The Sixty-Eight Rooms Read Free Page B

no one was watching.
    “Look!” He pulled a small metal key with lots of decorations on it out of his pocket, like a magician pulling a rabbit out of a hat. He held it in the palm of his hand. Then he rubbed it a little with his sleeve and it glinted silvery gold.
    “It’s beautiful!” Ruthie was impressed.
    “It’ll be the best one in my collection by far!” Jack said. “I wonder what it opens.”
    “Are those initials on it?” Ruthie could see fancy letters inscribed in the metal, adorned with carvings of leaves and vines.
    “Looks like a
C
and an
N,”
Jack said.
    “No, that’s an
M,”
Ruthie corrected. Jack turned it over in his hand and the two of them studied it. “It looks valuable,Jack.” As she looked at it a new thought crossed her mind. “Maybe you stole something important!” At that moment a blueberry muffin came flying across the bus and landed in Ruthie’s lap. Jack quickly closed his fist around the key and put it back in his pocket.
    “Sorry about that,” a voice from the front yelled. “I meant that for Ben. Throw it on back, okay?”
    “I don’t think so,” said Ms. Biddle, walking down the aisle and holding out her hand for the muffin. “You guys know the rules: no throwing food—on the bus or anywhere else!” Ruthie held up the muffin for her.
    “What are you two looking so guilty about? You weren’t the ones throwing food, were you?”
    “We were just minding our own business, Ms. Biddle,” Jack said, adding, “That was a great field trip, by the way.”
    Sheesh
, Ruthie thought.
He is such an operator sometimes!
    “Why, thank you, Jack. And please thank your mother again for being a chaperone.”
    “She likes to do junk like that. No problem.” He smiled.
    “Okay, class,” Ms. Biddle announced. “We’re almost back at school. Put away your cards, food wrappers, CDs, you name it—I want this bus spotless. Anything you leave on the bus gets tossed!”
    As they gathered their backpacks Ruthie said, “We’ve got to get back to the museum. What are you doing tomorrow?”
    “I’m going to the museum with you!” he replied instantly.

    “Ruth Elizabeth Stewart!” her mother’s voice called to her. “Come and get your backpack off the dining room table. And please set the table for dinner!”
    “All right, all right,” Ruthie answered grudgingly. She was using her parents’ computer, which was set up in a corner of the living room, to Google information about the Thorne Rooms. “I’ll be there in a sec.” When a sec turned into several minutes, her mother came over to her.
    “Homework?” she asked.
    “Uh-uh. I’m looking up the Thorne Rooms,” Ruthie replied. “We saw them today at the Art Institute.”
    “I hope you saw more than just dollhouse rooms today! That doesn’t sound very educational.”
    “Have you ever seen them, Mom?”
    “Not those actual rooms, but I’ve certainly seen miniatures before. I had a dollhouse when I was a little girl.”
    “Then you shouldn’t criticize what you don’t know about,” Ruthie snapped. “You always tell me not to.” She immediately felt a little guilty about being so hard on her mother, but she couldn’t help it.
    “You’re right,” her mother agreed, but Ruthie could tell she was still feeling impatient with her. “Now please set the table.”
    Ruthie absently went to get the knives, forks and spoons, unaware of the scowl on her face.
    “You know, sweetie,” her mother said as she came back into the room carrying the salad, “you should take methrough the rooms sometime and show me what you liked about them. I’ll be more open-minded—especially about something you find interesting.”
    “Okay, Mom,” she answered. Her mom went back to the kitchen. But Ruthie couldn’t stop thinking about the rooms and how beautiful they were. She looked at the plain silverware in her hand and the paper napkins they always used. Everything she looked at—the plates, the table, the chairs, the room