Olive of Groves and the Great Slurp of Time Read Online Free

school?’
    â€˜Oh no, no, no, no, no!’ clucked the silly woman. ‘This is not Pig McKenzie the Hideous Hog of Vile Temper and Evil Intentions whom you chased from our school with a pitchfork!’ She stood up and passed Olive her pencil tin. ‘Oh no, no, no, no, no! This is Pigg McKenzie, Pigg being spelt with a double g.’
    Olive stared at Mrs Groves.
    Speechless.
    Gobsmacked.
    â€˜Pigg McKenzie,’ snorted the pig. ‘Two g’s.’
    â€˜Yes,’ babbled Mrs Groves. ‘ Two g’s. Did you get that, Olive? Two g’s. That second g makes all the difference. Why, this poor pig is always being mistaken for Pig McKenziewith one g, which is very unfortunate. Pig McKenzie with one g is a Very Unpleasant Kind of Swine, whereas Pigg McKenzie with two g’s is a kind, gentle, friendly sort of pig who wants nothing more than to settle down to his studies and be a help and comfort to his fellow students.’
    â€˜A help and comfort to my fellow students,’ echoed the pig. He smiled sweetly at Mrs Groves.
    â€˜Furthermore,’ the headmistress prattled on, ‘this dear pig wears a lime-green jacket, as you can see, whereas Pig McKenzie with one g always wore a brown woollen jacket. Rather dull when you think about it. I never was terribly fond of brown wool.’
    â€˜But this is Pig McKenzie!’ cried Olive. ‘Anyone can see that he is the same Wicked Pig as Ever He Was. Placing an extra g in his name does nothing to change the fact that he is a Nasty, Vile Creature Who Thinks of Nobody but Himself. Why, this very minute, he is probably Scheming and Plotting to Get Rid of Me.’
    The pig heaved himself up out of the chair. ‘Oh, my aching bacon!’ he moaned, pressing his trotter to his heart. ‘How could you say such a thing? I am a pig of pure intentions. I cannot tell you how deeply grieved I am by your suspicious, unwelcoming attitude. And in a school captain of all people!’
    The pig shook his head sadly, tugged at his ears, then staggered about the room, wailing. He bumped into the wall, tearing a large strip of wallpaper away . . . barrelled headfirst into Fumble’s belly, reducing the poor, frightened moose to tears . . . stumbled into the fireplace, kicking ashes out onto the pretty pink rug . . . ricocheted into Olive, knocking the tin of crayons from her hands . . . lurched onto the bed, snapping off one of the legs . . . cast himself against the chest of drawers, biting an ugly hole deep into the timber . . . then returned to the centre of the room, where he slumped his shoulders and emitted a long, deep sigh of despair.

    â€˜You simply must believe the poor pig,’ cried Mrs Groves. ‘ I certainly do. After all, he has given me solid evidence.’ The silly headmistress rustled around in the left pocket of her apron. She pulled out a tangled ball of string, a bird’s nest, a live frog with a postage stamp stuck to its back and a white paper bag full of peppermints. ‘Oh! Peppermints!’ she cooed, popping one in her mouth, then offering them all around.
    â€˜Don’t forget the hard evidence, Mrs Groves,’ said Olive, looking the pig right in the eye. She refused to be beaten by this Scheming Lump of Lard.
    Mrs Groves fumbled around in her right pocket this time, pulled out two scrunched-up pieces of paper and handed them to Olive.
    Olive read aloud. ‘Pig McKenzie the baddy is in the rehub . . . rehub . . .’ She turned to Mrs Groves. ‘I can’t read this, it is so poorly spelt.’
    â€˜It says,’ explained Mrs Groves, ‘that Pig McKenzie (with one g) is in the Rehabilitation Centre for Really Bad Pigs and will not be released for three years, twelve months and seven days.’
    â€˜That’s four years and one week,’ squeaked Wordsworth.
    â€˜Yes,’ said Mrs Groves. ‘I made exactly the same comment, but Pigg McKenzie, here, explained that this