The Little Red Riding Hood

Once upon a time, at the edge of a great green forest, there lived a little girl. She had rosy cheeks, curly brown hair, and a smile as bright as morning.

Her grandmother had sewn her a beautiful cloak. It was bright red, with a soft red hood. The little girl loved it so much that she wore it every single day.

So everyone in the village called her Little Red Riding Hood.

One sunny morning, her mother was busy in the kitchen. The house smelled of fresh bread and warm honey cake.

"Little Red," said her mother, "Grandma has a cold. She is resting in bed. Will you take her this basket?"

Inside the basket was a round loaf of bread, a honey cake wrapped in a cloth, and a little pot of butter. Little Red tucked in a bunch of wildflowers too, to make Grandma smile.

"Of course, Mama," she said.

Her mother knelt down and looked into her eyes.

"Now listen carefully," she said. "Stay on the path. Do not wander off into the trees. And do not stop to talk to strangers. Go straight to Grandma's house. Can you remember that?"

"Stay on the path," said Little Red. "Do not talk to strangers. Go straight to Grandma's."

Little Red put on her red cloak and pulled up her red hood. She hooked the basket over her arm. And off she went.

The forest path was a lovely place in the morning. Sunlight came down through the leaves in golden stripes. Birds sang in the branches. Tweet, tweet, tweet. Orange butterflies danced over the wildflowers. Purple flowers, pink flowers, white flowers, all along the sides of the path.

Little Red skipped along, swinging her basket and humming.

"Stay on the path," she sang. "Straight to Grandma's."

She had not gone very far when someone stepped out from behind a big oak tree.

It was a wolf.

He was tall and gray and very thin. He wore a sly look on his face, like he was always thinking up a clever plan.

"Good morning, little girl," said the Wolf, bowing low. "What a lovely red cloak. And what a lovely basket! Where are you going on this fine day?"

Little Red had never met a wolf before. He seemed very polite. And she forgot all about what her mother had said.

"I am going to my grandma's house," she said. "She has a cold. I am bringing her bread, and butter, and honey cake."

"Honey cake!" said the Wolf. His nose twitched. His tummy rumbled. The Wolf loved honey cake more than anything in the world. "And where does your grandmother live?"

"In the little cottage at the end of this path," said Little Red. "The one with the red roof and the roses by the door."

The Wolf's eyes twinkled. He had an idea. A sly, sneaky idea.

"Oh, but look at all these beautiful flowers," he said, waving his paw at the meadow beside the path. "Your grandmother would love a bigger bunch. Why not pick some more? There are even prettier ones over there, deep in the trees."

Little Red looked at the flowers. They were very pretty. She stepped off the path to pick a few.

Then a few more. Then a few more.

And while she was busy picking, the Wolf ran off, as fast as his long legs could carry him. He took a shortcut through the trees, straight to Grandma's cottage.

Now, the Wolf did not want to hurt anybody. He was not that kind of wolf. He just wanted that honey cake. All of it. Every last crumb.

He knocked on the cottage door. Knock, knock, knock.

No one answered.

He peeked in the window. The bed was empty! Grandma's cold was a little better, and she had gone out to the garden behind the cottage to pick some mint for her tea.

"Perfect," said the Wolf.

He slipped inside. He found Grandma's frilly nightcap and her spare nightgown. He put them on. He climbed into Grandma's bed and pulled the quilt right up to his nose.

"When that little girl comes," he chuckled, "she will think I am her grandmother. She will give me the basket. And the honey cake will be all mine."

Back in the meadow, Little Red looked up. Her arms were full of flowers. The path was far behind her.

"Oh!" she said. "Mama told me to stay on the path!"

She hurried back to the path, as fast as she could. And she walked straight to Grandma's cottage, without stopping once.

The cottage door was open a little. Little Red went inside.

"Hello, Grandma," she said. "I brought you a basket."

"Come closer, my dear," said a deep, croaky voice from the bed.

Little Red came closer. Something seemed strange.

"Grandma," she said, "what big ears you have!"

"All the better to hear you with, my dear," said the voice.

Little Red came a little closer.

"Grandma," she said, "what big eyes you have!"

"All the better to see you with, my dear," said the voice.

Little Red came just a little closer.

"Grandma," she said, "what a big, furry nose you have! And what a long, bushy tail sticking out of the quilt!"

The Wolf looked down. Oops. His tail was poking out the bottom of the bed, wagging back and forth.

"You are not Grandma at all!" said Little Red, putting her hands on her hips. "You are the Wolf from the forest!"

Just then, the back door swung open. In came Grandma, with a basket of mint. And right behind her came the kind woodcutter from down the lane, carrying a bundle of firewood for her stove.

"What in the world," said Grandma, "is a wolf doing in my bed? And in my best nightcap!"

The Wolf had never felt so silly. He leaped out of the bed, still wearing the frilly nightcap. He tripped over the nightgown. He tumbled out the front door, rolled down the garden path, and ran off into the forest as fast as he could go.

Grandma laughed until she had to sit down. The woodcutter laughed too. And Little Red laughed most of all.

Then Grandma made a pot of mint tea. They sat at the little table by the window, and they shared the bread, and the butter, and the honey cake.

"Next time," said Little Red, "I will stay on the path the whole way."

Grandma smiled and gave her a big, warm hug.