The Little Red Hen With Easy to Read Words

The Little Red Hen

An illustration for the story The Little Red Hen by the author

A Little Carmine Hen lived in a barnyard. She spent virtually all of her time walking virtually the barnyard in her picketty-pecketty fashion, scratching everywhere for worms.

She dearly loved fat, delicious worms and felt they were absolutely necessary to the health of her children. As often every bit she found a worm she would call "Chuck-chuck-chuck!" to her chickies.

When they were gathered virtually her, she would distribute selection morsels of her tid-flake. A busy trivial body was she!

A cat normally napped lazily in the befouled door, not even bothering herself to scare the rat who ran hither and there as he pleased. And as for the pig who lived in the sty – he did not care what happened so long as he could swallow and abound fat.

One day the Little Ruddy Hen found a Seed. It was a Wheat Seed, but the Little Red Hen was then accustomed to bugs and worms that she supposed this to be some new and perhaps very delicious kind of meat. She fleck information technology gently and plant that information technology resembled a worm in no manner whatsoever as to taste although because it was long and slender, a Little Reddish Hen might easily be fooled past its appearance.

Carrying information technology about, she made many inquiries as to what it might be. She found it was a Wheat Seed and that, if planted, information technology would grow up and when ripe it could be made into flour so into bread.

When she discovered that, she knew information technology ought to be planted. She was so busy hunting food for herself and her family unit that, naturally, she thought she ought not to take time to plant it.

And so she thought of the Pig - upon whom time must hang heavily and of the True cat who had nothing to do, and of the neat fat Rat with his idle hours, and she chosen loudly:

"Who will plant the Seed?"

Merely the Squealer said, "Not I," and the Cat said, "Not I," and the Rat said, "Non I."

"Well, so," said the Fiddling Red Hen, "I volition."

And she did.

And then she went on with her daily duties through the long summer days, scratching for worms and feeding her chicks, while the Grunter grew fat, and the True cat grew fatty, and the Rat grew fat, and the Wheat grew tall and prepare for harvest.

And so one mean solar day the Little Ruby Hen chanced to detect how large the Wheat was and that the grain was ripe, so she ran about calling briskly: "Who will cut the Wheat?"

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

"Well, then," said the Little Ruddy Hen, "I will."

And she did.

She got the sickle from amid the farmer's tools in the barn and proceeded to cut off all of the big plant of Wheat.

On the footing lay the nicely cutting Wheat, ready to be gathered and threshed, simply the newest and yellowest and downiest of Mrs. Hen'south chicks set upwardly a "peep-peep-peeping" in their nigh vigorous style, proclaiming to the world at large, but virtually particularly to their mother, that she was neglecting them.

Poor Little Ruddy Hen! She felt quite bewildered and hardly knew where to turn.

Her attention was sorely divided betwixt her duty to her children and her duty to the Wheat, for which she felt responsible.

Then, again, in a very hopeful tone, she chosen out, "Who will thresh the Wheat?"

Merely the Grunter, with a grunt, said, "Non 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, information technology must exist admitted, rather discouraged, said, "Well, I will, then."

And she did.

Of course, she had to feed her babies start, though, and when she had gotten them all to sleep for their afternoon nap, she went out and threshed the Wheat. So she called out: "Who will deport the Wheat to the manufacturing plant to exist ground?"

Turning their backs with snippy glee, that Sus scrofa said, "Non I," and that Cat said, "Not I," and that Rat said, "Not I."

So the good Little Ruby-red Hen could do cipher but say, "I will then." And she did.

Conveying the sack of Wheat, she trudged off to the distant mill. There she ordered the Wheat ground into beautiful white flour. When the miller brought her the flour she walked slowly back all the way to her ain barnyard in her own picketty-pecketty fashion.

She fifty-fifty managed, in spite of her load, to catch a prissy juicy worm now and and then and had one left for the babies when she reached them. Those cunning piddling fluff-balls were and so glad to see their mother. For the first fourth dimension, they really appreciated her.

Afterwards 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 hr.

She would have liked to slumber belatedly in the morn, just her chicks, joining in the morning chorus of the hen yard, drove abroad all hopes of such a luxury.

Even as she sleepily half opened one eye, the thought came to her that to-twenty-four hours that Wheat must, somehow, be made into bread.

She was not in the habit of making bread, although, of course, anyone tin can make it if he or she follows the recipe with intendance, and she knew perfectly well that she could exercise it if necessary.

So after her children were fed and made sugariness and fresh for the 24-hour interval, she hunted up the Pig, the True cat and the Rat.

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

Alas for the Little Cherry-red Hen! Once more her hopes were dashed! For the Pig said, "Not I," the Cat said, "Not I," and the Rat said, "Non I."

So the Little Red Hen said once again, "I will then," and she did.

Feeling that she might have known all the fourth dimension that she would accept to exercise information technology all herself, she went and put on a fresh apron and spotless cook's cap. First of all she set the dough, every bit was proper. When it was time she brought out the moulding lath and the baking tins, moulded the bread, divided information technology into loaves, and put them into the oven to broil. All the while the Cat sat lazily by, giggling and chuckling.

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

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

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

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

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?

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

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

And then, probably because she had caused the addiction, the Red Hen called: "Who will swallow the Staff of life?"

All the animals in the barnyard were watching hungrily and smacking their lips in anticipation, and the Pig said, "I volition," the Cat said, "I will," the Rat said, "I will."

But the Little Red Hen said,

"No, you lot won't. I will."

And she did.

THE Terminate