taxi. “This is for you.”
“For me?” said Napoleon.
“Frau Haffenreffer baked you some napoleons for getting me Suriname.”
“Napoleons for Napoleon?” Napoleon gasped.
“I
tried
to explain you hate them, but Frau Haffenreffer wouldn’t listen.”
“Keep them, Monsieur Leon! I do not want them! Give them out at school!”
The timing couldn’t have been better. When the taxi pulled up to the steps of the school, Leon saw a yellow bus parked out front.
“The field trip!” he exclaimed. He boarded the bus with the pastries and headed to the back, where Lily-Matisseand P.W. were saving him a spot. On the way, he passed Lumpkin, who was too busy teasing Antoinette to notice him or the pastry box.
“Your mom’s chaperoning?” P.W. said to Lily-Matisse as Regina Jasprow climbed aboard.
“Looks like it,” said Lily-Matisse. She sounded less than thrilled.
“What’s that purple thing she’s wearing?” P.W. asked.
“She calls that her place-mat dress,” Lily-Matisse said with a sigh. “The seventh graders gave her some place mats for helping at the Nimble Fingers Craft Fair last year. Only Mom doesn’t
believe
in place mats, so she turned them into a dress.”
P.W. and Leon exchanged puzzled looks.
“And check out the handbag,” said Lily-Matisse. “She made it out of an old velveteen glove. She’s always complaining that her bus tokens get caught in the thumb.”
“Well, she looks real colorful,” Leon said graciously.
“Not as colorful as the coach,” said P.W.
Skip Kasperitis climbed onto the bus sporting a bright green nylon tracksuit.
“Check out his pocket,” said Leon. “I bet you that’s his spit jar.”
“Did you read chapter seven in the
Medieval Reader?”
said P.W. excitedly. “They had a Fun Facts box that talked about spit. There was this monk calledJonas who figured out spit contains magic powers that can bring the dead back to life.”
A large black cape darkened the front of the bus. “Quiet down, you knaves!” Miss Hagmeyer yelled, flicking her instructional needle in the air. “If you don’t, I’ll make you sit alphabetically.”
“She looks like a witch the way she waves that thing,” Thomas whispered.
“It’s a pity this
isn’t
a magic wand, Mr. Warchowski,” Miss Hagmeyer shot back. “If it were, I would use it to remove your voice box! However, since I can’t, adjust your volume control to low while we are driving to the Cloisters.”
After performing a head count, Miss Hagmeyer sat down and told the driver he could go.
“What exactly
are
the Cloisters?” Leon asked as the bus rumbled uptown.
“It’s this ancient castle place with a medieval museum,” Lily-Matisse said. “Mom takes me there all the time.”
“I hope they have a dungeon with torture stuff,” said P.W.
“Why?” said Leon. “We just left a dungeon with torture stuff.”
Ten minutes into the trip Leon held up the pastry box. “Good folk,” he said loudly. “It is I, Sir Leon, wishing to ask how art thee?”
“It’s not ‘How art thee,’” quibbled Antoinette. “It’s ‘How art thou.’”
“Whatever,” said Leon.
“You mean ‘mayhap.’”
“Enough!”
“Enow,” she corrected.
“Knock it off,” said Leon. He gave the pastry box a gentle shake and said, “Anyone hungry?”
“What’d you bring?” someone shouted.
“A treasure beyond rubies,” Leon answered, borrowing a phrase from the
Medieval Reader
. He pulled the birthday ring from his pocket and slid it onto his finger. With a quick, effortless tug, he cut through the string and said, “Behold!” as he lifted the lid.
Classmates peered inside the box at the custard delicacies. Antoinette immediately started pestering Leon whether people actually ate napoleons in the Middle Ages. He ignored her and offered P.W. a pastry, then turned to Lily-Matisse.
“And you, milady?”
Lily-Matisse blushed and bowed her head before grabbing a cream-filled dessert. Leon handed out a
“For me?” said Napoleon.
“Frau Haffenreffer baked you some napoleons for getting me Suriname.”
“Napoleons for Napoleon?” Napoleon gasped.
“I
tried
to explain you hate them, but Frau Haffenreffer wouldn’t listen.”
“Keep them, Monsieur Leon! I do not want them! Give them out at school!”
The timing couldn’t have been better. When the taxi pulled up to the steps of the school, Leon saw a yellow bus parked out front.
“The field trip!” he exclaimed. He boarded the bus with the pastries and headed to the back, where Lily-Matisseand P.W. were saving him a spot. On the way, he passed Lumpkin, who was too busy teasing Antoinette to notice him or the pastry box.
“Your mom’s chaperoning?” P.W. said to Lily-Matisse as Regina Jasprow climbed aboard.
“Looks like it,” said Lily-Matisse. She sounded less than thrilled.
“What’s that purple thing she’s wearing?” P.W. asked.
“She calls that her place-mat dress,” Lily-Matisse said with a sigh. “The seventh graders gave her some place mats for helping at the Nimble Fingers Craft Fair last year. Only Mom doesn’t
believe
in place mats, so she turned them into a dress.”
P.W. and Leon exchanged puzzled looks.
“And check out the handbag,” said Lily-Matisse. “She made it out of an old velveteen glove. She’s always complaining that her bus tokens get caught in the thumb.”
“Well, she looks real colorful,” Leon said graciously.
“Not as colorful as the coach,” said P.W.
Skip Kasperitis climbed onto the bus sporting a bright green nylon tracksuit.
“Check out his pocket,” said Leon. “I bet you that’s his spit jar.”
“Did you read chapter seven in the
Medieval Reader?”
said P.W. excitedly. “They had a Fun Facts box that talked about spit. There was this monk calledJonas who figured out spit contains magic powers that can bring the dead back to life.”
A large black cape darkened the front of the bus. “Quiet down, you knaves!” Miss Hagmeyer yelled, flicking her instructional needle in the air. “If you don’t, I’ll make you sit alphabetically.”
“She looks like a witch the way she waves that thing,” Thomas whispered.
“It’s a pity this
isn’t
a magic wand, Mr. Warchowski,” Miss Hagmeyer shot back. “If it were, I would use it to remove your voice box! However, since I can’t, adjust your volume control to low while we are driving to the Cloisters.”
After performing a head count, Miss Hagmeyer sat down and told the driver he could go.
“What exactly
are
the Cloisters?” Leon asked as the bus rumbled uptown.
“It’s this ancient castle place with a medieval museum,” Lily-Matisse said. “Mom takes me there all the time.”
“I hope they have a dungeon with torture stuff,” said P.W.
“Why?” said Leon. “We just left a dungeon with torture stuff.”
Ten minutes into the trip Leon held up the pastry box. “Good folk,” he said loudly. “It is I, Sir Leon, wishing to ask how art thee?”
“It’s not ‘How art thee,’” quibbled Antoinette. “It’s ‘How art thou.’”
“Whatever,” said Leon.
“You mean ‘mayhap.’”
“Enough!”
“Enow,” she corrected.
“Knock it off,” said Leon. He gave the pastry box a gentle shake and said, “Anyone hungry?”
“What’d you bring?” someone shouted.
“A treasure beyond rubies,” Leon answered, borrowing a phrase from the
Medieval Reader
. He pulled the birthday ring from his pocket and slid it onto his finger. With a quick, effortless tug, he cut through the string and said, “Behold!” as he lifted the lid.
Classmates peered inside the box at the custard delicacies. Antoinette immediately started pestering Leon whether people actually ate napoleons in the Middle Ages. He ignored her and offered P.W. a pastry, then turned to Lily-Matisse.
“And you, milady?”
Lily-Matisse blushed and bowed her head before grabbing a cream-filled dessert. Leon handed out a
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