uthful of great white teeth you have, Grandmother!'

'That's for crunching little children with! 'And the Wolf opened his
jaws wide to swallow Blanchette.

But she put down her head crying:

'Mamma! Mamma!' and the Wolf only caught her little hood.

Thereupon, oh dear! oh dear! he draws back, crying and shaking his jaw
as if he had swallowed red-hot coals.

It was the little fire-coloured hood that had burnt his tongue right
down his throat.

The little hood, you see, was one of those magic caps that they used to
have in former times, in the stories, for making oneself invisible or
invulnerable.

So there was the Wolf with his throat burnt, jumping off the bed and
trying to find the door, howling and howling as if all the dogs in the
country were at his heels.

Just at this moment the Grandmother arrives, returning from the town
with her long sack empty on her shoulder.

'Ah, brigand!' she cries, 'wait a bit!' Quickly she opens her sack wide
across the door, and the maddened Wolf springs in head downwards.

It is he now that is caught, swallowed like a letter in the post.

For the brave old dame shuts her sack, so; and she runs and empties
it in the well, where the vagabond, still howling, tumbles in and is
drowned.

'Ah, scoundrel! you thought you would crunch my little grandchild! Well,
to-morrow we will make her a muff of your skin, and you yourself shall
be crunched, for we will give your carcass to the dogs.'

Thereupon the Grandmother hastened to dress poor Blanchette, who was
still trembling with fear in the bed.

'Well,' she said to her, 'without my little hood where would you be now,
darling?' And, to restore heart and legs to the child, she made her eat
a good piece of her cake, and drink a good draught of wine, after which
she took her by the hand and led her back to the house.

And then, who was it who scolded her when she knew all that had
happened?

It was the mother.

But Blanchette promised over and over again that she would never more
stop to listen to a Wolf, so that at last the mother forgave her.

And Blanchette, the Little Golden-hood, kept her word. And in fine
weather she may still be seen in the fields with her pretty little hood,
the colour of the sun.

But to see her you must rise early.(17)

(17) Ch. Marelles

THE GOLDEN BRANCH

ONCE upon a time there was a King who was so morose and disagreeable
that he was feared by all his subjects, and with good reason, a