Free The Giants and the Joneses by Julia Donaldson

Colette realized she had toppled a line of dominoes.
    ‘Stay asleep!’ she begged the kitten.
    But it didn’t. It woke up and sprang off the bed.
    ‘Poppy, pull !’
    Nothing happened.
    She’s gone to sleep, thought Colette.
    And then, from the Christmas-tree collection came the rustling of the robin in its tinsel and paperchain nest. Poppy had pulled the thread!
    The kitten sped towards the new noise. Coletteheard it pounce, and the rustling grew louder as it tussled with the feathery decoration.
    She hardly dared to move, yet she knew she must before the kitten got bored with the robin.
    Still carrying the precious milk, she set off once more towards the doll’s house. She could see it now, and could even make out the cotton, which was jerking about in a tug of war, with Poppy tweaking one end and the kitten mauling the robin at the other end.
    Then it snapped.
    ‘All fall down,’ came a voice from the doll’s house.
    Colette had nearly reached the front door. The rustling of tinsel, feathers and paper grew less frantic and then stopped altogether.
    Ten more steps, Colette thought, willing herself to take them.
    She didn’t hear the kitten run towards her, but she felt the heavy blow as its paw hit the shield on her back. She fell forwards.
    ‘Naughty cat stop!’ Poppy ran out of the doll’s house.
    ‘No, Poppy! Go back!’ yelled Colette.
    But she was too late. The kitten pounced on Poppy. It knocked her over. Poppy screamed as the black furry monster picked her up in its mouth.

21
Blood
    G RISHMIJ WAS WOKEN by a scream and a shout of ‘Nug nug NUG!’ Was Jumbeelia having a nightmare?
    Within seconds Grishmij was out of bed and on the landing. She opened Jumbeelia’s bedroom door, and the spratchkin streaked out.
    ‘Pecky, pecky spratchkin!’ yelled Jumbeelia. She was kneeling on the floor, cradling something in her hand, and tears were streaming down her cheeks.
    Grishmij knelt down too, and put an arm round her. Jumbeelia had placed one hand on top of the other, hiding whatever it was she was holding.
    Grishmij stroked Jumbeelia’s hair and asked her what the matter was. At first her granddaughter just sobbed, but at last the words came.
    ‘Grishmij! Grishmij! O spratchkin kraggled o iggly plop!’
    Then Grishmij noticed the blood stain on the carpet. And as she looked at it, a fresh drop dripped from Jumbeelia’s hands – and another and another.
    Jumbeelia looked down at the blood too, and then up at her grandmother through her tears.
    ‘Grishmij! Grishmij!’ she cried, and she lifted the hand that was hiding her secret.
    In Jumbeelia’s other palm lay a tiny white doll. It was dressed in a lacy nighty and a stripy football jumper.
    ‘Iggly plop! Iggly plop!’ Jumbeelia sobbed, as if the doll was real.
    Grishmij was more concerned about the blood than the doll. How had Jumbeelia hurt herself? Had the spratchkin scratched her?
    Jumbeelia shook her head. ‘Iggly plop,’ she kept repeating, and then, again, ‘O spratchkin kraggled o iggly plop.’
    She held the doll out to her grandmother. ‘Oggle!’ she said. Grishmij took a closer look at it, and noticed something extraordinary. The blood was dripping out of the doll’s arm.
    It wasn’t a doll. It really was an iggly plop. And what’s more, it wasn’t dead. It lay quite still but Grishmij saw it blink.
    Very gently, Grishmij took the creature from Jumbeelia’s hand. She peeled off the football jumper. One sleeve came off easily but the blood from the wound caused the other sleeve to stick to the iggly plop’s arm. Grishmij continued to pull it, and with a little jerk it came away.
    ‘Ow!’ said the iggly plop.
    Jumbeelia gasped. ‘Nug kraggled!’ she whispered.
    Grishmij knew just what to do next. They took the iggly plop into the bathroom and Grishmij washed its arm. The wound was long but not as deep as she had feared. Jumbeelia fetched a handkerchief, and Grishmijcut a strip off it which she made into a bandage.
    The iggly