Free The BFG by Roald Dahl

it when they is all having a good tough and rumble,’ he said.
    ‘They’ll kill each other,’ Sophie said.
    ‘Never,’ the BFG answered. ‘Those beasts is always bishing and walloping at one another. Soon it will be getting dusky and they will be galloping off to fill their tummies.’
    ‘They’re coarse and foul and filthy,’ Sophie said. ‘I hate them!’
    As the BFG headed back to the cave, he said quietly, ‘We certainly was putting that nightmare to good use though, wasn’t we?’
    ‘Excellent use,’ Sophie said. ‘Well done you.’

    Dreams
    The Big Friendly Giant was seated at the great table in his cave and he was doing his homework.
    Sophie sat cross-legged on the table-top near by, watching him at work.
    The glass jar containing the one and only good dream they had caught that day stood between them.
    The BFG, with great care and patience, was printing something on a piece of paper with an enormous pencil.
    ‘What are you writing?’ Sophie asked him.
    ‘Every dream is having its special label on the bottle,’ the BFG said. ‘How else could I be finding the one I am wanting in a hurry?’
    ‘But can you really and truly tell what sort of a dream it’s going to be simply by listening to it?’ Sophie asked.
    ‘I can,’ the BFG said, not looking up.
    ‘But how? Is it by the way it hums and buzzes?’
    ‘You is less or more right,’ the BFG said. ‘Every dream in the world is making a different sort of buzzy-hum music. And these grand swashboggling ears of mine is able to read that music.’
    ‘By music, do you mean tunes?’
    ‘I is not meaning tunes.’
    ‘Then what do you mean?’
    ‘Human beans is having their own music, right or left?’
    ‘Right,’ Sophie said. ‘Lots of music.’
     

    ‘And sometimes human beans is very overcome when they is hearing wonderous music. They is getting shivers down their spindels. Right or left?’
    ‘Right,’ Sophie said.
    ‘So the music is saying something to them. It is sending a message. I do not think the human beans is knowing what that message is, but they is loving it just the same.’
    ‘That’s about right,’ Sophie said.
    ‘But because of these jumpsquiffling ears of mine,’ the BFG said, ‘I is not only able to hear the music that dreams is making but I is understanding it also.’
    ‘What do you mean understanding it?’ Sophie said.
    ‘I can read it,’ the BFG said. ‘It talks to me. It is like a langwitch.’
    ‘I find that just a little hard to believe,’ Sophie said.
    ‘I’ll bet you is also finding it hard to believe in quogwinkles,’ the BFG said, ‘and how they is visiting us from the stars.’
    ‘Of course I don’t believe that,’ Sophie said.
    The BFG regarded her gravely with those huge eyes of his. ‘I hope you will forgive me,’ he said, ‘if I tell you that human beans is thinking they is very clever, but they is not. They is nearly all of them notmuchers and squeakpips.’
    ‘I beg your pardon,’ Sophie said.
    ‘The matter with human beans,’ the BFG went on, ‘is that they is absolutely refusing to believe in anything unless they is actually seeing it right in front of their own schnozzles. Of course quogwinkles is existing. I is meeting them oftenly. I is even chittering to them.’ He turned away contemptuously from Sophie and resumed his writing. Sophie moved over to read what he had written so far. The letters were printed big and bold, but were not very well formed. Here is what it said:
     
    THIS DREAM IS ABOUT HOW I IS SAVING MY TEECHER FROM DROWNING. I IS DIVING INTO THE RIVER FROM A HIGH BRIDGE AND I IS DRAGGING MY TEECHER TO THE BANK AND THEN I IS GIVING HIM THE KISS OF DEATH…
     

    ‘The kiss of what? ’ Sophie asked.
    The BFG stopped writing and raised his head slowly. His eyes rested on Sophie’s face. ‘I is telling you once before,’ he said quietly, ‘that I is never having a chance to go to school. I is full of mistakes. They is not my fault. I do my best. You is a