“Oh, yeah, yeah,” he said, and then got up on his knees and began to bark at Prince Terrien.
The puppy raced around him in circles, yelping with delight. Leslie began to laugh. It egged Jess on.
Everything the dog did, he imitated, flopping down at last with his tongue lolling out.
Leslie was laughing so hard she had trouble getting the words out.
“You—you're crazy. How will we teach him to be a noble guardian? You're turning him into a clown.”
“R-r-r-oof,” wailed Prince Terrien, rolling his eyes skyward. Jess and Leslie both collapsed.
They were in pain from the laughter. “Maybe,” said Leslie at last. “We'd better make him court jester.”
“What about his name?” “Oh, we'll let him keep his name. Even a prince”—this in her most Terabithian voice—“even a prince may be a fool.”
That night the glow of the afternoon stayed with him. Even his sisters' squabbling about when presents were to be opened did not touch him.
He helped May Belle wrap her wretched little gifts and even sang “Santa Claus Is Coming to Town” with her and Joyce Ann.
Then Joyce Ann cried because they had no fireplace and Santa wouldn't be able to find the way,
and suddenly he felt sorry for her going to Millsburg Plaza and seeing all those things,
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