The Giants and the Joneses by Julia Donaldson Read Free Book Online

her and then reached down for Colette and Stephen.
    Colette felt ridiculously pleased. Although their escape attempt had failed, anything was better than being at the mercy of Zab.
    But Zab was too quick for Jumbeelia. He snatched the soap dish, and Colette and Stephen went whizzing up in it, high above his head.
    They heard Jumbeelia protest: ‘Niffle uth abreg! Niffle uth abreg!’
    Zab laughed his nasty laugh. ‘Wunk iggly plop – wunk iggly strimpchogger,’ he said.
    And though Colette didn’t understand the words themselves, she did understand what had happened.
    Zab had swapped Poppy for the lawn mower. But he was going to hang on to Colette and Stephen. It was Finders Keepers.

15
Oggle arump
    O LD T HROG NO longer spent his days walking round the edgeland. Instead, he walked round the town. In his hand he held the three whackleclacks he had now found.
    He had made up a new rhyme. It went like this:
    Iggly plops! Iggly plops!
Queesh? Queesh? Queesh?
Oggle arump! Oggle arump!
Aheesh! Aheesh! Aheesh!
Little people! Little people!
Where? Where? Where?
Look around! Look around!
Help! Help! Help!
    Throg knocked on door after door. ‘Ev oy oggled o iggly plops?’ he asked, but time after time he was told that no, no iggly plop had been seen. He held out the three whackleclacks, but time after time he was told that they must have come off a doll’s dress.
    ‘Roopy floopy plop,’ people murmured behind his back. The poor old man was harmless, but quite mad. It was a shame he wouldn‘t agree to go into an old giants’ jum, instead of wandering about reciting his strange rhymes.
    Today, Throg walked up the front path of a house on the outskirts of town. He had tried this house before but never found anyone in.
    He rang at the bell and a woman came to the door.
    He asked her the usual question, ‘Ev oy oggled o iggly plops?’ and received the usual pitying look and the usual answer, ‘Nug.’
    Throg looked at the woman suspiciously. You couldn’t trust anyone. He thought for the thousandth time of the old (but true) bimplestonk story, the one in which the iggly plop had stolen the giant’s harp and hen. In that story the giant’s wife had hidden the wicked iggly plop from her husband and lied to him. For all he knew, this woman could be lying too.
    A girl appeared in the doorway. Throg recognised her – it was the policeman’s daughter. She was complaining loudly about how her brother had stolen her collection of conkers, but when she saw Throg she broke off and hid behind her mother’s back.
    Her mother smiled apologetically, then said ‘Yahaw’ and closed the door.
    Throg stood for a second on the doorstep before setting off on his way. Something was bothering him. Some memory was refusing to come to the surface.
    He shrugged and walked back down the path to the road. And then he remembered. This was the same stretch of road where he had found the whackleclacks.
    Throg scratched his head and thought. He couldn’t quite work it out but it was all very suspicious. He never had trusted the police. He would certainly keep an eye on that house.

16
The battle jar
    Z AB’S REMOTE-CONTROLLED car crashed into the bedroom wall.
    Stephen managed to slam his hands against the dashboard just in time, but Colette screamed as her head hit the windscreen.
    ‘Are you all right?’ Stephen asked.
    ‘I think so. Just another bruise.’
    They had been Zab’s playthings for a week. It was like being in a torture chamber, and you never knew what thenext torture would be. Sometimes he juggled with them. Sometimes he swung them about on his lampshade. Sometimes he dangled them out of the window.
    The other day he had put them on a high slippery shelf. ‘Glay boff!’ he had said, and they realised he wanted to see if they could work out how to get down. He did clap in admiration when Stephen succeeded in sliding down the flex of the alarm clock, but then offered him a red-hot chilli as a reward, forcing him to bite it and