The Little Red Hen An Old English Folk Tale

She even managed, in spite of her load, to catch a nice juicy worm now and then and had one left for the babies when she reached them. Those cunning little fluff-balls were _so_ glad to see their mother. For the first time, they really appreciated her.

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After this really strenuous day Mrs. Hen retired to her slumbers earlier than usual--indeed, before the colors came into the sky to herald the setting of the sun, her usual bedtime hour.

She would have liked to sleep late in the morning, 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 thought came to her that to-day that Wheat must, somehow, be made into bread.

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She was not in the habit of making bread, although, of course, anyone can make it if he or she follows the recipe with care, and she knew perfectly 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.

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Still confident that they would surely help her some day she sang out, "Who will make the bread?"

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Alas for the Little Red Hen! Once more her hopes were dashed! For the Pig said, "Not I,"

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the Cat said, "Not I," and the Rat said, "Not I."

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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 apron and spotless cook's cap. First of all she set the dough, as was proper. When it was time she brought out the moulding board and the baking 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.

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And close at hand the vain Rat powdered his nose and admired himself in a mirror.

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In the distance could be heard the long-drawn snores of the dozing Pig.

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At last the great moment arrived. A delicious odor was wafted upon the autumn breeze. Everywhere the barnyard citizens sniffed the air with delight.

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The Red Hen ambled in her picketty-pecketty way toward the source of all this excitement.

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Although she appeared to be perfectly calm, in reality she could only with difficulty restrain an impulse to dance and sing, for had she not done all the work on this wonderful bread?

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Small wonder that she was the most excited person in the barnyard!

She did not know whether the bread would be fit to eat, but--joy of joys!--when the lovely brown loaves came out of the oven, they were done to perfection.