clear, deep lake because it wanted to see what
it looked like. But when it stared into the water and saw its reflection, the worm gasped with surprise.
It had made a sort of mistake. It had put its head in the middle and stretching away to either side of it, as long as half a train or one football pitch or two thousand, one
hundred and seventy-five pork sausages, were its two bits of body. It had a body to the right of it and a body to the left of it and in the middle was its head.
For a while the worm just stared into the water and then a pleased and happy smile spread over its face and its cornflower-blue eyes danced with joy. And it said to itself: “It was a bad
day when the Princess came and said ‘Phooey’ to me and I swallowed her and the Knight chopped me up but now I am probably the only worm in the whole world with a head in the middle of
my long, long body – and thus I shall remain until the end of time!”
And thus it did.
As for the Princess, no one ever came to marry her – not a prince or a plumber or a roadmender or a window cleaner – not anyone, because if you start life by kicking people in the
stomach and go on by yelling with temper if you are supposed to wear plain knickers instead of lace ones and then say “Phooey” to a worm, you are going to have a very lonely life. Which
is what she did, and serve her right.
Never Steal Milk from a Frid
Mostly when you climb a hill or scramble through the heather and come across a large rock it will be just what it seems: a large rock.
But sometimes – just sometimes – you might come across a rock that is not exactly what it seems. Such a rock will look strange and sinister and different.
A rock like that will be a Frid rock and inside it there will be a Frid .
What a Frid looks like is very hard to say because Frids never come out of their rocks, but what they do is nasty (as you shall see).
Once there was a Frid rock on a hill above a village in which there lived about two hundred people, some cows, some chickens, some pigs – and five dogs. All the people in this village were
very careful not to upset the Frid. They spoke politely and quietly when they went near the rock and they put out crumbs by it and bowls of milk because crumbs and milk are a what Frids like. And
the dogs were even more well behaved than the people, because an old story said that the last time a Frid had been angered it was by a dog and though no one could remember what had happened to the
dog they knew that it was bad.
The five dogs in the village were friends.
There was an Old English sheepdog with wise eyes, which peered out under his grey and white fringe of hair. There was a liver-coloured spaniel who loved everybody and wanted everybody to love
her, and spent a lot of time on her back with her legs in the air so that people could stroke or scratch her or even kick her if they wished. There was a basset hound with a body like a hairy
drainpipe and ears that were full of little spiders and beetles which had climbed in as he trailed them along the ground. There was a poodle who had once belonged to a travelling circus. And there
was a mongrel called Fred.
Every one of these dogs was a sensible dog. They knew that a Frid lived in the rock above their village and though they often went for walks together they took care to keep well away from the
rock and if they did have to pass it, they did so quietly with their tails down. As for lifting their legs against anything within half a mile of the Frid rock, they would rather have died. Nor did
the mongrel, though he was as tough as they came, ever make any jokes about a Fred not being afraid of a Frid because he knew that anyone who was not scared of a Frid was, quite
simply, a fool.
And so for many years the people and the dogs in the village lived in peace with the Frid and the Frid lived in peace with them, taking his crumbs and his milk at night and bothering no one.
Then one day a
it looked like. But when it stared into the water and saw its reflection, the worm gasped with surprise.
It had made a sort of mistake. It had put its head in the middle and stretching away to either side of it, as long as half a train or one football pitch or two thousand, one
hundred and seventy-five pork sausages, were its two bits of body. It had a body to the right of it and a body to the left of it and in the middle was its head.
For a while the worm just stared into the water and then a pleased and happy smile spread over its face and its cornflower-blue eyes danced with joy. And it said to itself: “It was a bad
day when the Princess came and said ‘Phooey’ to me and I swallowed her and the Knight chopped me up but now I am probably the only worm in the whole world with a head in the middle of
my long, long body – and thus I shall remain until the end of time!”
And thus it did.
As for the Princess, no one ever came to marry her – not a prince or a plumber or a roadmender or a window cleaner – not anyone, because if you start life by kicking people in the
stomach and go on by yelling with temper if you are supposed to wear plain knickers instead of lace ones and then say “Phooey” to a worm, you are going to have a very lonely life. Which
is what she did, and serve her right.
Never Steal Milk from a Frid
Mostly when you climb a hill or scramble through the heather and come across a large rock it will be just what it seems: a large rock.
But sometimes – just sometimes – you might come across a rock that is not exactly what it seems. Such a rock will look strange and sinister and different.
A rock like that will be a Frid rock and inside it there will be a Frid .
What a Frid looks like is very hard to say because Frids never come out of their rocks, but what they do is nasty (as you shall see).
Once there was a Frid rock on a hill above a village in which there lived about two hundred people, some cows, some chickens, some pigs – and five dogs. All the people in this village were
very careful not to upset the Frid. They spoke politely and quietly when they went near the rock and they put out crumbs by it and bowls of milk because crumbs and milk are a what Frids like. And
the dogs were even more well behaved than the people, because an old story said that the last time a Frid had been angered it was by a dog and though no one could remember what had happened to the
dog they knew that it was bad.
The five dogs in the village were friends.
There was an Old English sheepdog with wise eyes, which peered out under his grey and white fringe of hair. There was a liver-coloured spaniel who loved everybody and wanted everybody to love
her, and spent a lot of time on her back with her legs in the air so that people could stroke or scratch her or even kick her if they wished. There was a basset hound with a body like a hairy
drainpipe and ears that were full of little spiders and beetles which had climbed in as he trailed them along the ground. There was a poodle who had once belonged to a travelling circus. And there
was a mongrel called Fred.
Every one of these dogs was a sensible dog. They knew that a Frid lived in the rock above their village and though they often went for walks together they took care to keep well away from the
rock and if they did have to pass it, they did so quietly with their tails down. As for lifting their legs against anything within half a mile of the Frid rock, they would rather have died. Nor did
the mongrel, though he was as tough as they came, ever make any jokes about a Fred not being afraid of a Frid because he knew that anyone who was not scared of a Frid was, quite
simply, a fool.
And so for many years the people and the dogs in the village lived in peace with the Frid and the Frid lived in peace with them, taking his crumbs and his milk at night and bothering no one.
Then one day a
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