Mr Gum and the Power Crystals (4 page)

‘N-no,' said Polly, trying to ignore their persistent whispers. It was so tempting to give in to all that hassling. ‘But no!' she gasped as she marched determinedly along. ‘I'm not the kinds of girl who allows herself to be bossed 'round by a couple of stones! I'm a-goin' to see Old Granny – an' that's final!'

On she marched, and very soon there she
was – crossing the rickety wooden bridge that led to . . .

the windmill.

‘OH, MARZIPAN!' exclaimed Polly. ‘THIS IS GETTIN' WELL ANNOYIN'!'

S
omehow Polly managed to turn away from the windmill. Every step was more difficult than the last, and even the first one was quite hard so just think about it. But she kept on going, back over the rickety wooden bridge and towards
town. And eventually, after a GIGANTIC effort, she had finally made it. There she was – crossing the rickety wooden bridge that led to the windmill.

‘OH, MARZIPAN!' exclaimed Polly. And turning away from the windmill yet again, she headed over the rickety wooden bridge back towards town. And eventually there she was . . .

. . . back at the windmill.

‘OH, MARZIPAN!' exclaimed Polly. And turning away from the windmill yet again, she headed back over the rickety wooden bridge towards town. And eventually there she was . . .

. . . back at the windmill.

‘OH, MARZIPAN!' exclaimed Polly. And turning away from the windmill yet again, she headed back over the rickety wooden bridge towards town. And eventually there she was . . .

. . . back at the windmill.

‘OH, MARZIPAN!' exclaimed Polly. And turning away from the windmill yet again, she headed back over the rickety wooden bridge towards town. And eventually there she was . . .

. . . back at the windmill.

‘OH, MARZIPAN!' exclaimed Polly. And turning away from the windmill yet again, she headed back over the rickety wooden bridge towards town. And eventually there she was . . .

. . . back at the windmill.

‘OH, LOW FAT YOGHURT!' exclaimed Polly, just to see if anyone was still paying attention. And turning away from the windmill yet again, she headed back over the rickety wooden bridge towards town. And eventually there she was . . .

. . . back at the windmill.

‘OH, MARZIPAN!' exclaimed Polly. And turning away from the windmill yet again, she headed back over the rickety wooden bridge towards town. And eventually there she was . . .

. . . back at the windmill.

‘OH, MARZIPAN!' exclaimed Polly in frustration. But before she could turn back towards the town, there came a rustling sound as a battered old hobnail boot appeared from among the bushes.
But wait, there was more. The hobnail boot led to a hobnail sock. The hobnail sock led to dirty, raggedy trousers like a tramp would wear. The trousers led to a shabby jacket too disgraceful even for a tramp. The jacket led to a scruffy red beard. The beard led to two angry bloodshot eyes and the bloodshot eyes led to the truth of who it was climbing from those bushes:

Why, it was Oliver J. Chestnuts, the friendliest, funniest old fellow in the whole wide world!

No, not really.

In actual fact it was Mr Gum.

And he was scowling like a fireplace.

For a long moment Mr Gum and Polly simply stood there, facing each other in the fading afternoon light. Neither the old man nor the little girl said a word but in that moment each understood they
were the exact opposite of each other. The two of them were natural enemies, like a spider and a fly. Or a cat and a mouse. Or an eagle and something that doesn't like eagles very much.