Ellen Tebbits (4 page)

“Otis, you are not cooperating,” said Miss Joyce. “All right, class. We will start with an easy problem. Write these numbers in a column. Nine, four, seven.” Oh dear, thought Ellen. Sevens and nines were always hard. She drew her numbers slowly and very carefully to give herself time to think. Otis scribbled his figures, drew a long line under them, and wrote the total while Ellen was drawing a neat plus sign.

She didn’t mean to look at Otis’s work but, somehow, she could not help turning her eyes toward it.

“Hey! You’re peeking,” said Otis in a loud whisper.

“I am not!” said Ellen, and quickly wrote her total. Even though she knew it was wrong, she wrote one hundred and thirty-seven.

Miss Joyce looked around the room.

“Everyone look at Ellen’s work, please,” she said. “Ellen has made a mistake that is very easy to make if we are not thinking. Ellen has added nine and four correctly.That gave her thirteen. Then, instead of adding seven to thirteen, she put the seven at the end of thirteen. That gave her one hundred and thirty-seven instead of the correct answer.

Who can give me the correct answer?” 

“Twenty,” said Linda loudly, and looked triumphantly at Ellen. Linda always seemed to be right when Ellen was wrong.

“That’s right, Linda. I am sure Ellen knew better. She just wasn’t thinking.” Miss Joyce smiled reassuringly, but Ellen didn’t feel any better. She would never get to clap erasers by making silly mistakes in arithmetic.

“All right, boys and girls. Erase your work.” Everyone grabbed for an eraser. There were never enough erasers to go around, but for once Ellen managed to snatch one. So did Otis.

“Miss Joyce,” said Linda from the front blackboard, “we have only two erasers here and they have more than their share at the side board.”

“Who will be kind and give an eraser to the front blackboard?” asked Miss Joyce.

Ellen disliked giving up her eraser, especially since it would mean sharing one with Otis. It wasn’t often that she had an eraser all to herself. But, to please Miss Joyce, she took her eraser to the front blackboard and handed it to Linda.

“Thank you, Ellen.You are a good neighbor.” Miss Joyce smiled at Ellen. “Ready for the next problem.”

Ellen hoped she had pleased Miss Joyce enough to be chosen to clap erasers, but when recess came, Miss Joyce selected George and Linda. Ellen was terribly disappointed. Surely there must be something she could do to please Miss Joyce.

“Why don’t you bring something to school?” suggested Austine sympathetically. “Then maybe Miss Joyce would choose you.”

Ellen thought this was a good idea. All the boys and girls in Ellen’s room liked to bring things to school to show the class.The next morning Ellen brought an autumn leaf that she thought was unusually pretty.

Joanne brought a larger and more colorful leaf, so no one paid much attention to Ellen’s leaf.

A few days later Miss Joyce was reading a chapter about plants out of
Science Reader,
Book Three.
She explained that many plants lived only one season. These plants were called annuals. The class could think of lots of annuals they had seen.They named petu-nias, pansies, zinnias, and many others.

Then Miss Joyce explained that perennials were plants that grew year after year.

Amelia said that the roses and pinks growing in her yard were perennial, because they had been there as long as she could remember.

Austine waved her hand and said that geraniums were perennials.

“They are not,” said Linda, without even raising her hand.“They don’t count, because they grow in pots.”

“They do not! In California . . .” Austine glanced at Ellen and continued. “Where I used to live they grow for years and years.

They grew in our yard and they were higher than the fence.”

Miss Joyce smiled. “Austine is right, Linda. Geraniums are perennials, even though we cannot grow them outdoors in winter in Oregon.”

Miss Joyce went on to explain that biennials were plants that took two years to grow and produce seed. The class thought and thought, but no one could think of even one biennial.

Finally Miss Joyce said,“I can think of two very common biennials—beets and carrots.

You probably have never seen a beet or a carrot that has grown a flower and seeds, because we eat them before they are that old.” Then Ellen remembered the beet she had seen in a vacant lot several blocks from her house. It had been growing for months in a lot where someone had once had a vegetable garden. Ellen always looked for the beet when she went down that street, because it was the biggest beet she had ever seen.The last time she had looked, the stalk growing out of it was over two feet high.

Now that she thought about it, the stalk did have a funny thing at the top. She supposed it was the beet flower, but it certainly wasn’t very pretty.

Ellen raised her hand. “I know where there is a beet with a flower on top. If you want, I could bring it to school to show the class.”

“Thank you, Ellen,” said Miss Joyce. “I think that is an excellent idea. We do not often see a beet blossom. If the weather is unusually cold, the plants must be dug up and buried in pits and then replanted in the spring. However, we had such a mild winter last year that perhaps it wasn’t necessary.” Ellen smiled happily. At last she had thought of something that would please Miss Joyce. Surely she would get to clap erasers if she brought a rare biennial beet flower to school.

Early the next morning Ellen ran up on Austine’s porch out of the rain and in her rubber boots tap-danced,
hop, one-two-three
.

This was the way the girls summoned each other instead of calling or ringing the door-bell. She waited and danced again.
Hop, one-two-three, slap down, slap down
.

Austine’s brother Bruce came to the door. “Austine isn’t ready,” he said.

Then Austine came to the door in her stocking feet and with her hair uncombed.

“Oh, Austine. Couldn’t you have been ready on time for once in your life?” Ellen asked.“I’ve just got to get that beet so Miss Joyce will like me.”

“I tried to be early,” replied Austine. “I can’t help it if I broke both shoelaces and had to look all over for a pair of socks that matched.”

Ellen sighed. “Well, I guess I’ll see you at school then. I’ve got to hurry if I’m going to get over to the lot and pull that beet.” It was three blocks to the vacant lot.

Running made Ellen so warm that she unbuttoned her raincoat, even though the rain was falling faster every minute. It was hard to run in her rubber boots, because they made her feet so heavy. And she had to hold the hood of her raincoat in place or the wind blew it off. As she ran, she began to be afraid the beet might be gone when she got there. It was such a big beet someone might have pulled it up and eaten it.

But when Ellen climbed up the bank of the vacant lot, the beet was still there. It was growing on the edge of the lot next to a white house.With her boots squshing in the mud, Ellen walked through the weeds. The beet was even larger than she had realized.

The stalk was at least three feet high.

She took hold of the stem near the ground and tugged. Nothing happened. She examined the lower part of the stalk and saw that it was growing out of an immense beet.

Part of it showed above the ground.

Ellen found a stick and scraped away some of the dirt. She grasped the stalk and pulled again.The beet did not budge.

Ellen did not know what time it was, but she knew she must hurry. She found a bigger stick and dug away some more dirt from the vegetable.

She pulled again.The beet did not move.

Ellen was getting desperate. She decided to use her hands. They were already dirty from the beet stalk anyway, so she might as well get them dirtier. 

She would be very, very careful not to touch her dress. She squatted and began to claw the dirt away from the beet. The soil was cold and heavy.

It stuck to her fingers.When she had uncovered half the beet, she saw that it was nearly six inches across.

Once more she grasped the stalk and pulled, bracing her feet. The beet began to come slowly out of the ground.

Just then a window in the house next door flew open and a woman’s voice called out through the rain, “What are you doing, little girl?”

Ellen started.The long, thin taproot broke and Ellen sat down in the mud with a thump. She had the beet in her hands!

“Pulling a beet,” answered Ellen guiltily.

It had not occurred to her that the beet might have an owner. She thought things growing in vacant lots belonged to every-body.

Sitting on the ground in the pouring rain and holding the precious vegetable, she asked timidly, “Is it your beet?”

“Yes, it is,” said the woman crossly.“What do you want it for?”

“I want to take it to school to show the class how beet seeds grow,” said Ellen politely, “but if it is your beet you may have it. I didn’t know it belonged to anyone.”

“No, I don’t want it,” snapped the woman. “It’s too old and tough to eat. Take it, but after this, don’t go pulling things up on other people’s property!” She slammed the window.

Ellen felt bad, because she would not have touched the plant if she had thought it belonged to anyone. Holding the beet carefully so she wouldn’t knock off any of the blossoms, she got up from the wet ground and twisted around to look at herself. The backs of her legs were muddy. Her raincoat, which she was outgrowing, was covered with mud. So was the bottom of her dress hanging below the raincoat. She found it useless to try to wipe off the mud, because her hands were even muddier than her clothes. Maybe she could wipe it off at school. Or maybe the rain would wash it off. She didn’t have any time to waste.

It was not until Ellen was back on the sidewalk that she noticed how the broken beet root had smeared juice all over the front of her freshly starched dress, her pretty green one with yellow flowers printed on it.

The red juice stood out in ugly contrast. Oh dear, she thought, what if it doesn’t wash out? What will Mother say?

Ellen had never been tardy in her life.

Now she ran as fast as she could through the downpour in her heavy boots. Even though her starched dress wilted, she could not take time to put down her beet and button her 60

raincoat. Her hood blew back as soon as she pulled it in place. She tried to hold the dirty vegetable away from her clothes, but that made running more difficult.

Finally she decided she was already so dirty that more dirt couldn’t make any difference. She clutched the beet against herself with both hands and ran faster, her boots clumping on the sidewalk and her raincoat flying out behind. When her hood blew off again, she gave up trying to keep it in place.

Her hair whipped around her face in wet strings.

She was still several blocks from school when she heard the first bell ring. I’ll never make it, she thought. I’ll be tardy and Miss Joyce won’t like it. I’ve just got to run faster.

“Hey! Where do you think you’re going?” Ellen heard someone call. Without stopping, she looked around and saw Bruce, Austine’s big brother, riding his bicycle along the curb beside her.

“To—school,” she gasped.

“What are you doing with that beet?”

“Miss Joyce—wants me—to—bring it.” Ellen slowed down. She was so out of breath she couldn’t run another step. “I guess I’m going to have to be tardy.”

Bruce looked disgusted. “Oh, come on,” he said.“I’ll give you a lift.You can sit in the basket.”

“Would you?” asked Ellen gratefully.

“Sure. Here, let me hold your beet while you climb up.”

“Be careful. Don’t break the stalk.” Ellen stepped up on the front tire of the bicycle and scrambled into the basket. It was not very comfortable and her feet stuck out awkwardly. Bruce handed her the beet and began to pedal.

Ellen found it exciting to ride in the basket with the rain in her face.When Bruce steered the bicycle by turning the handle bars, he steered Ellen, too. Ellen hoped it wouldn’t tip over. She held her beet in one hand and grasped the edge of the basket with the other.

Wet and dirty though she was, Ellen was secretly pleased. None of the other girls ever rode to school in the bicycle basket of an eighth-grade boy. Ellen was glad he was wearing his boy scout uniform under his raincoat. He looked so handsome in his uniform.

They reached Rosemont School just as the last boys and girls were straggling into the building.

“Look at Ellen!” shouted Linda. A group of girls from Miss Joyce’s room paused to watch.

Bruce held the beet while Ellen climbed down out of the basket.