The old wolf ran away to a shop, where he ate a piece of white chalk to make his voice soft.
Then he went back to the goat’s hut and rapped at the door.
He spoke in a soft voice and said, “Open the door for me, my dear children. I am your mother.”
But the oldest little goat thought of what his mother had said.
“If you are our mother, put your foot on the window sill, that we may see it.”
When the wolf had done this, all the little goats cried out, “No, you are not our mother. We shall not open the door. Our mother’s feet, are white and yours are black. Go away; you are the wolf.”
Then the wolf went to the miller’s, and said to him, “Mr. Miller, put some flour on my foot, for I have hurt it.”
The miller was so afraid of the wolf that he did as he was told.
Then the wicked wolf went to the goat’s house again and said, “Open the door, dear children, for I am your mother.”
“Show us your foot,” said the little kids.
So the wolf put his one white foot on the window sill.
When the little kids saw that it was white, they thought this was really their mother, and they opened the door.
In jumped the ugly old wolf, and all the little kids ran to hide themselves.
The first hid under the table, the second in the bed, the third in the oven, the fourth in the kitchen, the fifth in the cupboard, the sixth under the washtub, and the seventh, who was the smallest of all, in the tall clock.
The wolf quickly found and gobbled up all but the youngest, who was in the clock.
Then the wolf, who felt sleepy, went out and lay down on the green grass.
Soon he was fast asleep.
THE WOLF AND THE SEVEN YOUNG KIDS—II
Not long after this the old goat came home from the woods.
Ah, what did she see! The house door was wide open; the tables and chairs were upset.
The washtub was broken in pieces, and the bed was tipped over.
“Where are my dear children?” cried the poor goat.
At last she heard a little voice crying, “Dear mother, here I am in the tall clock.”
The old goat helped the little goat out.
Soon she learned how the wolf had eaten her dear children.
Then she went out of the hut, and there on the grass lay the wolf sound asleep.
As the goat looked at the wicked old wolf, she thought she saw something jumping about inside him.
“Ah,” she said, “it may be that my poor children are still alive.”
So she sent the little kid into the house for a pair of scissors and a needle and some thread.
She quickly cut a hole in the side of the wicked old wolf.
At the first snip of the scissors, one of the kids stuck out his head.
As the old goat cut, more and more heads popped out.