The Ogre of Oglefort by Eva Ibbotson

room. And your slippers.”
    â€œNO!” yelled the ogre again.
    He closed his eyes and pretended to snore. But Ivo stood his ground—the image of Mirella in a huddled heap wouldn’t go out of his mind.
    â€œIf we didn’t have to keep looking after the princess we could do important things,” he said, “like tending your wife’s grave. The bones are all over the place.”
    â€œOh they are, are they?” The ogre didn’t like this. “Germania was very tidy.”
    â€œWe could get some unusual bones, maybe,” Ivo went on, “and make an interesting pattern.”
    â€œWhat sort of a pattern?”
    â€œSomething with skulls would be good. A sort of pyramid. We could make it look really nice. But it would take time and we can’t leave the princess.”
    The ogre shook his head. “I can’t do it, I’m too tired,” he said, and let his head fall back on the pillow again.
    Ivo had reached the door when the ogre opened one eye.
    â€œIn my dressing gown and slippers, did you say?”
    And Ivo said, “Yes.”
    The Changing was to take place in the Hall so as to give Mirella plenty of room to fly up and away, but it had to be kept secret from the Grumblers. There would have been a riot if they’d known that Mirella was to be changed and they weren’t.
    Ivo’s face was streaked with tears. Though he and Mirella had quarreled every time they met, he minded losing her more than he could have believed.
    The Hag and the other rescuers, too, were very unhappy about what was to happen.
    â€œI used to think it would be nice to be a frog when I lived in the Dribble” she said. “Just plopping in and out of puddles . . . But it was only a fancy. This is too much magic, it’s too strong.”
    But what could they do when Mirella was determined to starve herself to death? So now they assembled in the Hall, waiting. The troll had strewn some pine needles on the floor of the platform where she was to stand; the Hag had picked a red rose for Mirella to hold while she still had hands.
    Then Mirella came in. She had cleaned herself up as well as she could, rubbing her face with a wet cloth and shaking out her hair, but she still looked rather a mess—and very small, dwarfed by the huge room.
    Then the door opened and the troll, straining all his muscles, pushed in the ogre in a wheelchair which his grandmother had used in her last days. He still wore his pajamas and his legs were covered in a blanket made of moleskins which had been nibbled rather badly by mice.
    Charlie, sitting at Ivo’s feet, gave a whimper. The ogre put one foot on the ground and moaned.
    â€œMy back,” he moaned. “The pain . . .”
    But as no one took any notice, he managed to stand up and stood there, swaying.
    The Hag came forward and put the rose in Mirella’s hand.
    Mirella stood as though she was made of stone. If she was frightened she didn’t show it. In a few minutes—a few seconds even—she would be flying over the heads of everyone. She looked around to see how she would get away afterward, and Ivo came up to her and said, “I’ve left the window open—the round one above the banners,” and she whispered her thanks.
    The ogre began to pass his hands back and forth over Mirella’s head.
    In the Hall everyone held their breath.
    Everyone except Charlie.
    The little white dog had been watching, his piebald ears pricked as the ogre bent over Mirella. Now for some reason he left Ivo, leaped onto the platform, and ran up to Mirella, yapping excitedly, and began to wag his tail and lick her feet.
    Mirella bent down to him. “It’s all right, Charlie,” she said. “Lie down. Be quiet.” And to Ivo she said, “Call him off, can’t you?”
    â€œNo, I can’t,” said Ivo. “He has a perfect right to say good-bye. He wants you to stroke