It’s a strange thing about mothers and fathers. Even when their child is the dirtiest little animal you have ever seen, they still think that he or she is wonderful. But there are parents who are not interested in their children in any way, and these of course are much worse.
Mr and Mrs Wormwood had an ordinary little boy, Michael, and a daughter, Matilda. But they were so busy with their unimportant business that they did not realize Matilda was clever – very clever.
Mr and Mrs Wormwood had an ordinary little boy, Michael, and a daughter, Matilda.
By the age of one and a half, she could speak perfectly and knew as many words as most grown-up people. By the time she was three, Matilda could read newspapers. At the age of four, she could read fast and well.
‘Daddy’ she said, ‘could you buy me a book?’
‘A book?’ he said. ‘What’s wrong with the TV? We’ve got a nice TV and now you come asking for a book! We’re too good to you already, my girl!’
Nearly every afternoon, Matilda stayed in the house while her brother (who was five years older than her) went to school, her father went to work and her mother went to the cinema.
One afternoon, Matilda walked to the library in the village. Mrs Phelps, the woman at the library, was surprised to see this small girl.
‘Where are the children’s books, please?’ asked Matilda.
Mrs Phelps showed her. ‘Shall I find you a nice one with lots of pictures in it?’ she said.
‘I’m sure I can find something,’ said Matilda.
After that, she walked down to the library every afternoon and sat quietly in a corner reading.
‘What can I read next?’ she asked Mrs Phelps one day. ‘I’ve finished all the children’s books.’
‘You mean you’ve looked at the picture.’
‘Yes, but I’ve read the books, too,’ said Matilda.
Mrs Phelps was very surprised. ‘How old are you, Matilda?’ she asked.
‘Four years and three months,’ answered Matilda.
Mrs Phelps was even more surprised, but she was too sensible to show it. ‘What sort of book would you like to read next?’ she asked.
‘A really good one,’ said Matilda. ‘A famous one.’
So Mrs Phelps gave her Great Expectations by Charles Dickens, a very famous English writer. For the next few afternoons she watched Matilda in the corner with the book on her knee.
During the next six months, Matilda read fourteen ‘famous books’ by different writers, and Mrs Phelps watched with surprise and excitement.
‘You can borrow books from libraries and take them home, Matilda,’ she said one day. ‘Did you know?’
‘Can I?’ said Matilda. And after that, she visited the library once every week to borrow new books and to return the old ones. And every afternoon she read. The books took her to Africa with Ernest Hemingway, to India with Rudyard Kipling. And to many other wonderful places.