At dawn, three slow knocks sounded at the cottage door. The little goats peeked through the curtain and saw a wolf’s nose.
Leaves scraped across the window. The little goats stacked chairs, baskets, and the pumpkin against the door.
“Open up!” called the wolf. The pumpkin rolled away with a bonk, and every little goat froze.
The little goats whispered a plan. They tiptoed to the window, scattered flour, and hid beneath the quilt.
The wolf padded closer. One footprint appeared, then another, then another in the flour.
The flour trail led to the woodshed. The wolf grabbed a hay-filled coat, and POOF—the scare-goat collapsed.
From the cottage window, the little goats clapped without a sound. Then the wolf spun around and charged.
The little goats pulled the rope together. A basket of apples tumbled downhill, bumping the wolf’s paws.
Bonk! Bump! Roll! The apples sent the wolf tumbling far into the forest.
The little goats bolted the door and peeked outside. Only an empty path, scattered leaves, and one upside-down boot remained.
Inside, the little goats giggled and shared warm soup. The pumpkin hung safely on the door again.
Outside, the leaves whispered down the empty path. Inside, the soup spoons went clink, clink, clink.