to be afraid of the wolf's mischief. Indeed, it was a fault of Little Red Riding Hood that she was sometimes too fond of talking: and when she thought upon this matter, more and more she felt that she had done wrong in telling the wolf anything. The best thing she could do, she said, will be to hasten onwards as quickly as possible.
The wolf, when he left her, darted through the forest, bounding over the furze and brambles, and ran as hard as he could until he reached the house of the grandmother. He tapped at the door, and the grandmother, who was in bed, called to him to come in, not knowing it was a wolf. The sly wolf said,
"Are you alone, madam?"
"Yes, quite alone," was the answer.
So he rushed in and flew upon the bed, tore the grandmother out of it, and ate her up in a few minutes.
