At last she arrives at the door.
Knock, knock.
‘Who is there?’ says the Wolf, softening his rough voice as best he can.
‘It’s me, Granny, your little Golden-hood. I’m bringing you a big piece of cake for your Sunday treat to-morrow.’
‘Press your finger on the latch, then push and the door opens.’
‘Why, you’ve got a cold, Granny,’ said she, coming in.
‘Ahem! a little, a little...’ replies the Wolf, pretending to cough. ‘Shut the door well, my little lamb. Put your basket on the table, and then take off your frock and come and lie down by me: you shall rest a little.’
The good child undresses, but observe this! She kept her little hood upon her head. When she saw what a figure her Granny cut in bed, the poor little thing was much surprised.
‘Oh!’ cries she, ‘how like you are to friend Wolf, Grandmother!’
‘That’s on account of my night-cap, child,’ replies the Wolf.