Twelve Impossible Things Before Breakfast Read Online Free PDF Page B

times at a speed that made Harlyn’s eyes cross. And at each turning, the fairy sprinkled Harlyn with some kind of powder that must have been mainly ragweed because it made Harlyn sneeze and sneeze and sneeze until her nose dripped and her eyes filled up.
    â€œEnough already!” Harlyn cried, wiping a hand across her eyes. When she could see again, everything around her seemed awfully green.
    And awfully big.
    But that was wrong. What she meant was, she seemed suddenly and awfully small. And she hadn’t felt anything, except—well—the sneezing. Of course she wasn’t as small as the fairy, who was still raging at her and flinging the powder this way and that, but she was small enough so that the grass was suddenly like a high fence all about her and the marching ants In front of her were as large as motorcycles—and looked as dangerous.
    â€œOh, great, you stupid fairy!” Harlyn shouted. “I might have done some good at my regular size. But what am I going to be able to do when I’m this small?” She grabbed up a nearby stick—it would have been a twig if she were at her regular height—for protection. Then she swung it wildly at the ants. They scattered again, all but the front three. Of course they would be the biggest and meanest looking. And they were the ones taking turns carrying the baby.
    â€œOh, great!” Harlyn said again, for the three were heading purposefully and unrelentingly toward the thicket and she could hear the rest of the ants starting to re-form behind her. Pretty soon she would be in an ant sandwich. It was not a pleasant thought.
    And then she remembered ... and flung the stick aside.
    â€œWhat have I got in my pocketses, my precious?” The rubber band had gotten proportionally smaller with her, but it still had its stretch. She pulled on it to test its bounce, then reached back into her pocket for the three hard dried berries. Planting her feet firmly, she pulled out one of the berries, dropped it into the rubber-band sling, and let fly toward the three ants carrying the fairy's child, screaming out all the movie war cries she could think of: “Geronimo! Cowabunga! Heigh-ho, Silver, ants, and away...”
    She wasn’t quite as accurate with the slingshot as she was with spitballs, the berries being both larger and heavier than the rolled-paper wads she was used to. But the berry dropped like a bomb on top of the middle ant’s head, startling it so it dropped its hold on the baby and ran off to sulk in the grass. The other two ants, though, grabbed up the little bundle and, as if of one mind, marched on urgently toward the thorns.
    Harlyn bit her lip. “OK, you suckers,” she whispered, putting the second berry in the sling. She let fly. It caught the left-hand ant on the leg.
    The ant dropped its hold on the blanket and began to walk in circles.
    Harlyn dived forward, shouting, “Say unde, you ant!” and laughing at the same time, mostly because she was scared stiff.
    The lead ant was now inches from the thicket, and from this dose the thorny entrance looked sharp as doom. Harlyn put the last berry in the sling and was about to let it rip when something bit down on her ankle from behind. It stung like stink.
    â€œOw!” she cried, reaching down. The last berry dropped out of the sling and rolled away. Harlyn kicked back with her injured leg, connecting with the ant’s head. Then, hobbling forward, she grabbed up her stick again and jammed it between the lead ant’s jaws and the yellow rose-petal blanket. Surprised, the ant opened its mouth and the baby dropped out.
    There was a swoosh of wings and the mother fairy slipped down startlingly fast on a quiver of air, grabbed the child before it hit the ground, and winged back up without a by-your-leave. And there was Harlyn, left all alone to face a line of large, angry ants.
    What will Aunt Marilyn say? Harlyn wondered briefly. Even more briefly she