The Little Red Hen

A little red Hen lived in a barnyard. She spent about all of her time walking about the barnyard in her picketty-pecketty fashion, scratching everywhere for worms. She dearly loved fat, delightful worms and felt they were absolutely necessary to the health of her children. ampere often as she found a worm she would call “ Chuck-chuck-chuck ! ” to her chickies.

When they were gathered about her, she would distribute choice morsels of her tid-bit. A busy little body was she ! A vomit normally napped idly in the barn door, not even bothering herself to scare the rat who ran here and there as he pleased. And as for the hog who lived in the sty – he did not care what happened indeed retentive as he could eat and grow fat. One day the Little Red Hen found a Seed. It was a Wheat Seed, but the Little Red Hen was therefore accustomed to bugs and worms that she supposed this to be some newly and possibly very delightful kind of kernel. She bit it gently and found that it resembled a worm in no manner any as to taste although because it was retentive and slender, a little Red Hen might well be fooled by its appearance. Carrying it about, she made many inquiries as to what it might be. She found it was a Wheat Seed and that, if planted, it would grow up and when ripe it could be made into flour and then into bread. When she discovered that, she knew it ought to be planted. She was so interfering hunting food for herself and her class that, naturally, she thought she ought not to take time to plant it. So she thought of the Pig – upon whom clock time must hang heavily and of the Cat who had nothing to do, and of the great fatten Rat with his dead hours, and she called forte : “ Who will plant the Seed ? ” But the Pig said, “ not I, ” and the Cat said, “ not I, ” and the Rat said, “ not I. ” “ well, then, ” said the Little Red Hen, “ I will. ” And she did. then she went on with her day by day duties through the long summer days, scratching for worms and feeding her chicks, while the Pig grew fatty, and the Cat grew fat, and the Rat grew fat, and the Wheat grew improbable and ready for harvest. therefore one day the Little Red Hen chanced to notice how large the Wheat was and that the grain was advanced, so she ran about calling briskly : “ Who will cut the Wheat ? ” The Pig said, “ not I, ” the Cat said, “ not I, ” and the Rat said, “ not I. ” “ well, then, ” said the Little Red Hen, “ I will. ” And she did. She got the sickle from among the farmer ‘s tools in the barn and proceeded to cut off all of the boastful plant of Wheat. On the ground lay the nicely cut Wheat, ready to be gathered and threshed, but the newest and yellowest and downiest of Mrs. Hen ‘s chicks set up a “ peep-peep-peeping ” in their most vigorous fashion, proclaiming to the world at big, but most particularly to their beget, that she was neglecting them. Poor Little Red Hen ! She felt quite bewildered and barely knew where to turn. Her attention was sorely divided between her duty to her children and her duty to the Wheat, for which she felt responsible. then, again, in a identical aspirant note, she called out, “ Who will thresh the Wheat ? ” But the Pig, with a grunt, said, “ not I, ” and the Cat, with a meow, said, “ not I, ” and the Rat, with a squeak, said, “ not I. ” So the Little Red Hen, looking, it must be admitted, quite discouraged, said, “ Well, I will, then. ” And she did. Of run, she had to feed her babies first, though, and when she had gotten them all to sleep for their afternoon nap, she went out and threshed the Wheat. then she called out : “ Who will carry the Wheat to the mill to be ground ? ”

Turning their backs with snippy hilarity, that Pig said, “ not I, ” and that Cat said, “ not I, ” and that Rat said, “ not I. ” So the effective Little Red Hen could do nothing but say, “ I will then. ” And she did. Carrying the sack of Wheat, she trudged off to the distant mill. There she ordered the Wheat footing into beautiful blank flour. When the miller brought her the flour she walked slowly back all the way to her own barnyard in her own picketty-pecketty fashion. She even managed, in cattiness of her load, to catch a nice fat worm nowadays and then and had one left field for the babies when she reached them. Those cunning little fluff-balls were thus beaming to see their mother. For the beginning time, they truly appreciated her. After this truly arduous day Mrs. Hen retired to her slumbers earlier than usual – indeed, before the colors came into the flip to herald the place setting of the sun, her usual bedtime hour. She would have liked to sleep former in the dawn, but her chicks, joining in the morning chorus of the hen yard, drove away all hopes of such a luxury. even as she sleepily half opened one eye, the think came to her that to-day that Wheat must, somehow, be made into bread. She was not in the habit of making bread, although, of course, anyone can make it if he or she follows the recipe with concern, and she knew absolutely well that she could do it if necessary. so after her children were fed and made sweet and fresh for the day, she hunted up the Pig, the Cat and the Rat. still convinced that they would surely help her some day she sang out, “ Who will make the bread ? ” Alas for the Little Red Hen ! once more her hopes were dashed ! For the Pig said, “ not I, ” the Cat said, “ not I, ” and the Rat said, “ not I. ” So the Little Red Hen said once more, “ I will then, ” and she did. Feeling that she might have known all the time that she would have to do it all herself, she went and put on a fresh proscenium and immaculate cook ‘s detonator. First of all she set the dough, as was proper. When it was time she brought out the moulding board and the bake tins, moulded the bread, divided it into loaves, and put them into the oven to bake. All the while the Cat sat lazily by, giggling and chuckling. And finale at hand the conceited Rat powdered his nose and admired himself in a mirror. In the distance could be heard the long-drawn snores of the snooze Pig. At survive the great moment arrived. A delectable olfactory property was wafted upon the fall breeze. everywhere the barnyard citizens sniffed the air with joy. The Red Hen ambled in her picketty-pecketty means toward the source of all this exhilaration. Although she appeared to be absolutely calm, in reality she could only with trouble restrain an momentum to dance and spill the beans, for had she not done all the ferment on this fantastic boodle ? little wonder that she was the most stimulate person in the barnyard ! She did not know whether the bread would be fit to eat, but – gladden of gladden ! – when the adorable embrown loaves came out of the oven, they were done to paragon. then, probably because she had acquired the habit, the Red Hen called : “ Who will eat the Bread ? ” All the animals in the barnyard were watching hungrily and smacking their lips in anticipation, and the Pig said, “ I will, ” the Cat said, “ I will, ” the Rat said, “ I will. ” But the Little Red Hen said, “ no, you wo n’t. I will. ”

And she did. THE END