The Complete Polly and the Wolf

by Catherine Storr

  “Your mother, my dear,” said the voice again, “with something nice for you.”

  “Why?” asked Polly, interested in spite of herself.

  “Why, what?” said the voice impatiently.

  “Why with something nice for me. I mean, specially? It isn’t my birthday.”

  “Oh bother,” said the voice very cross and harsher than ever. “Why do you want to say all that? I don’t know. Just to get you to open the door, of course.”

  “Oh, go away, Wolf,” said Polly. “I know it’s you. Your voice is all wrong for my mother. She’s got a nice soft voice and you sound like a—well, like a wolf. Of course I shan’t open the door, you’d only eat me up.”

  The wolf padded away down the front doorsteps without any difficulties. But a week or so later, when Polly was again alone in the house, the front doorbell rang again.

  “Who is it, please?” called Polly through the letter box.

  “Yourmothermydearcomebackfromshoppingwithsomethingniceforeachofyou,” said the wolf very quickly, in a high sweet voice quite unlike his own.

  “Oh,” said Polly. She knew quite well it wasn’t her mother, who had in fact gone out to tea with a friend.

  “It’s early closing day,” she said. “How did you manage to do any shopping?”

  There was a silence. Then the wolf said, “I went somewhere else where it wasn’t early closing day.”

  “What have you brought for me?” Polly asked, laughing to herself.

  “Don’t ask silly questions,” the wolf said angrily, but still in his false voice. “I told you it was something nice.”

  “Why don’t you use your own front-door key and let yourself in?” Polly asked.

  “I—I—I left it at home,” said the wolf. “Don’t keep on talking so much, I can’t keep this plum stone in my mouth all the time without making my tongue sore.”

  “What is the plum stone doing in your mouth?” Polly asked with interest.

  “Making my voice higher and sweeter of course. I should have thought you could hear that. Go on, Polly, you haven’t asked to see my hand.”

  “Let me see your hand, Wolf?” said Polly obligingly. The wolf put up to the letter box a long black paw and at once started off down the front doorsteps.

  “Hi!” said Polly. “Why are you going? Don’t you want me to open the door any more?”

  “Oh yes, I want you to,” the wolf said, turning back. “But of course you won’t this time. First you know me because of my voice, and the next time you know me because of my black hand, but the third time you let me in and I gobble you up. Haven’t you read about the Seven Little Kids, Polly?”

  “I think I have,” Polly said. “It’s about a wolf, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, and he eats them all up but one,” said the wolf gloatingly. “Just think! Five little kids, all to himself! No one to share with! All for him!”

  “Six,” said Polly. “One away from seven leaves six, not five, Wolf.”

  “Better and better,” sighed the wolf. “Anyway, I’ll be back some time, Polly, in full disguise, and then it will all come right, you’ll see.”

  When he had gone Polly found the fairytales book with the story of the wolf and the seven little kids in it, and read it carefully. It seemed that if a wolf ever did come into the house, the clock case was the only safe place to hide in.

  But a day or two later, when Polly’s mother really had gone shopping and really had also forgotten her keys, a voice called from outside the door, “Polly! I’ve forgotten my key, and I’ve got a very heavy basket. Come and open the door for me will you please!”

  “Oh no!” said clever Polly, very much pleased with herself. “No you don’t. I know who you are and I won’t open the door on any account.”

  “Hurry up,” urged the voice, “I’m nearly dropping a bag full of eggs and the basket handle is cutting my arm.”

  “Go away, Wolf,” said Polly. “I’m busy and I don’t want to play this morning.”

  “Polly!” said the voice angrily. “Open the door for goodness’ sake or . . .”

  There was a loud smashing noise. Polly ran upstairs and looked out of a window. On the doorstep stood her mother, looking very cross, and at her feet was the remains of a dozen large eggs.

  Polly ran down again and let her in.

  “I’ve got to go out again,” her mother said, when she had unloaded her shopping basket. “I still haven’t finished my shopping. And if I ask you to let me in again, don’t keep me waiting so long,” she added as she left.

  So next time the front door bell rang, without waiting to ask any questions or even to look out, Polly ran to open the door. And in stepped the wolf, wearing two pairs of white gloves.

  Polly did not stop to admire the gloves. She ran as quickly as she could into the sitting-room and climbed into the clock case.

  The wolf came in a leisurely way after her, straight to the clock case, opened the little door and stood looking at Polly cowering inside.

  “Come out,” he said, in the high sweet voice. “Bother this plum stone!” He spat it out and added in his ordinary voice, “That’s better. Come out.”

  Polly was frightened, but she was not going to give in so easily.

  “Are you going to eat me up, Wolf?” she asked.

  “I certainly am.”

  “Like the seventh little kid?”

  “Just like the seventh little kid, only I shall enjoy you more because I haven’t had six to eat already.”

  “Wolf,” said Polly. “Did you read the rest of that story?”

  “I read up to where he ate the six little kids,” said the wolf. “I wasn’t interested in what happened after that.”

  “So you don’t know what happened to that wolf? And what will happen to you if you eat me?”

  “No,” the wolf said uneasily. “Must you tell me now? Make it short, I’m terribly hungry.”

  “I’ll be as quick as I can,” Polly promised. “But I think you ought to know what you’re letting yourself in for. The mother goat knew, of course, what had happened to her kids, so she found the wolf when he was asleep and she cut him open with her big scissors and got the kids out of his stomach and sewed him up again with six big stones inside.”

  “Wow,” the wolf exclaimed.

  “Of course she gave him an anaesthetic?” he suggested a moment later. “Something so that he didn’t feel anything?”

  “I don’t believe so,” Polly answered.

  “I wonder if the wound hurt afterwards,” the wolf pondered.

  “I expect it did like anything,” Polly agreed.

  “Has your mother any big scissors?” the wolf asked casually.

  “Enormous ones. She uses them for cutting out our frocks generally.”

  “And needles and thread?”

  “Very big needles for sewing carpets and that tough thread —all hairy and hard.”

  “And I can’t be sure never to go to sleep,” the wolf said under his breath. “Well, goodbye, Polly,” he went on aloud. “It’s been so nice seeing you. Remember me to your mother. I’m afraid I can’t stay till she gets back. And you can come out of that clock case,” he called back as he reached the front door. It slammed behind him.

  From the other side of it came the sound of someone licking the doorstep.

  “Eggs,” Polly heard the wolf say to himself. “Not very well cooked. Funny place to fry eggs, a doorstep. Still it’s better than nothing. Thoughtful of them to have left them there, as I can’t have Polly herself.”

  11. In the Wolf’s Kitchen

  POLLY had been very careful for a long time not to give the wolf a chance of catching her. But perhaps she got a little careless, for one day she had hardly got outside the house before the wolf had caught her up in his mouth and run away with her. He took her into his house, locked the door behind them, and said:

  “Now, Polly, I’ve really got you at last, and this time all your cleverness won’t help you, for I am going to gobble you up.�
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  “Oh very well,” said Polly obligingly. She looked round. “Where is the kitchen?” she asked.

  “The kitchen?” said the wolf.

  “But of course, the kitchen,” Polly said. “You are going to cook me, aren’t you? Oh, Wolf,” she said, as she looked at his surprised face, “you can’t mean that you were going to eat me raw?”

  “No, no, of course not,” said the wolf, hastily. “I shouldn’t think of it. Of course I’m going to cook you. The kitchen is here, along this passage. But I’m afraid it’s rather dark and rather—well, not quite as clean as it might be.”

  “Never mind,” said Polly, following him, “I daresay that won’t bother me.”

  The kitchen was very dark and very dirty. The windows were covered with soot and cobwebs, the floor had not been swept for days, and all the cups and plates needed washing. It was a terrible sight.

  “Oh, dear,” said Polly, as she looked round. “You certainly need someone to do a little housework here, Wolf. Now let’s think what we are going to eat for lunch today, and then while you go out and do the shopping, I’ll see if I can make this look a little better.”

  “We needn’t think about what we are going to eat,” snarled the wolf, “because I am going to eat you!”

  “Oh, Wolf,” said Polly sadly, “how terribly impatient you are. Just feel my arm and see if I’m ready to be eaten yet.” She stuck out her elbow.

  The wolf felt Polly’s elbow and shook his head.

  “Bony,” he said. “Very disappointing. And you always looked such a nice solid little girl.”

  “I’d make a much better meal for you if you fattened me up a bit first,” Polly assured him.

  “If you expect me to go out catching little boys and girls for you to get fat on, you’re very much mistaken,” the wolf said indignantly.

  “No, no,” said Polly, “I don’t. All I suggest is that I should stay here for a little and try to get fat on my own cooking. Of course I should cook for you as well,” she added. “And you know I cook quite nicely.”

  “I remember,” said the wolf drily.

  “Well then, won’t you go out and get some carrots and potatoes, and some rashers of bacon, and perhaps tomatoes and mushrooms? And I’ll make a stew for today,” said Polly.

  The wolf grumbled a little, but at last he went out with a large market basket, locking the front door behind him. While he was gone Polly scrubbed the kitchen table and the floor. She lit the fire, and swept the hearth, she washed all the dishes and polished the saucepans till they winked. The only thing she couldn’t do was to get the windows quite clean, because as she was locked in she couldn’t wash the outsides. When the wolf came back he found the kitchen still rather dark, but spotless and shining. Polly peeled the potatoes, while the wolf sliced up onions and carrots, and presently a pot was simmering over the fire, sending out the most delicious smells.

  “Mm-mm-mm,” said the wolf greedily a little later. “Very good, this stew. This ought to fatten you up, Polly. Have some more, and mop up your gravy with a big hunk of bread.”

  “I couldn’t eat any more, thank you,” said Polly politely. “But there is a little more for you, Wolf, if you can manage it.”

  The wolf held out his plate and gobbled up his third helping. It was too dark for him to see how very little Polly had really eaten, and he felt full and comfortable and certain that on this sort of food Polly would soon be plump enough to eat.

  After the meal the wolf fell asleep and slept soundly till the next morning. Then he felt Polly’s arm again to see if she was ready to be eaten yet.

  “Still disgustingly bony,” he said snappishly.

  “Never mind,” said Polly. “There’s no hurry. Today, Wolf, we’ll have cheese pudding and sultana roll. Here is a list of what you’ll have to buy and while you are out, I’ll go on cleaning the house.”

  “Are cheese pudding and sultana roll fattening?” asked the wolf suspiciously.

  “Very,” said Polly. “Why, my grandma never eats them because she is trying to get thinner, but people who want to get fat eat almost nothing but sultana roll.”

  So the wolf went out and did the shopping—but he remembered to lock the door behind him. And when he came back Polly made cheese pudding and sultana roll, and again at dinner Polly ate very little and the wolf ate a great deal, and went to sleep afterwards, and dreamt of Polly pudding and Polly roll, in happy, greedy dreams.

  The next day the wolf felt Polly’s arm and it was still very bony.

  “Today,” he said, “you had better cook something really solid. I can’t wait much longer, and I don’t believe you are getting fatter at all. I believe you cheated me when you said yesterday’s meal was fattening.”

  “All right,” said Polly. “We’ll have toad-in-the-hole and pancakes.”

  “Pancakes!” said the wolf joyously. Then he added, in a suspicious voice, “I don’t like toads. They don’t taste at all nice.”

  “No, no,” said Polly. “Not real toad. Sausages. In batter. Very good, and very filling.”

  So for lunch they had toad-in-the-hole and pancakes. Polly ate two mouthfuls of toad-in-the-hole, and one small pancake, but the wolf ate a meat tin full of toad, and eleven pancakes, thick with sugar. Afterwards he was too full to go up to bed, but slept in the kitchen, with his feet on the mantel-piece.

  The next morning he was very cross. He felt Polly’s elbow and growled at her.

  “You’re only skin and bone still,” he said. “You’re not worth the trouble I’ve been to to catch you. Why aren’t you getting fat? I’m getting fatter since you’ve been here. Why aren’t you?”

  “I don’t know,” said Polly, pretending to look very sad. “I was much fatter than this at home.”

  “Are you cooking properly?” asked the wolf. “Just like your mother cooks?”

  “I thought I was,” said Polly. “But there must be something wrong about what I do. Perhaps I’ve left something out, or put in something wrong.”

  “Think,” the wolf urged her. “Think hard. I can’t wait much longer, and you don’t seem to be getting any fatter.”

  Polly thought. Then she shook her head.

  “It’s no good,” she said. “Whatever it is I can’t think of it.”

  “Wouldn’t your mother know?” asked the wolf.

  “Now that’s really a good idea,” said Polly, “Clever Wolf to think of that. I’ll go home and ask my mother what I’ve been doing wrong, and then when she has told me, I can cook so as to make me fat enough for you to eat.”

  “Go home quickly, then,” said the wolf, unlocking the front door, “and ask your mother from me to tell you how to cook good fattening meals. Don’t let her forget anything and don’t you forget this time. Hurry up, Polly, I can’t wait till you come back.”

  And Polly did hurry up, and perhaps the wolf is still waiting, for she ran home and never went back to the wolf’s kitchen again.

  12. The Wolf in Disguise

  “NOW,” SAID the wolf to himself one day just before Christmas, “I really must catch that Polly. I’ve tried This and I’ve tried That, and I’ve never managed to get her yet. What can I do to make sure of her this time, and get my Christmas dinner?”

  He thought and thought and then he had a good idea.

  “I know!” he exclaimed. “I’ll disguise myself. Of course the trouble before has always been that Polly could see I was a wolf. Now I’ll dress up as a human being and Polly won’t have any idea that I am a wolf until I have gobbled her up.”

  So the next day the wolf disguised himself as a milkman and came round to Polly’s house with a float full of milk bottles.

  “Milk-oh!” he called out. But the door did not open.

  “Milk-OH!” said the wolf louder.

  “Just leave the bottles on the doorstep, please,” said Polly’s voice from the window.

  “I don’t know how much milk you want today,” said the wolf. “You’d better come and tell me.”

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sp; “Sorry, I can’t,” said Polly. “I’m on top of a ladder, hanging up Christmas decorations, and I can’t come down just now. I’ve left a note saying how much milk I want in one of the empty bottles.”

  Sure enough, there was the note. The wolf looked at it and left two pints, as it said, and then went off, very cross. Being a milkman was no good, he could see. Polly wouldn’t open the door just for a milkman.

  A day or two later there was a knock on the door of Polly’s house, and there on the doorstep stood a large, dark butcher, with a blue stripy apron and a wooden tray of meat over his shoulder. He rang the bell.

  A window over the front door was opened, and a head all white with soap-suds looked out.

  “Who is that?” asked Polly’s voice. “I can’t open my eyes or the soap will get into them.”

  “It’s the butcher,” replied the wolf. “With a large juicy piece of meat for you.”

  He had decided that Polly certainly wouldn’t be able to resist a piece of meat.

  “Thank you,” said Polly. “I’ll be down in a minute or two. I’ve just got to finish having my hair washed and then I’ll come down and open the door.”

  The wolf was delighted. In a minute or two Polly would open the door and he would really get her at last. He could hardly wait. His mouth began to water as he thought about it, and he felt terribly hungry.

  “She is being a long time,” he thought. “I’m getting hungrier and hungrier. I wonder how long hair-washing takes?”

  He had put his meat tray down on the doorstep while he waited, and now he looked longingly at the piece of meat on the tray. It was juicy, and very tempting.

  “She doesn’t know how large it is,” he said to himself. “She would never miss one bite off it.”

  So he took one bite. It was delicious, but it made him hungrier still.

  “I’m sure more than two minutes have gone,” he thought. “I’ll have to have another bite to keep myself going.”

  His second bite was larger than his first.

  “Really, it isn’t worth leaving just that little bit,” he said, as he swallowed down the last bit of meat. “Polly will never know whether I’ve got the meat or not. I’ll keep the tray up where she can’t see it and she’ll think the meat is still there.”