can't understand what's happening to Bart this summer. He's not the same child. What do you think he does outside alone all the time?"
I felt uncomfortable. I wanted to protect Bart and let him have the old lady next door for his friend, and I couldn't tell Mom that woman was saying she was Bart's grandmother. "Don't you worry about Bart, Mom," I assured her. "You just keep on having fun with Cindy. She's sure a cute kid, like you must have been."
She smiled and kissed my cheek. "If my eyes aren't deceiving me, there's another cute kid you admire too."
I felt a blush heat up my cheeks. I couldn't help but look at Melodie Richarme. She was so darn pretty, with hair that was a deeper shade of blonde than Mom's, but blue eyes that were just as soft and shining. I thought I'd never love any girl who didn't have blue eyes. Just then Melodic showed up, running to her father's car, making me stare at the way she was turning into a woman Gosh, it was miraculous the way flat-chested little girls showed up one day with bosoms, tiny waists and swelling hips, and suddenly they were ten times more interesting.
The minute we hit home Mom had me hunting up Bart. "If he's over in that other yard, you tell me. I don't want you children bothering an old recluse, though I wish to heaven she'd stop climbing that ladder and staring at me over the wall."
Climbing, jumping, calling, I searched until I found Bart in the old barn that had once been what was called in olden times "a carriage house." Now it had empty stalls where horses used to live, and Bart was in one, using a rake to pull out the dirty hay. I stared, disbelieving my eyes. With him was a St. Bernard puppy. The dog was almost as big as he was. It was easy enough to tell it was only a puppy, for it had kiddish ways, frolicking and making puppy noises.
Bart threw down his rake and scolded the dog. "You stop jumping around like that, Apple! Ponies don't jump anything but hurdles--now you eat that hay or I won't give you clean hay tomorrow."
"Bart . . . "I called softly, leaning against the barn wall and smiling to see him jump. "Dogs don't eat hay."
His face flamed. "You go 'way! You get out of here! You don't belong!"
"Neither do you."
"You get out of here," he sobbed, hurling down his rake and pulling the huge puppy into his arms. "This is my dog; he was supposed to have been a pony--so I'm making him both a puppy and a pony. Don't you laugh and think I'm crazy."
"I don't think you're crazy," I said, a lump in my throat to see him so upset. It really was a shame I had more affinity for animals than he did. They seemed to know he'd step on their tails or trip over them. In fact, even I wasn't too comfortable lying on the floor when Bart was around.
"Who gave you the puppy?"
"My grandmother," Bart said, with so much pride in his eyes. "She loves me, Jory, really loves me more than Momma does. And she loves me more than your ole Madame Marisha loves you!"
That was the trouble with Bart. No sooner did I feel close to him than he slapped me in my face, making me regret I'd ever let him under my skin.
I didn't pat the beautiful puppy on his head, though he was making up to me. I let Bart have his way; maybe this time he'd make a friend after all.
He smiled at me happily as we headed for home. "You're not mad at me?" he asked. Of course I wasn't. "You won't tell on me, Jory? It's important not to tell Momma or Daddy."
I didn't like to keep secrets from my parents, but Bart was insistent, and what would it hurt anyway if a kind lady gave Bart a few gifts and a new puppy? She was making him feel loved and happy.
In the kitchen Emma was spooning cereal into Cindy's open mouth. Cindy had been dressed by Mom in new baby-blue coveralls with a white blouse embroidered with pink rabbits. Mom had done that embroidery work herself. Cindy's hair had been brushed until it gleamed like silvery gold; a blue satin ribbon held her ponytail high on the back of her head. She was so clean and fresh I wanted to
I felt uncomfortable. I wanted to protect Bart and let him have the old lady next door for his friend, and I couldn't tell Mom that woman was saying she was Bart's grandmother. "Don't you worry about Bart, Mom," I assured her. "You just keep on having fun with Cindy. She's sure a cute kid, like you must have been."
She smiled and kissed my cheek. "If my eyes aren't deceiving me, there's another cute kid you admire too."
I felt a blush heat up my cheeks. I couldn't help but look at Melodie Richarme. She was so darn pretty, with hair that was a deeper shade of blonde than Mom's, but blue eyes that were just as soft and shining. I thought I'd never love any girl who didn't have blue eyes. Just then Melodic showed up, running to her father's car, making me stare at the way she was turning into a woman Gosh, it was miraculous the way flat-chested little girls showed up one day with bosoms, tiny waists and swelling hips, and suddenly they were ten times more interesting.
The minute we hit home Mom had me hunting up Bart. "If he's over in that other yard, you tell me. I don't want you children bothering an old recluse, though I wish to heaven she'd stop climbing that ladder and staring at me over the wall."
Climbing, jumping, calling, I searched until I found Bart in the old barn that had once been what was called in olden times "a carriage house." Now it had empty stalls where horses used to live, and Bart was in one, using a rake to pull out the dirty hay. I stared, disbelieving my eyes. With him was a St. Bernard puppy. The dog was almost as big as he was. It was easy enough to tell it was only a puppy, for it had kiddish ways, frolicking and making puppy noises.
Bart threw down his rake and scolded the dog. "You stop jumping around like that, Apple! Ponies don't jump anything but hurdles--now you eat that hay or I won't give you clean hay tomorrow."
"Bart . . . "I called softly, leaning against the barn wall and smiling to see him jump. "Dogs don't eat hay."
His face flamed. "You go 'way! You get out of here! You don't belong!"
"Neither do you."
"You get out of here," he sobbed, hurling down his rake and pulling the huge puppy into his arms. "This is my dog; he was supposed to have been a pony--so I'm making him both a puppy and a pony. Don't you laugh and think I'm crazy."
"I don't think you're crazy," I said, a lump in my throat to see him so upset. It really was a shame I had more affinity for animals than he did. They seemed to know he'd step on their tails or trip over them. In fact, even I wasn't too comfortable lying on the floor when Bart was around.
"Who gave you the puppy?"
"My grandmother," Bart said, with so much pride in his eyes. "She loves me, Jory, really loves me more than Momma does. And she loves me more than your ole Madame Marisha loves you!"
That was the trouble with Bart. No sooner did I feel close to him than he slapped me in my face, making me regret I'd ever let him under my skin.
I didn't pat the beautiful puppy on his head, though he was making up to me. I let Bart have his way; maybe this time he'd make a friend after all.
He smiled at me happily as we headed for home. "You're not mad at me?" he asked. Of course I wasn't. "You won't tell on me, Jory? It's important not to tell Momma or Daddy."
I didn't like to keep secrets from my parents, but Bart was insistent, and what would it hurt anyway if a kind lady gave Bart a few gifts and a new puppy? She was making him feel loved and happy.
In the kitchen Emma was spooning cereal into Cindy's open mouth. Cindy had been dressed by Mom in new baby-blue coveralls with a white blouse embroidered with pink rabbits. Mom had done that embroidery work herself. Cindy's hair had been brushed until it gleamed like silvery gold; a blue satin ribbon held her ponytail high on the back of her head. She was so clean and fresh I wanted to
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