The Little Red Hen With Easy to Read Words

The Fiddling Ruby-red Hen – This is the read online version of the classic children story nearly the piffling blood-red hen an One-time English Folk Tale.

Retold and Illustrated by

FLORENCE WHITE WILLIAMS

The Little Red Hen

Trivial Red Hen lived in a

barnyard. She spent almost all of

her time walking most 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 wellness of her children.

Every bit ofttimes as she

found a worm

she would telephone 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 cat usually napped lazily in the barn door, not even bothering herself to scare the rat who ran hither and in that location as

he pleased.

And as for the hog who lived in the sty—he

did not care what happened and then long equally he could eat and grow fat.

One solar day the Little Red Hen found a Seed. It was a Wheat Seed, but the Little Red Hen was so accustomed to bugs and worms that she supposed this to exist some new and perchance very succulent kind of meat. She bit it gently and found that it resembled a worm in no way any as to gustatory modality although considering information technology was long and slender, a Petty Crimson Hen might easily be fooled past its appearance.

Carrying it nigh, she made many inquiries as to what it might be. She found it was a Wheat Seed and that, if planted, it would grow upwards and when ripe information technology 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 nutrient for

herself and her family

that, naturally, she

thought she ought not

to take fourth dimension to plant it.

So she thought of the Pig—upon whom time must hang heavily and of the Cat who had null to do, and of the great fatty Rat with his idle hours, and she called loudly:

"Who volition plant thenSeed?"

But the Pig said, "Not I,"

and the Cat said, "Not I,"

and the Rat said, "Not I."

"Well, and so," said the Footling Red Hen, "I will."

And she did.

When she went on with her daily duties through the long summer days, scratching for worms and feeding her chicks, while

the Squealer grew fat,

and the True cat grew fatty,

and the Rat grew fat,

and the wheat grew alpine and ready for harvest.

And then one day the Little Reddish Hen chanced to find how large the wheat was and that the grain was ripe, so she ran near calling briskly: "Who will cut the Wheat?"

The Pig said, "Not I,"

the Cat said, "Non I,"

and the Rat said, "Not I."

"Well, then,"

said the Lilliputian Cherry 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 large plant of wheat.

On the basis 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 near vigorous fashion, proclaiming to the world at large, but most specially to their mother, that she was neglecting them.

Poor Piddling Cherry-red Hen! She felt quite bewildered and hardly 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.

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

But the Pig, with a grunt, said, "Non I," and the Cat, with a meow, said, "Non I," and the Rat, with a squeak, said, "Not I."

And then the Fiddling Cerise Hen, looking, it must be admitted, rather discouraged, said, "Well, I volition, then."

And she did.

Of course, she had to feed her chickies kickoff, though, and when she had gotten them all to slumber for their afternoon nap, she went out and threshed the wheat. Then she chosen out: "Who will acquit the wheat to the manufacturing plant to be ground?"

Turning their backs with snippy glee,

that Squealer said, "Not I,"and

that Cat said, "Not I,"

and that Rat said, "Not I."

And then the good Niggling Reddish Hen could do nothing only say, "I will then." And she did.

Carrying 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 even managed, in spite of her load, to catch a nice juicy worm now so and had one left for the babies when she reached them. Those cunning footling fluff-balls were then glad to see their female parent. For the offset time, they really appreciated her.

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 dominicus, her usual bedtime hour.

She would accept 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 i center, the thought came to her that to-day that Wheat must, somehow, exist made into breadstuff.

She was not in the addiction of making staff of life, although, of course, anyone tin brand information technology 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.

Still confident that they would

surely help

her some solar day

she sang out,

"Who will

brand the

bread?"

Alas for the Little Ruddy Hen! One time more than her hopes were dashed! For

the Pig said, "Non I,"

the Cat said,"Not I,"

and the Rat said, "Not I."

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

Feeling that she might take known all the time that she would accept to do information technology all herself, she went and put on a fresh apron and spotless cook's cap. Outset 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 it into loaves, and put them into the oven to bake. All the while the Cat sat lazily past, giggling and chuckling.

And shut at manus the vain Rat powdered his olfactory organ and admired himself in a mirror.

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

At terminal the smashing moment arrived. A delicious odor was wafted upon the autumn breeze. Everywhere the undiscriminating citizens sniffed the air with please.

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

Although she appeared to be perfectly at-home, in reality she could only with difficulty restrain an impulse to trip the light fantastic toe and sing, for had she not done

all the work on this wonderful staff of life?

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

She did not know whether the breadstuff would be fit to consume, but—joy of joys!—when the lovely brown loaves came out of the oven,

they were done to perfection.

Then, probably considering she had acquired the habit, the Reddish Hen called:

"Who will consume the Bread?"

All the animals in the undiscriminating were watching hungrily and smacking their lips in anticipation, and

the Pig said, "I will,"

the True cat said, "I volition,"

the Rat said, "I will."

But the Fiddling Scarlet Hen said,

"No, yous won't. I will."

And she did.

villegasgorn1946.blogspot.com

Source: https://freekidsbooks.org/the-little-red-hen-read-online-text-only/

Share this post