The Story
Once upon a time, a mother goat lived in a snug little house at the edge of a wood with her seven little kids, and she loved them with all the warmth a mother's heart can hold. The youngest kid was the most careful of the seven, and the oldest was the most curious, and the others were everything in between — but they were all good-natured and lively and dear to her.
One morning, the mother goat needed to go into the forest to find food. She gathered her seven kids around her before she left and spoke to them very seriously.
"My darlings," she said, "I must go out for a while. Be on your guard against the wolf. He is a cunning creature, and if he gets in he will eat every one of you — and he won't leave even the smallest hair behind. He often disguises himself, so listen for his rough voice and watch for his black paws. Promise me you will not open the door."
The seven little kids promised faithfully. Their mother kissed each of them on the forehead and went out, and they bolted the door behind her.
It was not long before there was a knock at the door.
"Open the door, my dear children," said a voice. "Your mother is home and has brought something for each of you."
But the voice was rough and low, and the seven little kids called back together: "We will not open the door! Our mother has a soft, gentle voice. You are the wolf!"
The wolf went away and swallowed a great piece of chalk to soften his voice. He came back and knocked again, and this time his voice was much smoother.
"Open the door, my dear children. Your mother is home."
But one of the kids had run to the window and seen a black paw resting on the sill. "We will not open the door! Our mother does not have black paws. You are the wolf!"
The wolf went to the baker and demanded he put flour on his paws, and the baker, frightened, did as he was told. The wolf came back a third time, knocked softly, and called out in his chalky smooth voice with his flour-white paws pressed against the door.
The kids looked through the crack under the door and saw only white paws. They heard only a soft and gentle voice. And so, to their great misfortune, they opened the door.
The wolf bounded in. The kids scattered and hid — under the table, in the cupboard, beneath the bed, inside the washing tub, in the oven, behind the curtains, and the very smallest kid hid inside the tall clock case. The wolf found them one by one, everywhere except the clock, and swallowed them whole. Then, satisfied and heavy, he went out into the meadow and fell asleep under a tree.
When the mother goat came home and found her door open and the house in chaos and only the smallest kid trembling inside the clock, her grief was terrible to see. She held her smallest one and wept. Then she dried her eyes and asked the little one to show her where the wolf had gone.
They found him in the meadow, still sleeping and snoring, his great belly heaving. The mother goat could see the kids moving inside him — he had swallowed them whole and they still lived. She took her scissors and her needle and thread, and very carefully opened the wolf's belly, and out tumbled the six little kids, safe and breathless and thoroughly frightened.
"Fetch me heavy stones," whispered the mother goat, "as many as you can carry, and be quick and quiet about it."
The kids brought stones from the stream, and the mother filled the wolf's belly with stones and stitched it closed as neat as any seam. They hid behind the trees and waited.
The wolf woke, very thirsty. He went to the stream to drink. The weight of the stones made him stumble and sway. He leaned over the water, looked down at his reflection, and the stones shifted — and he pitched forward into the stream and sank.
The seven little kids danced with their mother on the bank of the stream, and went home to their snug little house, and never forgot the warning their mother had given them that morning — or how dearly forgetting it had nearly cost.