“Tell him to stop, Noah!” gasped Peggy. “You’re in front. Hurry up! I’m shaken to bits.”
“It’s no good,” moaned Noah. “I have, and he won’t listen. Oh, if we only had some reins!”
“You must wish him to go slower,” said the Giant to Peggy in a faint voice. “I shall die if this goes on! It’s all your fault for saying ‘or something exciting’ after your wish. I forgot to tell you how very risky that was. Ah, thank you! That’s better,” for Peggy had wished, and the Giraffe at once quieted down into a walk—in fact into such a slow walk that it almost might have been called standing still.
“Get on!” said Peggy, digging her heels into the Giraffe’s back—but he went slower and slower still.
“Oh dear, you’ll have to get off and push, I’m afraid,” she said to the Giant. “We shall never get anywhere at all if you don’t. I’m not going to waste another wish on the horrid old thing!”
“All right,” said the Giant, getting off—but the more he pushed the slower the Giraffe went.
“Why, here we are at the village!” cried Peggy, as after half an hour’s steady pushing they turned a corner and saw a row of cottages stretching down the road on either side. “Now get on again,” she said to the hot and tired Giant, “and we’ll ride grandly down to the shop and buy a pennyworth of sweets!”
“Who’s to buy them?” asked the Giant, wearily settling himself on the Giraffe’s back again (it was quite easy to get on and off because the creature really went so very slowly). “I can’t. I only frighten people.”
“Noah will—won’t you, Noah?” asked Peggy coaxingly. “I can’t, because I’ve no pennies left at all!”
“But I haven’t a farthing on me either,” said Noah uncomfortably.