Free Aunt Effie and Mrs Grizzle by Jack Lasenby

affectionately and lined up to be milked; they didn’t need leg-roping; they didn’t kick over the bucket; they didn’t piddle, nor even drop their smelly plops in the yard.
    “The swagger’s fingers were double-jointed and milked so fast that the herd was stripped in minutes. We sledged the cream to the gate, and Bonny galloped home so fast, the konaki slid sideways and knocked out a gatepost. The swagger murmured something, and the gatepost jumped back into place.
    “‘That’s handy!’
    “‘It doesn’t always work,’ said the swagger, whose old army lemon-squeezer blew off so that long red hair fell as far as the waist. The swagger was a woman!
    “Back at the house, she lifted my mother’s eyelid with one double-jointed finger and asked me, ‘What’s your name?’
    “‘Brunnhilde.’
    “The swagger’s head turned right around on her double-jointed neck. ‘With a name like Brunnhilde, you are going to be a hero! My name is Mrs Grizzle.’”

    “Mrs Grizzle!” we all gasped.
    Aunt Effie nodded.

    “M RS G RIZZLE stood over my sleeping mother and sharpened the carving knife. I stared in terror. I had just remembered what my father whispered in my ear when I was born. ‘Watch out for red-haired, double-jointed women,’ he told me. ‘They’re all witches!’”

    “‘Eek!” Daisy screamed. “We’re not supposed to listen to stories about witches!”
    “Shut up, Daisy!” we told her.
    But Aunt Effie took another swig and emptied the bottle of Old Puckeroo. Her eyes closed. She lay her head back on her pillow and began to snore.
    “Look what you’ve done,” Alwyn told Daisy. “Now Aunt Effie won’t be able to remember where she was up to.”
    “We’ll tell her!” yelled the little ones. “She was up to where Aunt Effie’s father had just told her, ‘Watch out for red-haired, double-jointed women. They’re all witches.’ And she’s standing over Brunnhilde’s mother with the carving knife.”
    “I told you so,” said Daisy. “This story is having a bad effect upon the little ones.”
    “Can we have a look at the treasure now?” asked Jessie. “While Aunt Effie’s asleep?” But the dogs growled, and something under the bed moved. We shrieked, pulled up our feet, and it went, “Booo-booo!”
    “The Bugaboo!” we yelled.
    “Everybody stand on the edge of the bed,” said Alwyn. “One good jump, and rush downstairs. The Bugaboo will only have time to grab one of us.” The little ones stood on the edge of the bed trustingly, he pushed them off, and we leapt over their heads and tore downstairs laughing.
    The four little ones came crying after us, “You left us for the Bugaboo!”
    “He didn’t catch any of you, did he?” Alwyn said and he pointed at Casey, Lizzie, Jared, and Jessie. “One,’ he counted. ‘Two. Three! You’re here, all three of you.”
    “There should be four,” wept the little ones. “The Bugaboo has eaten one of us!”
    “But which one did he eat?”
    “I’m here,” said Casey.
    “And me!” “And me!” “And me!”
    “That’s still only three,” said Alwyn. “Which one did he eat?”
    “I know,” said Jessie. She pointed at Lizzie. “Lizzie, one!” she said. “Casey, two!” she said, and pointed at Casey. She pointed at Jared and said, “Jared, three! One of us is missing!” Her bellows were lugubrious. “It must be me!”
    “The Bugaboo’s eaten one of you!” Alwyn pretended to cry and rubbed his eyes. “It must be Jessie: I didn’t hear her name.”
    “Stop being mean,” Marie told Alwyn. “You forgot to count yourself, Jessie. Listen: Lizzie – one! Casey – two! Jared – three! And Jessie – four! You mustn’t take any notice of Alwyn. You know he’s a tease.” But the little ones had stopped crying and weren’t listening to Marie; they were watching Alwyn wiggling his ears at them.

Chapter Fourteen
    Why Peter Got Up and Made Cocoa, Twenty-Six Short Fat White European Slaves Bearing Breakfast on Their