The ogre stomped around the room.
He sniffed every corner.
Suddenly he stopped.
"Fee, fi, fo, fum," the ogre yelled.
"I smell an Englishman!
If he's alive, or if he's dead,
I'll eat him on a slice of bread!"
Inside the oven Jack shook with fear.
"This is awful," he thought.
"The ogre is going to find me.
Then he'll put me on bread and eat me!"
Jack bit his hand so he wouldn't cry.
"I'll never see Mother again," he thought.
"Why did I take those beans?"
"Fee, fi, fo, fum!" the angry ogre yelled again.
"The smell is not an Englishman.
It's an English boy!"
"Now, now, dear," his wife said.
"I don't smell a thing."
She gave a little laugh. "You must be dreaming."
"I'm not dreaming!" the ogre said.
"I smell a boy!"
His wife patted his arm. "Breakfast will be ready soon.
Why don't you go and wash up?"
The ogre growled, still sniffing.
"I'll make pancakes too," his wife said sweetly.
The ogre turned his huge head.
"With blueberries?" he asked.
His wife nodded. "Yes, of course, dear."
The ogre's shoulders dropped.
His frown melted away.
"Okay," he said. "I'll wash up."