cigarettes that were not there and began to whistle as he ran the vacuum cleaner and folded the clothes from the dryer. The worried frown disappeared from Mrs. Quimbyâs forehead. Beezus looked even more calm and serene. Ramona, however, made a mistake. She told her mother about her tight shoes. Mrs. Quimby then wasted a Saturday afternoon shopping for shoes when she could have been sewing on Ramonaâs costume. As a result, when they drove to church the night of the Christmas-carol program, Ramona was the only unhappy member of the family.
Mr. Quimby sang as he drove:
âThereâs a little wheel
a-turning in my heart.
Thereâs a little wheel
a-turning in my heart.â
Ramona loved that song because it made her think of Howie, who liked machines. Tonight, however, she was determined not to enjoy her fatherâs singing.
Rain blew against the car, headlights shone on the pavement, the windshield wipers splip-splopped . Mrs. Quimby leaned back, tired but relaxed. Beezus smiled her gentle Virgin Mary smile that Ramona had found so annoying for the past three weeks.
Ramona sulked. Someplace above those cold, wet clouds the very same star was shining that had guided the Three Wise Men to Bethlehem. On a night like this they never would have made it.
Mr. Quimby sang on, âOh, I feel like shouting in my heartâ¦.â
Ramona interrupted her fatherâs song. âI donât care what anybody says,â she burst out. âIf I canât be a good sheep, I am not going to be a sheep at all.â She yanked off the white terry-cloth headdress with pink-lined ears that she was wearing and stuffed it into the pocket of her car coat. She started to pull her fatherâs rolled-down socks from her hands because they didnât really look like hooves, but then she decided they kept her hands warm. She squirmed on the lumpy terry-cloth tail sewn to the seat of her pajamas. Ramona could not pretend that faded pajamas printed with an army of pink rabbits, half of them upside down, made her look like a sheep, and Ramona was usually good at pretending.
Mrs. Quimbyâs voice was tired. âRamona, your tail and headdress were all I could manage, and I had to stay up late last night to finish those. I simply donât have time for complicated sewing.â
Ramona knew that. Her family had been telling her so for the past three weeks.
âA sheep should be woolly,â said Ramona. âA sheep should not be printed with pink bunnies.â
âYou can be a sheep that has been shorn,â said Mr. Quimby, who was full of jokes now that he was going to work again. âOr how about a wolf in sheepâs clothing?â
âYou just want me to be miserable,â said Ramona, not appreciating her fatherâs humor and feeling that everyone in her family should be miserable because she was.
âSheâs worn out,â said Mrs. Quimby, as if Ramona could not hear. âItâs so hard to wait for Christmas at her age.â
Ramona raised her voice. âI am not worn out! You know sheep donât wear pajamas.â
âThatâs show biz,â said Mr. Quimby.
âDaddy!â Beezus-Mary was shocked. âItâs church!â
âAnd donât forget, Ramona,â said Mr. Quimby, âas my grandmother would have said, âThose pink bunnies will never be noticed from a trotting horse.ââ
Ramona disliked her fatherâs grandmother even more. Besides, nobody rode trotting horses in church.
The sight of light shining through the stained-glass window of the big stone church diverted Ramona for a moment. The window looked beautiful, as if it were made of jewels.
Mr. Quimby backed the car into a parking space. âHo-ho-ho!â he said, as he turned off the ignition. ââTis the season to be jolly.â
Jolly was the last thing Ramona was going to be. Leaving the car, she stooped down inside her car coat to hide as