Andy Stanton - Mr Gum and the Power Crystals

For Toby, all the way in New Zealand

Mr Gum and the Power Crystals First published 2006 by Egmont UK Limited This edition published 2019 by Egmont UK Limited, The Yellow Building, 1 Nicholas Road London W11 4AN

Text copyright © 2006 Andy Stanton

Illustration copyright © 2006 David Tazzyman

The moral rights of the author and illustrator have been asserted

First e-book edition 2019

ISBN 978 1 4052 9372 3

eISBN 978 1 4052 5930 9

mrgum.co.uk www.egmont.co.uk

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library

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Title Page

Dedication and Copyright page

Introduction

1The Strange Stones

2Polly’s Bad Dream

3Polly Goes to See Old Granny

4Polly Goes to See Old Granny

5Polly Goes to See Old Granny

6Polly Goes to See Old Granny

7Polly Goes to See Old Granny

8Polly Goes to See Old Granny

9Polly Goes to See Old Granny

10Polly Goes to See Old Granny

11Polly Goes to See Old Granny

12What Happened at the Windmill

13Chasing Time!

14Inside the Tree

15Old Granny Tells Her Tale

16Attack of the Roo-de-lallies

17Meanwhile, Over in Spain

18Polly Goes Back to the Windmill

19Inside the Windmill

20Midsummer’s Eve

21Captain Excellent

About the Author

Also by

Praise

‘Why do things happen?’ That’s the question on everyone’s lips these days.

‘Why do things happen, Science?’ everyone’s lips ask Science. And luckily, Science usually has the answer. For example, if you ask Science why your little sister is crying, the answer is plain – because you called her ‘Stinky’ and broke all her dolls with a hammer. Or if you ask Science why rain falls from the sky, the answer is simple – because it just does and stuff.

But every so often something happens which is so extraordinary that even Science does not hold the answers. For instance, take the horrifying events of last summer in the little town of Lamonic Bibber. ‘Why did they happen, Science?’ you may ask. But you will get no answer.

For some things are so strange that they cannot be explained away with Science. Or Maths. Or even P.E. But like Old Granny said as she rocked back and forth in her chair by the fireside:

‘The past has a way of repeating itself. The past has a way of repeating itself. The past has a way of repeating itself.’

And perhaps that is all that anyone can say of such things.

It all started one hot afternoon, down by the Lamonic River where the water rushes grow. A nine-year-old girl called Polly was skipping along by the water’s edge and oh, what a happy little nibblehead she was! It was the height of summer and the world was her playground, sparkling with colour and excitement at every twist and turn.

A trout leapt from the clear water in a flash of silver scales.

A bumblebee did that thing where it goes really near your ear and makes you jump in astonishment.

A kingfisher soared gracefully into the side of a sycamore tree, plummeted to the ground and was stepped on by an otter.

The warblers warbled and the dragonflies dragonflew and the frogs texted ‘RIBBET’ to each other on their mobiles. And the sun shone down upon them all as if to say, ‘Here, have loads of heat off me for a laugh.’ It was the height of summer all right.

‘Oranges an’ mermaids, says the bells of Saint Dickens!’ sang Polly as she skip-skap-skappled along. ‘I owe you five matchsticks, says the bells of –’

BARK!

Suddenly there came a sound from the Old Meadow yonder, a sound so happy that for one amazing moment all the soldiers in the world put down their guns and did a bit of hopscotch instead.

BAAARK!

There it was again, even happier than before and with a couple of extra ‘A’s in the middle free of charge.

‘SPARKLERS!’ shouted Polly joyously. ‘It’s Jake, the Number One Best Woofdog on the Woofdog Charts, an’ that’s a official Polly Fact!’

Crashing through the undergrowth she followed the barking to the Old Meadow yonder, and yes! There was big Jake himself, doing what he loved best – digging an enormous hole with his legendary paws. Dirt was flyin’, flies were buzzin’, cows were mooin’, letter ‘g’s’ were missin’ – it was chaos.

‘Hey, Jakey, let me play too!’ laughed Polly, running over. But even as she spoke Jake was emerging from the hole, a small brown object clutched between his doggy-go-lucky teeth.

‘What you found, what you found?’ said Polly, petting the energetic beast until he gobbed the thing proudly into the long grass. It was a little bag made of rough cloth and tied with red ribbon. Here and there it had been nibbled away by insects and pumpkins, but the material was thick and had withstood even the greediest attacks.