Goat Pie Read Online Free PDF

me?’
    â€˜What?’ sighed Mrs Troll.
    â€˜A pasty-faced peeples!’ said Mrs Priddle. ‘I’ve never been so insulted in my whole life.’
    Mr Troll found this hard to believe – he could certainly think of some much better insults.
    Once everyone had calmed down, the Trolls promised they would pay for the damage and returned to their own house. They sat at the breakfast table, trying to decide what to do. In all the confusion, Grumpa had disappeared.
    â€˜Where did he go?’ asked Mrs Troll.
    â€˜I don’t know! He just tromped off down the road,’ replied Ulrik.
    â€˜Well, is he coming back?’
    â€˜He didn’t say.’ Ulrik propped his chin in his hands. It was partly his fault. He should have got Grumpa out of the house before the Priddles arrived. But it was difficult to persuade Grumpa to do anything – he was as stubborn as a mule and now he’d stormed off in a terrible sulk.
    He looked at his mum. ‘He will be all right, won’t he?’
    â€˜Of course he will, my ugglesome. He’s a grown troll. He’s just in a bit of a temper, that’s all.’
    Mr Troll shook his head sadly. ‘I don’t blame him.’
    â€˜Oh, and who do
you
blame?’ replied Mrs Troll irritably.
    â€˜Well, you,’ said Mr Troll.
    â€˜ME?’
    â€˜Yes, you wrote him the letters!’ said Mr Troll. ‘You’re the one telling all the fibwoppers!’
    Mrs Troll snorted in disbelief. ‘And have you ever stopped to think why?’
    Mr Troll shrugged his shoulders. He had no idea.
    â€˜Because I wanted him to be proud of you!’ saidMrs Troll. ‘I wanted him to think we live in a stinksome cave with nice trolls next door. I wanted him to imagine we have forests and mountains to look at and roast goat on the table every night.’
    â€˜But we don’t!’ said Mr Troll, puzzled.
    â€˜No, we don’t,’ replied Mrs Troll, her voice rising. ‘We don’t because we had to leave home. Because you, Egbert, got frighted by a billy goat on a bridge!’
    â€˜I was never frighted,’ said Mr Troll indignantly.

    â€˜All right, beated, butted, whatever you want to call it.’
    â€˜GRARGH!’ roared Mr Troll, standing up and kicking over his chair.
    â€˜Grargh yourself!’ replied Mrs Troll.
    Mr Troll stormed out of the room and slammed the door so hard that the clock fell off the wall.
    Ulrik sighed. There was a long silence. It was always the same when his mum brought up the bridge thing. It ended with roaring and door-slamming.

    His mum had gone to the window and was looking anxiously along the road. Ulrik tried to think of something to cheer her up. It was only five days until Trollmas. He was looking forward to that.
    â€˜Mum,’ he said, ‘can we have a tree?’
    â€˜What, my hairling?’ said Mrs Troll absently.
    â€˜A tree. For Trollmas.’
    â€˜What do you want with a tree?’
    â€˜Peeples have trees in their houses. The Priddles have got one.’
    â€˜Really? What do you do with them?’
    â€˜You hang things on them,’ explained Ulrik. ‘Lights and shiny balls and socks.’
    â€˜Socks? You mean to dry them?’
    â€˜Maybe,’ said Ulrik, who was a little hazy about the details. ‘I think Warren said socks. You hang them on a tree and then you go to bed. And in the night, Father Trollmas comes and leaves you a sack.’
    Mrs Troll looked bewildered. The strange habits of peeples never ceased to amaze her. ‘But can we have one, Mum? A tree?’ begged Ulrik.
    â€˜If you really want, my ugglesome. But just now we’ve got to find your grumpa.’
    Ulrik nodded. ‘Is he still staying for Trollmas?’
    â€˜Of course he is,’ said Mrs Troll. She hoped he hadn’t got into any trouble. He didn’t know his way round and he had no experience of towns like Biddlesden. What if he wandered