hall, pulled the big flat book from her bookcase. She carried it into the

living room and shoved it under a cushion.

Her parents, busy with supper dishes in the

kitchen, did not know she was out of bed.

She walked back to her room, climbed into

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bed, and pulled up the covers. Nothing had grabbed her by the ankles. Nothing slithered out from under the curtains to harm her.

Nothing had chased her. She was safe.

Gratefully Ramona said her prayers and,

exhausted, fell asleep.

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9

Mr. Quimby’s

Spunky Gal

Filled with spirit and pluck, Ramona

started off to school with her lunch box

in her hand. She was determined that today

would be different. She would make it dif-

ferent. She was her father’s spunky gal, wasn’t she? She twirled around for the pleasure of

making her pleated skirt stand out beneath

her car coat.

Ramona was so filled with spunk she

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decided to go to school a different way, by the next street over, something she

had always wanted to do. The distance to

Glenwood School was no greater.There was

no reason she should not go to school any

way she pleased as long as she looked both

ways before she crossed the street and did

not talk to strangers.

Slowpoke Howie, half a block behind,

called out when he saw her turn the corner,

“Ramona, where are you going?”

“I’m going to school a different way,”

Ramona called back, certain that Howie

would not follow to spoil her feeling of

adventure. Howie was not a boy to change

his ways.

Ramona skipped happily down the street,

singing to herself, “Hippity-hop to the

barber shop to buy a stick of candy. One for you and one for me and one for sister

Mandy.” The sky through the bare branches

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overhead was clear, the air was crisp, and

Ramona’s feet in their brown oxfords felt

light. Beezus’s old boots, which so often

weighed her down, were home in the hall

closet. Ramona was happy. The day felt dif-

ferent already.

Ramona turned the second corner, and

as she hippity-hopped down the unfamiliar

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street past three white houses and a tan stucco house, she enjoyed a feeling of free-dom and adventure. Then as she passed a

gray shingle house in the middle of the

block, a large German shepherd dog, license

tags jingling, darted down the driveway

toward her. Terrified, Ramona stood rooted

to the sidewalk. She felt as if her bad dream had come true. The grass was green, the sky

was blue. She could not move; she could not

scream.

The dog, head thrust forward, came close.

He sniffed with his black nose. Here was a

stranger. He growled. This was his territory, and he did not want a stranger to trespass.

This is not a dream, Ramona told herself.

This is real. My feet will move if I make