Emmy and the Home For Troubled Girls Read Online Free Page B

cries.”
    â€œThey’re all boring, Mother,” said a voice from the dollhouse. A piebald rat, white and brown and tan, stepped from the shadows, flicked on the tiny spotlight that shone on the central staircase, and paused a moment, her tail looped elegantly over one paw. “Why don’t you get some use out of them for a change? Have them do your nails.”
    Ana stiffened and turned away. She didn’t look at the piebald rat more than was absolutely necessary. Miss Barmy had been horrible when she’d been Ana’s nanny, long ago and in another place entirely; her transformation into a rat hadn’t improved her.
    Mr. B fumbled with the knife in his hands, and set down his carving. “But nail polish might be dangerous. All those toxic chemicals—”
    â€œNonsense,” said Miss Barmy. “Nail polish can’t possibly hurt Mother; she’s used it her whole life.”
    â€œI meant for the little girls,” Mr. B said apologetically. “They’re so small … and they’d have to breathe the stuff …”
    â€œOh, the girls ,” said Miss Barmy coldly. “Really, Father, I don’t understand you at all. You’re not thinking of Mother . She would so enjoy a pretty, new color …” She looked at Mrs. B consideringly. “The girls could dig out your earwax, too.”
    Mrs. B tilted her head to one side and consulted a pocket mirror. “I do have a few nose hairs that need clipping.”
    A low whimper came from the vicinity of the shoebox. Ana looked up at Mrs. B’s dark and yawning nostrils in horror.
    A sudden scuffling came from somewhere near Mr. B’s feet. Ana peered over the edge of the tray and saw a hole in the baseboard.
    It was a new hole; she could see fresh tooth marks all around the edges. It hadn’t been there when the girls had lived in the dollhouse, or Ana would have noticed it.
    â€œPaper!” bawled a voice from the hole, and a sleek striped rodent crawled out, stood up, and adjusted the sling on its shoulder.
    â€œWell? Toss it up!” commanded Miss Barmy from the table.
    â€œI’m collecting,” the gopher said, flipping open a small notebook. “You owe me for one week’s delivery of the Rodent City Register . Five seeds, please.”
    â€œSeeds? What kind of seeds?” Miss Barmy glanced at her father and jerked her head sharply. Mr. B got up and ambled to the kitchen.
    The gopher shrugged. “Oh, pumpkin, apple, sunflower—the usual.”
    â€œWe don’t have any pumpkin,” called Mr. B, peering into a cupboard. “Caraway we’ve got. Sesame, yes. Anise, dill—”
    â€œWould any of those do?” Miss Barmy interrupted.
    â€œCumin, celery, mustard, poppyseed …”
    The gopher looked startled. “Those are rare seeds, ma’am. Very valuable. Just plain pumpkin is good enough for me.”
    Miss Barmy’s eyes widened. Then slowly, greedily, she smiled, her furry cheeks bunching until her eyes were squeezed almost shut. “Father,” she called, “sesame seeds, please.”
    â€œBut, ma’am,” the gopher protested, wagging his head, “it’s too much—really it is.”
    Miss Barmy, still smiling, looked down over the table edge. “Count out six seeds,” she said as Mr. B returned with a jar. “Our gopher friend”—she glanced at his name badge—“Gomer works hard. He deserves a big tip.”
    â€œOh, ma’am!” cried the gopher. “You’re too kind!”
    â€œPerhaps I am too softhearted,” said Miss Barmy. “I’m told it’s my only flaw.”
    Gomer’s beady eyes were joyful. “Now I can rent my tuxedo for the party!”
    â€œWhat party?” Miss Barmy’s voice cooled ever so slightly.
    â€œThe big party at Rodent City. There’s a notice on page three. I’m—I’m sure you’ll