Runaway Ralph - Beverly Cleary [18]
“So they sent you to camp,” said Aunt Jill, encouraging him to go on. “And you come into the craft shop to be alone.”
“Yes,” said Garf. “I don’t like to sit around after meals with a bunch of kids singing You Are My Sunshine.”
But you come in here and sing about the rabbit banging mice on the head, thought Ralph.
“I don’t like singing with other people,” said Garf, “because I can’t carry a tune. I know I sing funny, and I don’t like people turning around staring at me.”
“Nobody cares whether you can carry a tune or not,” said Aunt Jill, “but if you don’t want to sing, you don’t have to. And we all need to be alone sometimes.”
For the first time Garf looked at the camp director.
“And I know something that might help,” Aunt Jill continued. “See that clump of bamboo over there? Any time you feel like being alone, you may go sit behind the bamboo as long as you wish.”
Garf looked as if he wanted to believe her.
“Remember, Garf,” said Aunt Jill, “it is possible to be alone in your thoughts even when there are others around.” She rose from the bench where she and the boy had been sitting and found a piece of cardboard and a felt pen from the supply shelves. “Now about your mouse. You take this pen and make a sign saying this is your mouse and no one else is to feed it. I’ll sign it to make it official, and we’ll tack it up over his cage.”
Garf did not say anything, but he took the cardboard and the pen and settled down at a table to work. He found a ruler and marked straight lines on the cardboard to guide his printing. He worked a long time, ignoring the lanyard braiders, mosaic makers, and insect collectors who came and went. A few people paused to see what he was printing, but no one disturbed him.
Ralph sat watching quietly as the sign progressed. Sometimes Garf paused to whisper rhymes to himself, “My, try, pry.” “Pow, how, mow.” “Read, lead, feed.” Then he would go on with his work. He printed a few letters, stared at the ceiling, whispered to himself, and printed a few more letters. Near the end he held up his work, studied it, and added something more. When at last he had laid down his pen and stood up, Aunt Jill came over to look at his sign:
Pryvat! Keep Out!
This Mowse Is the Personul Property of Garfield R. Jernigan
If you Fead Him You Will Drop Ded.
SIGNED….….
Aunt Jill signed her name on the dotted line. “There!” she said. “That makes it an official Happy Acres Camp sign.” She found two thumbtacks, and Garf tacked his sign above Ralph’s cage.
For the first time Ralph saw Garf grin, and when the boy left the craft shop, he did not sit behind the bamboo as Ralph had expected. He stopped to watch some campers who were jumping and bouncing on the trampoline under the direction of a counselor.
Contented for the moment, Ralph made himself into a ball in the corner of his cage to enjoy a nap. He was not just any mouse. He was the personul mowse of Garfield R. Jernigan, a boy who wanted to run away, and the next time he was alone with his owner he would be brave and speak up no matter what dreadful song he sang.
6
A Thief in the Craft Shop
At first the sign over Ralph’s cage was the cause of argument. “But Aunt Jill, how come Garf is the one who gets to feed the mouse?” the campers asked. “I want to feed the mouse, too.” “Why can’t I feed the mouse?” “It isn’t fair. Nobody else has a mouse.”
Aunt Jill always gave the same answer. “Garf gets to feed the mouse because the mouse is his. He caught it in a butterfly net.”
This policy inspired some of the campers to go mouse hunting—big-game hunting, they called it—with butterfly nets, but when no mice were caught, enthusiasm waned, and the