LITMIR.BIZ

      Book Band: Purple

      This edition first published in Great Britain 2012 by Egmont UK Ltd 239 Kensington High Street, London W8 6SA Text copyright © Michael Morpurgo 1987 Illustrations copyright © Shahar Kober 2012 The author and illustrator have asserted their moral rights. ISBN 978 1 4052 6081 7

      eISBN 978 1 7803 1225 5 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1 A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library. Printed in Singapore. 26918/9 All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publisher and copyright owner.

      E G M O N T L U C K Y C O I N

      Our story began over a century ago, when seventeen-year-old Egmont Harald Petersen found a coin in the street.

      He was on his way to buy a flyswatter, a small hand-operated printing machine that he then set up in his tiny apartment.

      The coin brought him such good luck that today Egmont has offices in over 30 countries around the world. And that lucky coin is still kept at the company’s head offices in Denmark.

      Contents

       Chapter One

       5

       Chapter Two

       10

       Chapter Three

       17

       Chapter Four

       24

       Chapter Five

       38

       Chapter Six

       46

      Red Bananas

      Chapter One

      Some people have goldfish or tortoises or hamsters. Wendy’s grandad had a snake, a King-snake called Slinky. He was black and gold with little beady eyes and an ever-flicking forked tongue.

      Slinky lived in a glass tank on top of the chest-of-drawers in Grandad’s bedroom. And that, said Wendy’s mother, was exactly where he had to stay.

      If Wendy wanted to play with Slinky, then she had to do it in Grandad’s bedroom and SHUT THE DOOR.

      Wendy was small and thin and quiet. Hopscotch and handstands were never her idea

      of fun. So at school they called her ‘weedy Wendy’. Sad stories made her cry, and so did Simon McTavish when he kept teasing her about being poor or about not having a father. So they called her ‘weepy Wendy’. She hated school, and most of all she hated Simon McTavish.

      When she got home from school her mother was out at work like she always was and Grandad was still out in his garden. She sat on the bed in Grandad’s room and told Slinky all about Simon McTavish and the horrible things he’d said that day. ‘And anyway, we’re not poor,’ she went on. ‘And I have got a dad. He just doesn’t live here any more, that’s all.’

      Slinky flicked out his tongue, which was his way of asking for his tea. He always had a

      mouse for his tea, a dead

      one, of course.

      When he’d finished swallowing it, Wendy wrapped him round her neck like a scarf and stroked him in between his eyes where he liked it. She hummed him his favourite tune, a jingle from the television, the one about the washing-up liquid that keeps your hands soft.

      Grandad came in from the garden. He loved his garden, especially his vegetables. The garden backed on to the park, so he could lean on his fork and watch the football whenever he felt like it. He loved his football almost as much as his garden.

      ‘That cauliflower will be perfect,’

      he said, wiping his hands on a towel. ‘By the time I get back, it’ll be just right. We’ll have it for Christmas.’

      ‘Why, where are you going?’ Wendy asked.

      ‘Hospital,’ he patted his side. ‘New hip. Nothing to worry about. The old one’s worn itself right out.’

      Chapter Two

      Next day they took Grandad into hospital on the way to school. Wendy’s mother was silent with worry. Grandad tried to cheer her up, but it didn’t work. He turned to Wendy.

      ‘Now, my girl, you will look after Slinky for me, won’t you? No tit-bits, mind. Just his

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