Read Online The Tale of Despereaux by Kate DiCamillo - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Kate DiCamillo
Ads: Link
thread?”
“Cursy I must!” shouted Mig.
She gathered her skirts, dropped the spool of thread, stuck a foot out, and stepped on the spool, rocked back and forth for what seemed like quite a long time (both to the watching princess and the rocking Mig), and finally fell to the floor with a Miggish thud.
“Whoopsie,” said Miggery Sow.
The Pea could not help it — she laughed. “That’s all right,” she said to Mig, shaking her head. “It’s the spirit of the thing that counts.”
“How’s that?” shouted Mig.
“It’s the spirit of the thing that counts!” shouted Pea.
“Thank you, miss,” said Mig. She got slowly to her feet. She looked at the princess. She looked down at the floor. “First the cursy and then the thread,” Mig muttered.
“Pardon?” said the Pea.
“Gor!” said Mig. “The thread!” She dropped to her hands and knees to locate the spool of thread; when she found it, she stood back up and offered it to Pea. “I brought you yer thread, didn’t I?”
“Lovely,” said the princess as she took the thread from Mig. “Thank you so much. I cannot seem to hold on to a spool of red thread. Every one I have disappears somehow.”
“Are you making a thing?” asked Mig, squinting at the cloth in the Pea’s hand.
“I am making a history of the world, my world,” said the Pea, “in tapestry. See? Here is my father, the king. And he is playing the guitar because that is something he loves to do and does quite well. And here is my mother, the queen, and she is eating soup because she loved soup.”
“Soup! Gor! That’s against the law.”
“Yes,” said the princess, “my father outlawed it because my mother died while she was eating it.”
“Your ma’s dead?”
“Yes,” said the Pea. “She died just last month.” She bit her bottom lip to stop it from trembling.
“Ain’t that the thing?” said Mig. “My ma is dead, too.”
“How old were you when she died?”
“Bold was I?” said Mig, taking a step back, away from the princess. “I’m sorry, then.”
“No, no, how old . How old were you?” shouted the Pea.
“Not but six,” said Mig.
“I’m sorry,” said the princess. She gave Mig a quick, deep look of sympathy. “How old are you now?”
“Twelve years.”
“So am I,” said the princess. “We’re the same age. What is your name?” she shouted.
“Miggery. Miggery Sow, but most just calls me Mig. And I saw you once before, Princess. You passed me by on a little white horse. On my birthday, it was, and I was in the field with Uncle’s sheep and it was sunset time.”
“Did I wave to you?” asked the princess.
“Eh?”
“Did I wave?” shouted the Pea.
“Yes,” nodded Mig.
“But you didn’t wave back,” said the princess.
“I did,” said Mig. “Only you didn’t see. Someday, I will sit on a little white horse and wear a crown and wave. Someday,” said Mig, and she put up a hand to touch her left ear, “I will be a princess, too.”
“Really?” said the Pea. And she gave Mig another quick, deep look, but said nothing else.
When Mig finally made her way back down the golden stairs, Louise was waiting for her.
“How long,” she roared, “did it take you to deliver a spool of thread to the princess?”
“Too long?” guessed Mig.
“That’s right,” said Louise. And she gave Mig a good clout to the ear. “You are not destined to be one of our star servants. That is already abundantly clear.”
“No, ma’am,” said Mig. “That’s all right, though, because I aim to be a princess.”
“You? A princess? Don’t make me laugh.”
This, reader, was a little joke on Louise’s part, as she was not a person who laughed. Ever. Not even at a notion as ridiculous as Miggery Sow becoming a princess.
AT THE CASTLE, for the first time in her young life, Mig had enough to eat. And eat she did. She quickly became plump and then plumper still. She grew rounder and rounder and bigger and bigger. Only her head
“Cursy I must!” shouted Mig.
She gathered her skirts, dropped the spool of thread, stuck a foot out, and stepped on the spool, rocked back and forth for what seemed like quite a long time (both to the watching princess and the rocking Mig), and finally fell to the floor with a Miggish thud.
“Whoopsie,” said Miggery Sow.
The Pea could not help it — she laughed. “That’s all right,” she said to Mig, shaking her head. “It’s the spirit of the thing that counts.”
“How’s that?” shouted Mig.
“It’s the spirit of the thing that counts!” shouted Pea.
“Thank you, miss,” said Mig. She got slowly to her feet. She looked at the princess. She looked down at the floor. “First the cursy and then the thread,” Mig muttered.
“Pardon?” said the Pea.
“Gor!” said Mig. “The thread!” She dropped to her hands and knees to locate the spool of thread; when she found it, she stood back up and offered it to Pea. “I brought you yer thread, didn’t I?”
“Lovely,” said the princess as she took the thread from Mig. “Thank you so much. I cannot seem to hold on to a spool of red thread. Every one I have disappears somehow.”
“Are you making a thing?” asked Mig, squinting at the cloth in the Pea’s hand.
“I am making a history of the world, my world,” said the Pea, “in tapestry. See? Here is my father, the king. And he is playing the guitar because that is something he loves to do and does quite well. And here is my mother, the queen, and she is eating soup because she loved soup.”
“Soup! Gor! That’s against the law.”
“Yes,” said the princess, “my father outlawed it because my mother died while she was eating it.”
“Your ma’s dead?”
“Yes,” said the Pea. “She died just last month.” She bit her bottom lip to stop it from trembling.
“Ain’t that the thing?” said Mig. “My ma is dead, too.”
“How old were you when she died?”
“Bold was I?” said Mig, taking a step back, away from the princess. “I’m sorry, then.”
“No, no, how old . How old were you?” shouted the Pea.
“Not but six,” said Mig.
“I’m sorry,” said the princess. She gave Mig a quick, deep look of sympathy. “How old are you now?”
“Twelve years.”
“So am I,” said the princess. “We’re the same age. What is your name?” she shouted.
“Miggery. Miggery Sow, but most just calls me Mig. And I saw you once before, Princess. You passed me by on a little white horse. On my birthday, it was, and I was in the field with Uncle’s sheep and it was sunset time.”
“Did I wave to you?” asked the princess.
“Eh?”
“Did I wave?” shouted the Pea.
“Yes,” nodded Mig.
“But you didn’t wave back,” said the princess.
“I did,” said Mig. “Only you didn’t see. Someday, I will sit on a little white horse and wear a crown and wave. Someday,” said Mig, and she put up a hand to touch her left ear, “I will be a princess, too.”
“Really?” said the Pea. And she gave Mig another quick, deep look, but said nothing else.
When Mig finally made her way back down the golden stairs, Louise was waiting for her.
“How long,” she roared, “did it take you to deliver a spool of thread to the princess?”
“Too long?” guessed Mig.
“That’s right,” said Louise. And she gave Mig a good clout to the ear. “You are not destined to be one of our star servants. That is already abundantly clear.”
“No, ma’am,” said Mig. “That’s all right, though, because I aim to be a princess.”
“You? A princess? Don’t make me laugh.”
This, reader, was a little joke on Louise’s part, as she was not a person who laughed. Ever. Not even at a notion as ridiculous as Miggery Sow becoming a princess.
AT THE CASTLE, for the first time in her young life, Mig had enough to eat. And eat she did. She quickly became plump and then plumper still. She grew rounder and rounder and bigger and bigger. Only her head
Similar Books
