The Secret of the Painted House by Marion Dane Bauer Page A

closed. She circled a second time. As she circled, she opened each shutter. When they were all open, she peeked inside.
    Emily had already begun to imagine what she would find. A table and two chairs? A tiny sofa? A toy piano? Maybe a sink and stove for the kitchen.
    In her mind, everything was made just to fit. But her fantasy was wrong. There wasnothing. Inside, the playhouse was empty.
    She cupped her hands around her eyes and pressed her nose against the window. And that was when she saw something more wonderful than child-sized furniture.

    Beyond the empty floor rose the walls. But these walls were special. Every single one was painted from top to bottom in a picture.
    Emily moved from window to window. She checked every wall. What a strange picture it was! The walls were covered with trees. It was as if the woods around the playhouse had moved inside!
    She tried one more window. Still, she saw trees, only trees. Trees grew outside. Painted trees grew on the walls inside. But wait! She spotted something else now. Something white showed through the painted trees. White, with a blue roof.
    A playhouse stood in the painted forest, too. The painted playhouse looked exactly like the one she was peering into!
    Emily backed away from the window. A small shiver scurried down her spine. How odd this all was! A playhouse in the woods. Woods inside the playhouse. A playhouse inside the woods inside the playhouse! If she could look through the windows of the painted playhouse, would she find more woods? Would she find another playhouse?
    The idea made her dizzy.

2
See a Pin and Pick It Up
    E mily didn’t tell her mother about the painted house. She didn’t know why exactly. The whole thing felt too new to talk about, and too strange.
    Besides, her mother would worry that the playhouse belonged to someone. She would say Emily shouldn’t have peeked in the windows at all. She would certainly say that Emily shouldn’t go back.
    Emily spent the rest of the morning unpacking boxes. Logan even helped … if it could be called “helping.” He emptied boxes with lightning speed, but he didn’t put anything away. Not even his own toys.
    Once Emily caught him tucking a box of matches into his pocket. When she took them away, he howled. Logan loved matches. He had even learned to light them. He was the kind of kid who had to be watched every minute. Anything he wasn’t supposed to mess with thrilled him.
    Lunch was bottled juice and peanut butter and jelly on crackers. Mom hadn’t found a grocery store yet.
    After lunch Mom put Logan down for a nap.
    “I’m going to lie down, too,” she said to Emily. “I’m tired. Do you want to rest?”
    Emily shook her head. “I’ll read,” she said.
    She took her book out to the front steps. It was a ghost story, one of her favorites.
    But before long she put it down. She’d read it several times, and it was getting boring. The ghost showed up in the same place every time. And the girl seemed pretty dumb to be so surprised to see it. Hadn’t she gone into that old house looking for ghosts?
    Emily didn’t know what else to do. Go back to the playhouse? She couldn’t without telling her mother. Besides, it was a long walk, and the afternoon was growing hot.
    A woman with white hair came out of the house across the way. She wore white slacks and a flowered blouse. She wore a smile, too. The woman smiled all the way to Emily’s porch.
    “You’re Emily,” the woman said.
    It was more of a statement than a question, so Emily didn’t reply.
    “I’m Grandma Rose,” she said. “That’s what everybody calls me here—Grandma.” She held out a hand.
    Emily shook her hand. She felt funny doing it, though. Usually only grown-ups shook hands with each other.
    “May I?” Grandma Rose asked.
    At first Emily didn’t know how to answer.
May I what?
Then she figured it out. Grandma Rose wanted to sit down.
    “Sure.” Emily scooted over to make room.
    Grandma Rose settled herself. They