The Wolf and the Seven Young Kids
A mother goat's warning, a wolf with three disguises, and a rescue with scissors and stones
Page 1
Once upon a time there was an old mother goat who had seven young kids, and she loved them the way every mother loves her children. One day she wanted to go into the forest and fetch some food, so she called all seven to her. "Dear children," she said, "I must go into the forest. Beware of the wolf — if he gets in, he will eat you all up, skin and hair. The wicked creature often disguises himself, but you will know him at once by his hoarse voice and his black feet." The kids promised to be very careful, and their mother bleated contentedly and set off on her way. The little cottage stood in a sunny clearing with the dark forest pressing close all around it, and the seven kids gathered at the door to watch her go, already a little afraid of what might come while she was away.
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It was not long before someone knocked at the door and called out, "Open up, dear children, your mother is here and has brought something for each of you." But the kids knew by the hoarse voice that it was the wolf. "We won't open the door," they cried. "You are not our mother. She has a soft and lovely voice, but your voice is hoarse. You are the wolf!" So the wolf went away to a shopkeeper and bought himself a big lump of chalk. He ate it and it made his voice soft and fine. Then he came back, knocked at the door again, and called out, "Open up, dear children, your mother is here and has brought something for each of you." But this time the wolf had put his black foot on the windowsill without thinking, and the kids saw it and would not be fooled so easily.
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Furious that his first two tricks had failed, the wolf hurried down the forest path to the edge of the village, where a chalk-seller kept a little roadside stall piled with big white lumps of chalk, the kind farmers used to mark their sheep. "Give me a lump of your best chalk," growled the wolf, "and be quick about it." The frightened chalk-seller handed one over at once, and the wolf snatched it up and ate the whole thing right there on the spot, crunching it down to the very last crumb. Almost at once his harsh, growling voice turned soft and fine, smooth as a kind mother's voice. Well pleased with himself, the wolf dusted the white powder from his whiskers and turned back toward the forest path, already planning his third and cleverest trick, for he still had his black paws to hide before the kids would ever let him in.
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The wolf came back to the cottage, put his paw on the windowsill, and called out in his new soft voice, "Open up, dear children, your mother is here and has brought something for each of you." But the wolf had set his black paw right up on the sill, and the kids saw it at once through the glass. "We won't open the door," they cried. "Our mother doesn't have a black foot like you. You are the wolf!" So the wolf ran off to a baker and said, "I have hurt my foot — rub some dough on it for me." And when the baker had rubbed dough all over his paw, the wolf ran to the miller and said, "Sprinkle some white flour on my paw." The miller thought to himself that the wolf wanted to deceive somebody, and hesitated, but the wolf said, "If you don't do it, I'll eat you up," and the miller grew afraid and did as he was told.
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The wolf pushed through the door of the village bakery, where warm loaves sat cooling on wooden racks and the smell of fresh bread filled the little shop. "I have hurt my paw," the wolf said to the baker, holding it up. "Rub some dough on it for me, to make it better." The baker did not quite believe him, but the wolf's sharp yellow eyes and his low growl were enough to make the baker's hands shake as he worked. He took a soft lump of pale dough from his table and smoothed it carefully over the wolf's black paw, covering every claw until the paw looked pale and doughy all over. The wolf flexed his paw, turning it this way and that to see that every bit of black fur was hidden, and without so much as a word of thanks he pushed back out through the shop door and hurried off down the village road toward the mill, his pale paw held carefully up out of the dust.
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From the bakery the wolf ran straight to the mill, where a great wooden waterwheel turned slowly beside the rushing stream and sacks of flour stood piled by the door. "Sprinkle some white flour on my paw," the wolf demanded, holding up his dough-covered foot. The miller thought to himself that the wolf wanted to trick somebody, and he hesitated, his hands going still over the sack. "Why would you need that?" he asked carefully. But the wolf's eyes narrowed and his voice dropped low. "If you don't do it," he growled, "I'll eat you up." The miller grew afraid, and his hands began to shake as he scooped a handful of fine white flour and dusted it thickly over the dough until the wolf's paw was as pale and clean as snow, with not one speck of black fur showing anywhere. The wolf turned his paw over once in satisfaction and set off at once, at a run, back toward the cottage in the clearing.
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The wolf came back a third time, knocked at the door, and said in his softest voice, "Open up, dear children, your mother is here and has brought something back for each of you." "Show us your paw first," the kids called out, and when the wolf put his paw on the windowsill, they saw that it was white as snow, and so they believed it was their mother and opened the door — and in came the wolf! The kids were terrified and tried to hide. One jumped under the table, another into the bed, a third into the stove, a fourth into the kitchen, a fifth into the cupboard, a sixth under the washbowl, but the wolf found them all, one after another, and swallowed them down, every one, except the very youngest, who hid herself in the case of the big clock and so was not found. Full and well pleased, the wolf went out, lay down on the green meadow under a tree, and soon fell fast asleep.
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When Mother Goat came home from the forest, oh, what a sight met her eyes! The door stood wide open, the table and chairs were knocked over, the washbowl lay broken in pieces, and the bedclothes had been pulled off the bed. She searched for her children, calling each one by name, but no one answered — until she came to the last and called the name of the youngest, and a soft little voice called back to her from inside the big clock. She pulled the little one out, and the youngest kid told her mother everything — how the wolf had come with his paw turned white as snow, and how he had eaten all the others. You can imagine how the poor mother wept for her lost children. At last, in her grief, she went out of the cottage door, and the youngest went with her, to see whether they could find the wicked wolf anywhere.
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They went out together into the green meadow, and there under a tree they found the wolf, lying on his side, fast asleep, snoring so hard the branches shook. Mother Goat walked slowly all around him, looking him over from every side — and she saw something stirring and moving about inside his belly. "Could it be," she thought, "that my poor children are still alive?" She sent the youngest running back to the house for scissors, needle, and thread, and then, taking great care, she cut open the wolf's belly. No sooner had she made one snip than out popped a kid's head, and as she went on cutting, out jumped all six of them, one after another, none of them hurt in the least, for in his greediness the wicked wolf had swallowed them down whole. What joy there was! They hugged their mother and skipped about her like tailors at a wedding. Then Mother Goat said, "Now go and fetch me some good big stones, and we will fill his belly with them while he is still asleep."
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So they fetched big stones, as many as they could carry, and filled the wolf's belly with them while he lay fast asleep, and Mother Goat sewed him up again so quickly and so quietly that he never felt a thing and never even stirred. When the wolf finally woke, he felt terribly thirsty from all his stones, and he wanted to go to a well to drink. But as soon as he began to walk, the stones inside him knocked and rattled against each other, and he grew heavier with every step. When he reached the edge of the well and leaned over to drink, the weight of the stones pulled him down, over the edge, and into the deep water below, and that was the end of the wicked wolf. And when the seven kids saw it, they came running up with their mother, crying out for joy, and they all danced around the well together, round and round, for the wolf who had frightened them was gone for good.
About this story
- Audience: kids (ages 6–12)
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