Jill’s blanket.
“What do you think
swearing on your life
means?” the old woman exclaimed. “Silly gooses.” She smiled at them sweetly. “Get the Seeing Glass, or you will die. And now, good-bye!”
And without another word, the old woman made a movement toward the trees—and was gone.
The frog poked his head out of Jill’s blanket and looked up at the children.
“That,” he said, “was stupid.”
CHAPTER FOUR
The
Giant Killer
O nce upon a time, there was a beanstalk.
It started as a tiny shoot, peering up from the black soil where the bean had been planted, tender and green in the bright moonlight. Next it was a plant, small but sturdy. Then it was the size of a young tree.
All in a matter of seconds.
Soon, the beanstalk was as thick and as tall as an oak. And still it grew and grew and grew. Thick branches began to shoot out from its trunk, one every few feet, twisting upward around the great green stalk.
A little boy named Jack looked at a little girl named Jill.
“Don’t do it,” warned a three-legged frog named Frog. “Don’t even think about it.”
Jack took hold of a thick branch in his hands. He pulled himself onto the stalk. The branch held his weight easily. Above their heads, the beanstalk climbed and climbed and climbed, far out of sight.
“Come on,” Jack said. “Let’s go find that crazy old lady’s glass.”
----
“Care—ful . . . care—ful . . . careful . . . careful . . . careful, careful . . . careful careful . . . carefulcarefulcarefulcareful . . . WATCH OUT!”
Jill grabbed hold of the sprout just above her head and pulled herself up. The frog clutched desperately at the brown blanket with his toes, staring down at the tiny dot that used to look like Jack’s house. The sun was just rising, slanting its yellow rays over the misty landscape below. Jill reached out her hand for the next sprout.
“Care—ful . . . care—ful . . . careful . . . careful . . . careful, careful . . . careful careful . . . carefulcarefulcarefulcareful . . . WATCH OUT!”
Jill pulled them up to the next sprout and turned to the frog. Her words were very clipped when she said, “If you don’t shut up, I will drop you.”
“Right,” said the frog. “Sorry,” said the frog. “Okay,” said the frog. He tried breathing.
“Why don’t you look up?” Jill suggested. “Instead of down?”
“Up? Up! Yes,” said the frog. “Look up.” He looked up. Then he glanced back down at the green fields, the little house, the tiny specks of cattle in the distance. “Care—ful . . . care—ful . . .” Jill gritted her teeth and concentrated on not hurling the frog to his death.
Jack was sweating, though the air was much colder up here than it had been on the ground. He looked down at Jill, and then way, way below her, to the buildings of his village. They looked tiny. So tiny. He swept his eyes out across the miniature landscape. The castle was off in the distance, tiny turrets rising like a gingerbread fort. There were swaths of mottled woods shrouded in mist, with shining rivers winding through them. He took a deep breath.
He had been right. The bean was magic. The boys had been wrong to laugh. Marie had been wrong. Jack turned and gazed into the belly of white clouds overhead.
“Where does this end?” Jill called from below.
“Are you tired?” Jack called back.
“Tired of this frog having a heart attack every time I reach for the next branch.”
“Carefulcarefulcarefulcareful . . .”
Jack pointed at the clouds. “I don’t know. Up there?” Jill nodded.
The thick cloud cover seemed to grow bigger and bigger above them as they climbed. Jack approached the belly of the sky, and wisps of water blanketed his face, leaving trails of dew on his cheeks and neck.
Water vapor began to clog their lungs. Jack felt like he was choking. Jill took heaving breaths. A few more feet, and they could see nothing. Gray, gray all
“What do you think
swearing on your life
means?” the old woman exclaimed. “Silly gooses.” She smiled at them sweetly. “Get the Seeing Glass, or you will die. And now, good-bye!”
And without another word, the old woman made a movement toward the trees—and was gone.
The frog poked his head out of Jill’s blanket and looked up at the children.
“That,” he said, “was stupid.”
CHAPTER FOUR
The
Giant Killer
O nce upon a time, there was a beanstalk.
It started as a tiny shoot, peering up from the black soil where the bean had been planted, tender and green in the bright moonlight. Next it was a plant, small but sturdy. Then it was the size of a young tree.
All in a matter of seconds.
Soon, the beanstalk was as thick and as tall as an oak. And still it grew and grew and grew. Thick branches began to shoot out from its trunk, one every few feet, twisting upward around the great green stalk.
A little boy named Jack looked at a little girl named Jill.
“Don’t do it,” warned a three-legged frog named Frog. “Don’t even think about it.”
Jack took hold of a thick branch in his hands. He pulled himself onto the stalk. The branch held his weight easily. Above their heads, the beanstalk climbed and climbed and climbed, far out of sight.
“Come on,” Jack said. “Let’s go find that crazy old lady’s glass.”
----
“Care—ful . . . care—ful . . . careful . . . careful . . . careful, careful . . . careful careful . . . carefulcarefulcarefulcareful . . . WATCH OUT!”
Jill grabbed hold of the sprout just above her head and pulled herself up. The frog clutched desperately at the brown blanket with his toes, staring down at the tiny dot that used to look like Jack’s house. The sun was just rising, slanting its yellow rays over the misty landscape below. Jill reached out her hand for the next sprout.
“Care—ful . . . care—ful . . . careful . . . careful . . . careful, careful . . . careful careful . . . carefulcarefulcarefulcareful . . . WATCH OUT!”
Jill pulled them up to the next sprout and turned to the frog. Her words were very clipped when she said, “If you don’t shut up, I will drop you.”
“Right,” said the frog. “Sorry,” said the frog. “Okay,” said the frog. He tried breathing.
“Why don’t you look up?” Jill suggested. “Instead of down?”
“Up? Up! Yes,” said the frog. “Look up.” He looked up. Then he glanced back down at the green fields, the little house, the tiny specks of cattle in the distance. “Care—ful . . . care—ful . . .” Jill gritted her teeth and concentrated on not hurling the frog to his death.
Jack was sweating, though the air was much colder up here than it had been on the ground. He looked down at Jill, and then way, way below her, to the buildings of his village. They looked tiny. So tiny. He swept his eyes out across the miniature landscape. The castle was off in the distance, tiny turrets rising like a gingerbread fort. There were swaths of mottled woods shrouded in mist, with shining rivers winding through them. He took a deep breath.
He had been right. The bean was magic. The boys had been wrong to laugh. Marie had been wrong. Jack turned and gazed into the belly of white clouds overhead.
“Where does this end?” Jill called from below.
“Are you tired?” Jack called back.
“Tired of this frog having a heart attack every time I reach for the next branch.”
“Carefulcarefulcarefulcareful . . .”
Jack pointed at the clouds. “I don’t know. Up there?” Jill nodded.
The thick cloud cover seemed to grow bigger and bigger above them as they climbed. Jack approached the belly of the sky, and wisps of water blanketed his face, leaving trails of dew on his cheeks and neck.
Water vapor began to clog their lungs. Jack felt like he was choking. Jill took heaving breaths. A few more feet, and they could see nothing. Gray, gray all
Similar Books
