The small brown mouse named Ralph who was hiding under the grandfather clock did not have much longer to wait before he could ride his motorcycle. The clock had struck eight already, and then eight thirty.
“I am not a pest,” Ramona Quimby told her big sister Beezus.
Mitchell Huff’s day began like any other summer day—with a squabble with his twin sister Amy. At breakfast Amy grabbed a cereal box top and said, “I’m going to send away for the plastic harmonica that looks like an ear of corn.”
Keith, the boy in rumpled shorts and shirt, did not know he was being watched as he entered Room 215 of the Mountain View Inn.
Henry Huggins’s dog Ribsy was a plain ordinary city dog, the kind of dog that strangers usually called Mutt or Pooch. The always called him this in a friendly way, because he was a friendly dog.
I guess this is just one of those days, thought Barbara MacLane on her way home from school one bright afternoon late in April. She was not alone. She was walking beside a boy, a very tall boy, but their thoughts were like those famous parallel lines that lie in the same plane but never meet.
Henry Huggins had a lot of good ideas that fall when he first had his paper route, but somehow his ideas had a way of not turning out as he had planned.
The things that happened to Emily Bartlett that year!
It seemed to Emily that it all began one bright spring day, a day meant for adventure.
“I have the funniest feeling,” remarked Jean Jarrett, who was drying the supper dishes while her older sister, Sue, washed them. “I keep feeling as if something nice is going to happen.”
One Saturday morning early in September Shelley Latham sat at the breakfast table with her mother and father. Her mother was reading the women’s page of the morning paper while her father read the editorial section.
March 17, 2017 • 53 minutes • Phil Gonzales
One Friday afternoon Henry Huggins sat on the front steps of his white house on Klickitat Street, with his dog Ribsy at his feet. He was busy trying to pick the cover off an old golf ball to see what was inside.
Today I’m going to meet a boy, Jane Purdy told herself, as she walked up Blossom Street toward her babysitting job. Today I’m going to meet a boy. Guest host: Elana Gravitz, reader: Shannon Campe
January 19, 2017 • 49 minutes • Phil Gonzales
Beatrice Quimby’s biggest problem was her little sister Ramona.
One warm Saturday morning in August, Henry Huggins and his mother and father were eating breakfast in their square white house on Klickitat Street. Henry’s dog Ribsy sat close to Henry’s chair, hoping for a handout.
There was nothing Otis Spofford liked better than stirring up a little excitement. Otis was a medium-sized boy with reddish-brown hair, freckles, and ears that stuck out. He often wore a leather jacket with a rabbit’s foot tied to the zipper, and he always laced his shoes with the kind of laces that glow in the dark—pink for the right shoe and green for the left.
Henry Huggins stood by the front window of his square white house on Klickitat Street and wondered why Sunday afternoon seemed so much longer than any other part of the week.
Ellen Tebbits was in a hurry. As she ran down Tillamook Street with her ballet slippers tucked under her arm, she did not even stop to scuff through the autumn leaves on the sidewalk.