"Who is there?" Little Red Riding-Hood was frightened at first, on hearing the Wolf's gruff voice, but thinking that her grandmother had a cold, she answered,—,
The currants in Aunt Grenertsen’s garden were nothing to speak of, either. Awfully sour, small pinheads! The raspberries were small, too, but at any rate, they were sweet.,
“Yes, we love our grand old Norway!” Suddenly he stopped short. Think of his whistling in Kingthorpe Park! It was to be hoped that no one had heard. Of course you should be nice and quiet here. It was to be hoped, too, that that ill-tempered watchdog would not come growling along. Not that Johnny Blossom was afraid of him. Far from it! But that dog was so cross, you couldn’t like him..
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