Nora Read Online Free PDF Page B

downtown to buy new school shoes. Patsy wanted boy’s high-tops. Mother said she couldn’t have them.
    Mother sat on a bench in the shade on the edge of the village green while Patsy and I raced to check out the statue of the Revolutionary War soldier kneeling there with his gun on his shoulder.
    Patsy patted the soldier’s stone head while I went off to the war memorial, which was made of brown marble and listed the names of all the young men and boys from Green Hollow who’d died defending their country.
    â€œHere’s a James,” Patsy said, putting her finger on a John. One thing she knew for sure was the letter J . She was just learning to read and a little slow at it.
    â€œWhat’s this one, Nora?” Patsy said, pointing to another name.
    â€œElias,” I said importantly. I spelled it out for her. “E-l-i-a-s. E-li-as.”
    I was a good reader. I liked spelling out stuff for Patsy.
    At the shoe store, Mr. Endorf shook hands with us. “Well, well, girls. Good to see you,” he said. “You’re looking nice and tan. Have a good summer?” Mr. Endorf was a nice man. We always bought our shoes at his store.
    â€œJust sit yourselves down and I’ll measure your feet, see what I have that might suit you.” Mr. Endorf ran his hands through his sparse hair.
    â€œWhat grade you going into, Nora?” he asked me.
    â€œThird,” I said proudly.
    â€œThird!” Mr. Endorf’s astonishment knew no bounds. His bushy black eyebrows shot up and down. “I had no idea. How time flies! How about you, Patsy?”
    â€œI’m in third grade, too,” Patsy said.
    â€œNo, you’re not,” I said. “You’re only in second.”
    â€œLiar, liar, pants on fire,” Patsy chanted. Mother made us shush and sat between us, as she always did in church, to keep the peace. Mr. Endorf measured our feet and went into the back of the store to find just the right shoes for us.
    â€œBehave,” Mother said. Patsy slid off her chair and wandered off to see what she could find. Mother and I watched as she bent down and picked up bits and pieces of things from the carpet as if she were on a beach hunting for seashells.
    Mr. Endorf returned, carrying several shoe boxes under his arm.
    â€œThese are the latest thing,” he said, taking out a pair of terrible brown shoes. “All the girls are wearing them.”
    â€œI hate them,” Patsy called out, putting a few bits of fluff into her pocket. “I want high-tops.” She skittered off toward the front of the store to check the windows.
    â€œTry this one, Nora. This looks like the right shoe for a young lady going into third grade,” Mr. Endorf said.
    I walked around cautiously, looking down at my feet. I wished for a different shoe, one not so shiny, one more grown-up, with different heels, a different color. Mr. Endorf pressed down on my toe to show my mother how much growing room there was. Oh, those shoes were perfect, all right. Mr. Endorf promised they would last me until the spring, perhaps beyond. They were first-class shoes, he assured us.
    I believed him. I just didn’t like them much.
    Then Patsy came wobbling toward us, splendid in a pair of silver high-heeled sandals she’d found left half in, half out of their box by some careless previous customer.
    Oh, but they were beautiful shoes. My heart ached for them. I would like those, Mr. Endorf, I said to myself. Wrap them up, please. I will take them. They are just what I have always wanted.
    â€œCareful now, Patsy.” Mr. Endorf’s voice trembled. “Wouldn’t want you to trip and fall.”
    Patsy kept on coming, not so much as slowing down. Without a word, our mother got up and snatched Patsy straight out of those silver sandals and gave her one good shake that set Patsy’s hair to dancing.
    â€œSit,” Mother said, the way you say “Sit!” to a dog who’s been