catcher.
There are more difficult things to believe than that.(16)

(16) Ch. Marelles.

THE TRUE HISTORY OF LITTLE GOLDEN HOOD

YOU know the tale of poor Little Red Riding-hood, that the Wolf deceived
and devoured, with her cake, her little butter can, and her Grandmother;
well, the true story happened quite differently, as we know now. And
first of all the little girl was called and is still called Little
Golden-hood; secondly, it was not she, nor the good grand-dame, but the
wicked Wolf who was, in the end, caught and devoured.

Only listen.

The story begins something like the tale.

There was once a little peasant girl, pretty and nice as a star in its
season. Her real name was Blanchette, but she was more often called
Little Golden-hood, on account of a wonderful little cloak with a hood,
gold- and fire-coloured, which she always had on. This little hood was
given her by her Grandmother, who was so old that she did not know
her age; it ought to bring her good luck, for it was made of a ray of
sunshine, she said. And as the good old woman was considered something
of a witch, everyone thought the little hood rather bewitched too.

And so it was, as you will see.

One day the mother said to the child: 'Let us see, my little
Golden-hood, if you know now how to find your way by yourself. You shall
take this good piece of cake to your Grandmother for a Sunday treat
to-morrow. You will ask her how she is, and come back at once, without
stopping to chatter on the way with people you don't know. Do you quite
understand?'

'I quite understand,' replied Blanchette gaily. And off she went with
the cake, quite proud of her errand.

But the Grandmother lived in another village, and there was a big wood
to cross before getting there. At a turn of the road under the trees,
suddenly 'Who goes there?'

'Friend Wolf.'

He had seen the child start alone, and the villain was waiting to devour
her; when at the same moment he perceived some wood-cutters who might
observe him, and he changed his mind. Instead of falling upon Blanchette
he came frisking up to her like a good dog.

''Tis you! my nice Little Golden-hood,' said he. So the little girl
stops to talk with the Wolf, who, for all that, she did not know in the
least.

'You know me, then!' said she; 'what is your name?'

'My name is friend Wolf. And where are you going thus, my pretty one,
with your little basket on your arm?'

'I am going to my Grandmoth