Ellen Tebbits (11 page)

Finally she caught him alone during recess. He was hanging by his knees from a bar, so Ellen turned her head upside down to speak to him.“Otis, I’ve just got to know something. Did you really untie my sash that day I thought Austine did?” she asked.

Otis dropped to his feet and looked inno-cently at Ellen. “Who, me?” he asked, his eyes big and round. Then he leaned toward her. Using three fingers he suddenly pushed up the end of his nose and pulled down his lower eyelids. “Ya-a-a!” he said.

“Oh!” Ellen turned in disgust. She might have known Otis wouldn’t tell her anything.

Of course he had untied her sash. Why did she ever think he hadn’t?

As Ellen went into the school building, she thought that if a fairy should appear and give her one wish, she would wish that she and Austine were friends again. No, she wouldn’t either. She wouldn’t risk wasting a wish, the way people in fairy tales did—

speaking without thinking and using their wish to fasten a sausage on the end of someone’s nose or something just as silly. She would use her wish to wish for as many wishes as she wanted as long as she lived.

Then she would wish that she and Austine were friends again. It was a good idea, but of course no fairy appeared.

Gradually the days grew shorter and the autumn leaves on the sidewalk deeper. The nights were chillier. Mrs. Tebbits took Ellen downtown to buy her a raincoat to replace the one she had outgrown.

Then one morning before Ellen was out of bed, Mrs.Tebbits came into her room and took her winter underwear out of a drawer.

“Mother!” wailed Ellen, sitting up in bed.

“Now, Ellen, I don’t want any fussing.”

“But, Mother . . .”

“Ellen, you heard what I said.” So Ellen was more miserable than ever when she went to school that morning.

Then something happened to change everything.

When the class had finished writing the spelling lesson on the blackboard, Mrs. Gitler said, “These erasers seem to be unusually dusty this morning. I’m afraid someone will have to go out and clean them.”

Every pupil waved his hand. Clapping erasers during class was much more fun than clapping erasers during recess.

“Ellen, you may take half the erasers,” said Mrs. Gitler. Ellen was pleased. Then Mrs. Gitler said, “Austine, you may take the rest.” Ellen felt her face turn red. A couple of girls giggled. How could Ellen face Austine alone after all these weeks? Whatever could she say and how would Austine act? Ellen’s thoughts raced as she gathered her half of the erasers. Of course they would have to leave the room together. Then maybe she could run out in front of the building instead of at the side, where everyone usually went to clap erasers. No, that would only make things worse. Maybe she could pretend to choke on chalk dust so she couldn’t talk.

“You better look out or she’ll untie your sash,” whispered Otis, as Ellen passed his desk.

The girls left the room with their erasers and, looking straight ahead, walked stiffly down the hall.They stalked out of the building into the cold schoolyard, where they could see their breath hanging in clouds in the chilly air.

Ellen briskly began to clap erasers.

Clouds of chalk dust mingled with her breath. Maybe now was the time to say she was sorry. If only she hadn’t waited so long.

Ellen looked at Austine, who had turned her back to beat her share of the erasers. She could still hear Otis whispering,“You better look out or she’ll untie your sash.” Oh no, she won’t, thought Ellen.

Suddenly Ellen was angry. She was angry because she had not guessed that it was Otis instead of Austine who untied her sash. She was angry because she had slapped Austine.

She was angry because Austine had not explained what had really happened but, most of all, she was angry because she and Austine had not made up. The quarrel had lasted so long that Ellen supposed now they never would make up.

The longer Ellen looked at Austine’s back, the madder she became. All right, if she wants to stay mad, she can for all I care, thought Ellen. So there!

Then Ellen noticed the end of Austine’s narrow sash hanging below her sweater. She was so angry she acted without thinking.

Dropping her erasers, she grabbed Austine’s sash and yanked with all her strength.There was a ripping, tearing sound. The bow not only came untied but, to Ellen’s horror, one end of the sash tore loose from the dress and hung limply in her hand.

Austine whirled and faced Ellen. Her cheeks were red and her eyes blazed.

Ellen was frightened. She wanted to run, but somehow she could not move. She looked at Austine and then stared in dismay at the jagged hole in her dress and the limp sash in her hand. What had she done now?

What would Austine do to her?

Ellen knew she had to say something.

They just couldn’t stand there staring at each other all day. She gulped and blinked her eyes to keep back the tears. “I—I guess I tore your dress,” she said, looking at the ground. She waited for Austine to move or to speak, but Austine was silent.

Ellen took a deep breath. “I sort of expected you to . . . well . . . slap me,” she said timidly, drawing an imaginary line on the ground with her toe. She almost hoped Austine
would
slap her. At least, she would feel better if they were even.

“I c-can’t,” said Austine, and sniffed.

Startled, Ellen looked up. Austine was crying! Ellen felt worse than ever. She had never seen Austine cry before.

“Austine,” said Ellen anxiously, “I didn’t really mean to slap you that time. I thought you’d duck when I turned around. I’m sorry.”There! At last she had said it. She felt better already. She added apologetically,

“Here’s your sash.”

Austine took it and sniffed again.

“Th-thank you.” She rubbed her eyes with the torn-off sash. “I guess I was so mad at you because I didn’t even untie your sash.

Otis did.”

“I know,” said Ellen. “I heard you tell Linda that night at the open house when I was in my rat suit. You didn’t even know I heard. I felt awful because I had blamed you.”

“I shouldn’t have untied your sash in the first place,” said Austine fairly.“I felt so awful that day, because your dress looked so nice and mine was so funny-looking. I guess my mother just doesn’t sew as well as your mother.”

“It’s all my fault, because dressing like each other was my idea in the first place.”

“No, it wasn’t. It was just as much my fault as yours.” Austine stuffed her sash into her pocket.

“I guess it was really both our faults,” said Ellen. “I hope your dress can be fixed.”

“That’s all right. I can stick my sash on with Scotch tape.” Austine paused. “Ellen, there’s something I’ve just got to know.

Maybe it isn’t any of my business, but . . . did your mother make you put on your winter underwear?”

Ellen hesitated. She didn’t know whether she should tell Austine or not.

Then Austine said,“My mother made me put mine on this morning.”

Ellen immediately felt better. “Isn’t it funny? Mother made me put mine on this morning, too. It feels all bunchy and awful.” The girls looked at each other and began to laugh.They laughed and beat their erasers together until they choked on chalk dust and had to stop to catch their breath.

“You know something?” gasped Ellen happily. “I was the rat you helped that night at open house.”

Austine giggled. “Were you really? I knew it was a girl rat but I never guessed it was you. Now I’m glad I helped you.” The girls smiled at each other and began to beat their erasers again.

“Why don’t you come home with me after school and make some brownies?” asked Austine. “I’ll let you break the eggs this time,” she added generously.“In brownies it doesn’t matter if the whites get mixed up with the yolks.”

“I’d love to,” said Ellen. “I’ve missed baking brownies at your house.” Otis appeared in the door of the school building. “Hey, you!” he said. “Mrs. Gitler sent me out to see what happened to you.

Gee whiz, does it take all day to clap a few little old erasers?”

“We’re coming, you—you old pieface,” answered Ellen, gathering up an armful of erasers.

“Yah, pieface!” said Austine.

“Pieface! Pieface!” yelled the girls. “Otis is a pieface!”

“Aw, cut it out,” said Otis.

A window flew open.“What are you girls doing?” demanded the principal.

“Just clapping erasers,” answered Austine.

“I don’t want any more noise in the schoolyard during classes. Return to your room at once,” ordered the principal, and slammed the window.

“Broth-er, are you going to catch it!” said Otis cheerfully, and walked like a monkey back into the school building.

“Come on, Austine,” said Ellen. She didn’t care if they did catch it. She didn’t care what happened. She and Austine were best friends again.

About the Author

BEVERLY CLEARY is one of America’s most popular authors. Born in McMinnville, Oregon, she lived on a farm in Yamhill until she was six and then moved to Portland. After college, as the children’s librarian in Yakima, Washington, she was challenged to find stories for non-readers. She wrote her first book, HENRY HUGGINS, in response to a boy’s question, “Where are the books about kids like us?”

Mrs. Cleary’s books have earned her many prestigious awards, including the American Library Association’s Laura Ingalls Wilder Award, presented in recognition of her last-ing contribution to children’s literature. Her DEAR MR. HENSHAW was awarded the 1984 John Newbery Medal, and both RAMONA QUIMBY, AGE 8 and RAMONA AND HER FATHER have been named Newbery Honor Books. In addition, her books have won more than thirty-five statewide awards based on the votes of her young readers.

Her characters, including Henry Huggins, Ellen Tebbits, Otis Spofford, and Beezus and Ramona Quimby, as well as Ribsy, Socks, and Ralph S. Mouse, have delighted children for generations. Mrs. Cleary lives in coastal California.

Visit Beverly Cleary on the World Wide Web at www.beverlycleary.com.

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FEATURING RAMONA QUIMBY
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Beezus and Ramona

Ramona the Pest

Ramona the Brave

Ramona and Her Father

Ramona and Her Mother

Ramona Quimby, Age 8

Ramona Forever

Ramona’s World

FEATURING HENRY HUGGINS
:

Henry Huggins

Henry and Beezus

Henry and Ribsy

Henry and the Paper Route

Henry and the Clubhouse

Ribsy

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:

The Mouse and the Motorcycle

Runaway Ralph

Ralph S. Mouse

MORE GREAT FICTION BY BEVERLY CLEARY
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Ellen Tebbits

Otis Spofford

Fifteen

The Luckiest Girl

Jean and Johnny

Emily’s Runaway Imagination

Sister of the Bride

Mitch and Amy

Socks

Dear Mr. Henshaw

Muggie Maggie

Strider

Two Times the Fun

AND DON’T MISS BEVERLY CLEARY’S AUTOBIOGRAPHIES
:

A Girl from Yamhill

My Own Two Feet

Credits

Typography by Amy Ryan

ELLEN TEBBITS. Copyright © 1951 by Beverly Cleary. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen.

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