“Arghh!” she shouted in her most frightening giant voice (which, Kip had told her more than once, was not very frightening). “There’s pitch in me eyes!” She could hear the sound of children running in the grass around her. Running for dear life. Molly spun around one final time and pulled her hands from her face with a great roar. She was standing in the middle of the lawn, legs bent, shoulders hunched, hands spread like claws. “The giant realized that he’d been tricked,” she called out, continuing her story. “But by the time he scraped the pitch from his eyes, it was too late—for the children had hid themselves in the mountains, shouting: Catch as catch can!” The “mountains” were the little hillocks covering the Windsor lawn. Each mound was about as high as Molly’s knees and perhaps seven feet long—roughly the size of a canoe—and they were perfect for hiding. Not only could you disappear behind them, but you could crawl between them without being seen by flesh-eating giants.
