There was once a mother goat who had five little kids, and these kids
were so dear to her that nothing could have been dearer.
One day the mother goat was going to the forest to gather some wood for
her fire. “Now, my little kids,” said she, “you must be very careful
while I am away. Bar the door behind me, and open it to nobody until I
return. If the wicked wolf should get in he would certainly eat you.”
The little kids promised they would be careful, and then their mother
started out, and as soon as she had gone they barred the door behind
her.
Now it so happened the old wolf was on the watch that day. He saw
the mother goat trotting away toward the forest, and as soon as she
was out of sight, he crept down to the house and knocked at the
door—rap-tap-tap!
“Who is there?” called the little kids within.
“It is I, your mother, my dears,” answered the wolf in his great rough
voice. “Open the door and let me in.”
But the kids were very clever little kids. “No, no,” they cried. “You
are not our mother. Our mother has a soft, sweet voice, and your voice
is harsh and rough. You must be the wolf.”
When the wolf heard this he was very angry. He battered and battered at
the door, but they would not let him in. Then he turned and galloped
away as fast as he could until he came to a dairy. There he stuck his
head in at the window, and the woman had just finished churning her
butter.
“Woman, woman,” cried the wolf, “give me some butter. If you do not I
will come in and upset your churn.”
The woman was frightened. At once she gave him a great deal of
butter—all he could eat.
The wolf swallowed it down, and then he ran back to the goat’s house
and knocked at the door—rat-tat-rat!
“Who is there?” asked the little goats within.
“Your mother, my dears,” answered the wolf, and now his voice was very
soft and smooth because of the butter he had swallowed.
“It _is_ our mother,” cried the little kids, and they were about to
open the door, but the littlest kid of all, who was a very wise little
kid, stopped them.
“Wait a bit,” said he. “It sounds like our mother’s voice, but before
we open the door we had better be very, very sure it is not the wolf.”
Then he called through the door, “Put your paws up on the windowsill.”
The wolf suspected nothing. He put his paws up on the windowsill, and
as soon as the little kids saw them they knew at once that it was not
their mother. “No, no,” they cried, “you are not our mother. Our mother
has pretty white feet, and your feet are as black as soot. You must be
the wolf.”
When the wolf heard this he was angrier than ever. He turned and
galloped away again, and as he galloped he growled to himself and
gnashed his teeth.
Presently he came to a baker’s shop, and there he stuck his head in at
the window.
“Baker, baker, give me some dough,” he cried. “If you do not I will
upset your pans and spoil your baking.”
The baker was frightened. At once he gave the wolf all the dough he
wanted. The wolf seized it and ran away with it. He ran until he came
to the goat’s house. There he sat down and covered his black feet all
over with the white dough. Then he knocked at the door—rat-tat-tat!
“Who is there?” cried the little goats within.
“Your mother, my dears, come home again,” answered the wolf, in his
smooth buttery voice.
“Put your paws up on the windowsill.”
The wolf put his paws up on the windowsill, and they looked quite white
because of the dough. Then the little kids felt sure it was their
mother, and they gladly opened the door.
“Woof!” In bounded the wicked wolf.
The little goats cried out and away they ran, some in one direction,
and some in another. They hid themselves one behind the door, and
one in the dough-trough, and one in the wash-tub, and one under the
bed, and one (and he was the littlest one of all) hid in the tall
clock-case. The wolf stood there glaring about him, and not as much as
a tail of one of them could he see.
Then he began to hunt about for them, but he had to be in a hurry,
because he was afraid the mother goat would come home again.
He found the kid behind the door, and he was in such a hurry he
swallowed it whole without hurting it in the least. He found the one in
the wash-tub, and he swallowed it whole, too. He found the one in the
dough-trough, and it, too, he swallowed whole. He found the one under
the bed and he swallowed it whole. The only one he did not find was the
one in the clock-case, and he never thought of looking there. He hunted
around and hunted around, and he was afraid to stay any longer for fear
their mother would come home.
But now the old wolf felt very heavy and sleepy. He looked around for a
place to go in order to lie down and rest.
Not far away were some rocks and trees that made a pleasant shadow.
Here the wolf stretched himself out, and presently he was snoring so
loudly that the leaves of the trees shook overhead.
Soon after this the mother goat came home. As soon as she saw the door
of the house standing open, she knew at once that some misfortune had
happened. She went in and looked about her. The furniture was all upset
and scattered about the room. “Alas, alas! My dear little kids!” cried
the mother. “The wicked wolf has certainly been here and eaten them
all.”
“He didn’t eat me,” said a little voice in the clock-case.
The mother goat opened the door of the clock-case and the littlest kid
of all hopped out.
“But why were you in the clock-case? And what has happened?” asked the
mother.
Then the little kid told her all about how the wolf had come there with
his buttery voice and his whitened paws, and how they had let him in,
and how he had swallowed all four of the other little kids, so that he
alone was left.
After the mother goat had heard the story she went to the door and
looked about. Then she heard the old wolf snoring where he lay asleep
under the nut-trees in the shade of the rocks.
“That must be the old wolf snoring,” said the mother goat, “and he
cannot be far away. Do not make a noise, my little kid, but come with
me.”
The mother goat stole over to the heap of rocks, and the little kid
followed her on tiptoes. She peeped and peered, and there lay the old
wolf so fast asleep that nothing less than an earthquake would have
wakened him.
“Now, my little kid,” whispered the mother, “run straight home again
as fast as you can, and fetch me my shears and a needle and some stout
thread.”
This the little kid did, and he ran so softly over the grass that not
even a mouse could have heard him.
As soon as he returned the mother goat crept up to the old wolf, and
with the sharp shears she slit his hide up just as though it had been a
sack. Out popped one little kid, and out popped another little kid, and
another, and another, and there they all were, just as safe and sound
as though they had never been swallowed. And all this while the old
wolf never stirred nor stopped snoring.
“And now, my little kids,” whispered the mother, “do you each one of
you bring me a big round stone, but be very quick and quiet, for your
lives depend upon it.”
So the little kids ran away, and hunted around, and each fetched her
back a big round stone, and they were very quick and quiet about it,
just as their mother had bade them be.
The old goat put the stones inside the wolf, where the little kids had
been, and then she drew the hide together and sewed it up, using the
stout, strong thread. After that she and the little kids hid themselves
behind the rocks, and watched and waited.
Presently the old wolf yawned and opened his eyes. Then he got up
and shook himself, and when he did so the stones inside him rattled
together so that the goat and the little kids could hear them, where
they hid behind the rocks.
“Oh, dear! Oh, dear me!” groaned the wolf;
“What rattles, what rattles against my poor bones?
Not little goats, I fear, but only big stones.”
Now what with the stones inside of him and the hot sun overhead the
wolf grew very thirsty. Near by was a deep well, with water almost up
to the brink of it. The old wolf went to drink. He leaned over, and all
the stones rolled up to his head and upset him. Plump! he went down
into the water, and the stones carried him straight to the bottom. He
could not swim at all, and so he was drowned.
But all the little kids ran out from behind the rocks and began to
dance around the well.
“The old wolf is dead, A-hey! A-hey!
The old wolf is dead, A-hey!”
they sang, and the mother goat came and danced with them, they were all
so delighted.
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