This is the whole tale, the same ten pages it runs in Pillowbook on the phone. Read it here tonight if that is easier. Nothing is cut, nothing asks you to sign up, and every picture was painted for this book.
Reading time is about five minutes at an unhurried pace, one page every thirty seconds or so. Gentle throughout. The bears are surprised rather than angry.
The girl with the golden curls went into the wood to look for blackberries. She had a tin cup to put them in, and she had promised not to go past the big grey stone. But the blackberries grew in a line, and each one was fatter than the last, and the line went past the stone and round the bend and in among the trees, and she followed it without ever deciding to.After a while she stopped and stood still and listened, the way you do when you are not quite sure where you are. Her feet were bare and the moss was cool. Somewhere ahead a woodpecker knocked twice and stopped. And underneath the green smell of the wood there was another smell, a warm one — porridge, which is not a smell that woods usually have.She followed it into a clearing, and there was a cottage with a green door standing wide open. She knocked. Nobody came. She leaned in and called hello into the quiet, and the quiet did not answer. She waited a moment longer, because she knew that going in was not the sort of thing she was allowed to do. Then she stepped over the threshold anyway.Inside, the floor was swept and the fire was low and the room smelled of honey and wood smoke. Three coats hung on three pegs by the door: a big one, a middling one, and a small one no bigger than her own. Mushrooms were drying on a string across the window. She put her hands behind her back, the way you do in a room that is not yours.On the table were three bowls of porridge. The large bowl was still steaming, and far too hot, and she had to fan her mouth. The middling bowl had gone cold and grey around the edges. The small bowl was exactly right — warm all the way through, with honey stirred into it in a spiral — and she ate the whole thing without ever meaning to.By the hearth stood three chairs. The big one was hard as a fence post and her feet did not come near the floor. The middling one was so soft that she sank into it up to her ears and had to climb out backwards. The small one fitted her perfectly — until one leg gave a small, polite crack and set her down gently on the floor.A staircase went up from the corner, so narrow she had to turn sideways, and at the top were three beds. The large one was too high to climb without a running start, the middling one sagged like a hammock, and the small one stood by the window, with a wooden horse on the pillow worn smooth about the ears. She lay down only to try it, and was asleep before she finished the thought.The bears came home at dusk with a basket of mushrooms between them. "Somebody," said Father Bear, in a voice like a barrel rolling downstairs, "has been at my porridge." Mother Bear looked at her chair, which was not where she had left it. And the cub looked at his empty bowl and his little chair sitting crooked, and lifted one paw and pointed at the stairs.They went up quietly, all three, one behind the other, and stopped in the doorway. The girl was asleep on the small bed with one hand under her cheek and the wooden horse on the pillow beside her. She opened her eyes. She saw three bears standing in a row, looking at her. And for a moment nobody in that room moved at all.Then she sat up very fast and said she was sorry, all in one breath. Mother Bear pushed her spectacles up. "Porridge is for eating," she said. "But it is nearly dark." So they gave her bread and honey at the table, and the cub sat beside her on the mended chair and told her the wooden horse's name, which was very long for such a small horse. Afterwards Father Bear walked her home through the wood, slowly, so she could keep up.
The end.
Read any of the 12 tonight, free
12 classic fairy tales, ten painted pages each, one story an evening. No sign-up before you can read.
Yes. All ten pages of Goldilocks and the Three Bears are on this page, each with the illustration that belongs to it. Nothing is held back for the app.
Is it suitable for a three year old?
It is written for children between three and eight. Gentle throughout. The bears are surprised rather than angry.
How long does it take to read aloud?
About five minutes at an unhurried pace, which is roughly one page every thirty seconds.
Where do the pictures come from?
They were painted for Pillowbook, one plate per page, in a single visual voice shared across all 12 tales. They are not stock illustrations.
Can I read the other tales here?
Yes. All 12 are on this site in full, free and without an account. The app is for reading them at bedtime — offline, no advertising, one page to a screen — and for the tale it writes about your own child.
