Free The BFG by Roald Dahl Page A

lovely little girl, but please remember that you is not exactly Miss Knoweverything yourself.’
    ‘I’m sorry’ Sophie said. ‘I really am. It is very rude of me to keep correcting you.’
    The BFG gazed at her for a while longer, then he bent his head again to his slow laborious writing.
    ‘Tell me honestly,’ Sophie said. ‘If you blew this dream into my bedroom when I was asleep, would I really and truly start dreaming about how I saved my teacher from drowning by diving off the bridge?’
    ‘More,’ the BFG said. ‘A lot more. But I cannot be squibbling the whole gropefluncking dream on a titchy bit of paper. Of course there is more.’
    The BFG laid down his pencil and placed one massive ear close to the jar. For about thirty seconds he listened intently. ‘Yes,’ he said, nodding his great head solemnly up and down. ‘This dream is continuing very nice. It has a very dory-hunky ending.’
    ‘How does it end?’ Sophie said. ‘ Please tell me.’
    ‘You would be dreaming,’ the BFG said, ‘that the morning after you is saving the teacher from the river, you is arriving at school and you is seeing all the five hundred pupils sitting in the assembly hall, and all the teachers as well, and the head teacher is then standing up and saying, “I is wanting the whole school to give three cheers for Sophie because she is so brave and is saving the life of our fine arithmatic teacher, Mr Figgins, who was unfortunately pushed off the bridge into the river by our gym-teacher, Miss Amelia Upscotch. So three cheers for Sophie!” And the whole school is then cheering like mad and shouting bravo well done, and, for ever after that, even when you is getting your sums all gungswizzled and muggled up, Mr Figgins is always giving you ten out of ten and writing Good Work Sophie in your exercise book. Then you is waking up.’
    ‘I like that dream,’ Sophie said.
    ‘Of course you like it,’ the BFG said. ‘It is a phizzwizard.’ He licked the back of the label and stuck it on the jar. ‘I is usually writing a bit more than this on the labels,’ he said. ‘But you is watching me and making me jumpsy.’
    ‘I’ll go and sit somewhere else,’ Sophie said.
    ‘Don’t go,’ he said. ‘Look in the jar carefully and I think you will be seeing this dream.’
    Sophie peered into the jar and there, sure enough, she saw the faint translucent outline of something about the size of a hen’s egg. There was just a touch of colour in it, a pale sea-green, soft and shimmering and very beautiful. There it lay, this small oblong sea-green jellyish thing, at the bottom of the jar, quite peaceful, but pulsing gendy, the whole of it moving in and out ever so slightly, as though it were breathing.
    ‘It’s moving!’ Sophie cried. ‘It’s alive!’
    ‘Of course it’s alive.’
    ‘What will you feed it on?’ Sophie asked.
    ‘It is not needing any food,’ the BFG told her.
    ‘That’s cruel,’ Sophie said. ‘Everything alive needs food of some sort. Even trees and plants.’
    ‘The north wind is alive,’ the BFG said. ‘It is moving. It touches you on the cheek and on the hands. But nobody is feeding it.’
    Sophie was silent. This extraordinary giant was disturbing her ideas. He seemed to be leading her towards mysteries that were beyond her understanding.
    ‘A dream is not needing anything,’ the BFG went on. ‘If it is a good one, it is waiting peaceably for ever until it is released and allowed to do its job. If it is a bad one, it is always fighting to get out.’
    The BFG stood up and walked over to one of the many shelves and placed the latest jar among the thousands of others.
    ‘Please can I see some of the other dreams?’ Sophie asked him.
    The BFG hesitated. ‘Nobody is ever seeing them before,’ he said. ‘But perhaps after all I is letting you have a little peep.’ He picked her up off the table and stood her on the palm of one of his huge hands. He carried her towards the shelves. ‘Over here