The Wolf and the Seven Young Kids

Once upon a time, an old mother goat lived at the edge of a wood with her seven young kids. (These “kids” were baby goats, not children.) They were lively and dear, and their mother loved them more than anything.

One morning she had to go into the forest to find food. Before she left, she gathered her little ones around her. “My dear children,” she said, “I must be away for a while. Lock the door after me, and do not let anyone in. Beware of the wolf! He is cunning and cruel. You will know him by his rough, growly voice and his black, ugly paws.”

“We will be careful, Mother,” bleated the kids. “We won’t open the door to anyone except you.”

The mother goat kissed each one and went on her way. The kids bolted the door and began to play.

Not long after, there came a knock. “Open up, my sweet children,” a voice called. “Your mother is back and has brought something for each of you.”

The smallest kid pressed his ear to the door. The voice was deep and scratchy. “No!” he cried. “You’re not our mother. Her voice is gentle and kind. You are the wolf!” And they did not open the door.

The wolf, for it was indeed he, growled and slunk away. He found a piece of chalk and chewed it to soften his voice. When he returned, he knocked again. “Open up, dear children,” he cooed sweetly. “Your mother has come home.”

But the kids were cautious. “Show us your paw through the crack,” said one. “Our mother’s feet are white.” The wolf thrust a paw into the window, and it was black and hairy. “You are the wolf!” cried the kids. “We will not let you in!”

The wolf stamped off, angry and hungry. He hurried to the baker. “Spread dough on my paws,” he demanded. The baker was frightened and did as he was told. Then the wolf ran to the miller. “Dust my paws with white flour,” he said. The miller hesitated. He knew it was wrong. But the wolf bared his teeth and snarled, “Do it, or I will eat you.” Shaking, the miller whitened the wolf’s paws. (And that, they say, is why the miller is often covered in white flour!)

Back the wolf went, and he knocked a third time. “Open up, my little ones,” he sang in a soft, motherly voice. “Your mother has returned.” He slipped his whitened paw through the crack, and the kids saw a foot as white as snow. They listened, and the voice was gentle. They believed him.

They lifted the latch—and in burst the wolf!

What a scramble! One kid darted under the table, another leapt into the bed. One hid in the stove, another behind the curtain. One crawled into the cupboard, another into the washbasin. The youngest slipped into the tall clock-case and pulled the door shut.

The wolf sniffed and snorted. He found the kid under the table and swallowed him down in one gulp. He found the one in the bed and gobbled her up. He nosed the stove, the curtain, the cupboard, the basin—one by one he swallowed six kids whole. He searched and searched but never noticed the clock-case with the tiny kid hidden inside.

At last, stuffed and satisfied, the wolf stumbled out to the meadow, lay under a tree in the warm sun, and fell fast asleep. He snored so loud that the leaves shivered.

When the mother goat came home, the door stood open, the chairs were toppled, and the room was in a dreadful state. “My children!” she cried, her heart pounding. “Where are you?”

“Mother, I am here!” squeaked a tiny voice from inside the clock. She opened the clock-case, and out tumbled the youngest kid. In sobs and sniffs, he told her what had happened.

The mother goat ran with her little one to the meadow. There lay the wolf, snoring heavily, his belly bulging like a drum. The mother goat looked closely and saw something move inside. “Are my children still alive?” she whispered. “He swallowed them whole. Perhaps we can save them!”

She told the youngest, “Run home and fetch scissors, a needle, and strong thread.” Quickly the kid brought them. The mother goat carefully snipped a small opening in the wolf’s belly. At once a little head popped out, then another. “Mother! Mother!” cried the kids as they scrambled free, all six of them, shaken but unharmed. They hugged their mother and the youngest, laughing and crying all at once.

“Now,” said the mother goat, “we must make sure he never harms anyone again. Go and gather big round stones.” The kids ran here and there and brought armfuls of stones. One by one, they filled the wolf’s belly with the heavy rocks. Then the mother sewed the opening shut so neatly that the wolf did not stir.

When the sun grew hotter, the wolf woke. He felt very thirsty. “What a heavy breakfast I had!” he grumbled. “It weighs like stones inside me.” He lurched to the well to drink. He leaned over the water—clack, clack, clack went the stones—he lost his balance, tumbled in with a splash, and sank to the bottom. He was seen no more.

The mother goat and her seven young kids danced around the well and around the tree in the meadow. They went home together, tidied their little house, and ate supper in peace.

And from that day on, the kids never forgot their mother’s wise warning: keep the door closed to strangers, listen carefully, and trust what you know to be true.