The Giants and the Joneses. Julia Donaldson
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a pest, Poppy!’ Colette ran on up, her footsteps loud and furious.
But even louder and more furious was the voice which now rang up the stairs.
‘Colette! Come here! Now!’ It was Mum.
Colette grabbed Poppy’s fistful of feathers and slunk back downstairs, past Dad who was still muttering about stamps. She opened the kitchen door.
‘Look at them! They’re everywhere!’ Mum pointed at the table. The snails were slithering around among the crumbs from teatime, leaving slimy trails behind them. One had reached the rim of a jar of honey and an even more adventurous one (number four again) was climbing up the spout of the teapot.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Colette yet again. She put the feathers down and started to pick up the snails and put them back in the box. ‘I was going to make them a lid but …’
But Mum didn’t want to hear any buts. ‘This is one collection too many,’ she said. ‘Put them back outside. Now.’
‘Birds!’ said Poppy, coming into the kitchen and spotting the feathers on the table. But Colette’s big box was even more interesting. Poppy trailed after sister and box, out into the garden.
‘Don’t start collecting anything else out there, whatever you do!’ Mum called after them.
And Colette didn’t. Not that day, anyway. But this wasn’t because she was obeying her mother. It was because she was about to be collected herself.
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