Emmy and the Incredible Shrinking Rat by Lynne Jonell Read Free Book Online Page A

wild—”
    â€œâ€”all you care about is the Addison money, and I know that you’d just as soon she was out of the way altogether—”
    â€œSTOP!”
    Emmy’s knees were suddenly trembling.
    â€œNot one word more, Rebecca Brecksniff. I can get you fired tomorrow!”
    â€œI know you can, more’s the pity,” Mrs. Brecksniff went on hysterically. “The girl’s parents listen to you—who knows why—you’d never dare talk like this in front of your mother, or your poor dear father—your mother knew what it was to be housekeeper of this house, what with managing the staff and keeping nine bathrooms clean, not to mention the windows—”
    Mrs. Brecksniff was making a great deal of noise, honking and blowing into her handkerchief. Emmy gripped the stair treads with hands that felt strangely cold. She had never felt that Miss Barmy really liked her; but to actually want her out of the way? Could Mrs. Brecksniff be right?
    â€œStop sniveling,” Miss Barmy said icily. “Control yourself now. The girl’s parents are arriving tomorrow night, and …”
    Miss Barmy’s voice faded as the women moved off. Emmy strained to hear, but the only word she caught was “potato.”
    She waited until the voices had faded entirely. Then, cautiously, she poked her head around the corner. The coast was clear, and she still had to get the Rat something to eat.
    What did rats like to eat?
    On the counter was Miss Barmy’s health food, neatly labeled. Emmy shuddered, pocketing an apple and a box of raisins instead. She risked a look in the fridge—weren’t rats supposed to like cheese? But she didn’t dare take time to cut a slice … there! Maggie kept a stash of candy behind the breadbox. Emmy snatched a peanut-butter cup and fled up the stairs.
    On the second-floor landing she heard Miss Barmy’s voice raised in the foyer below.
    â€œNo, I insist. You must keep the rest of the servants out of the kitchen while I’m baking. It’s an old family recipe—and the ingredients are secret.”
    Emmy stood in the shadows, suddenly thoughtful. It was the same thing every time her parents came home: Miss Barmy had to bake her special potato rolls. But why?
    Emmy stole quietly up the stairs to her bedroom. A whooshing sound was coming from the bathroom, and she cracked open the door.
    The blow-dryer, lying on its side, had been turned on. A tube of hair gel was oozing green. And standing happily in front of the mirror, looking remarkably spiky, was the Rat.
    Â 
    â€œSo what’s for breakfast around here? Toast points with mushrooms? Eggs Benedict?”
    Emmy opened her eyes and choked back a scream. The Rat was sitting on her chest, his sharp, whiskered face just inches from her nose.
    She sat up, tumbling the Rat among the blankets. “Breakfast is usually cereal. Or, if Maggie cooks,maybe sausages. What are you talking about? In your cage, all you ate were those little pellets.”
    â€œA rodent can dream, can’t he?” The Rat’s ears turned pink.
    â€œBut where did you ever hear about toast points and all that? You’ve been locked in a cage for years.”
    â€œI took advantage of my educational opportunities,” said the Rat stiffly. “In short, I learned to read. It would have been hard to avoid, after years in an elementary classroom. Not only that but I know the Pledge of Allegiance, and ‘America the Beautiful,’ and all the words to ‘The Star-Spangled Banner.’”
    â€œBut toast points? Eggs Benedict?”
    The Rat looked uncomfortable. “Well, if you must know,” he said, “every time the paper in my cage was changed, I had something new to read. If the teacher did it, I mostly got Teacher’s Tattle. But if I was home with a student for the weekend, I got a little bit of everything.” The Rat lowered his voice. “Some kids