A long time ago, on a small sunny farm, a little red hen scratched the ground beside the old wooden barn.
The morning air was cool.
Dew sparkled on the grass.
The cows chewed lazily in the field.
The hen was busy, as she always was.
Scratch. Scratch. Peck.
Suddenly, her beak tapped against something hard.
She looked down.
Golden wheat seeds lay scattered in the dirt.
The little red hen tilted her head. Her bright eyes shone.
“These will make wonderful bread,” she said softly.
She looked around the farmyard.
A plump cat stretched on the warm fence.
A sleepy dog lay near the porch.
A noisy duck waddled by the pond.
A lazy pig rolled in the mud.
The hen picked up the wheat seeds.
“Who will help me plant this wheat?” she asked cheerfully.
The cat flicked his tail.
“Not I,” he said. “I am resting.”
The dog lifted one ear.
“Not I,” he mumbled. “I am tired.”
The duck shook her feathers.
“Not I,” she quacked. “I am busy.”
The pig rolled over with a grunt.
“Not I,” he said. “Planting is hard work.”
The little red hen nodded.
“Then I will plant it myself,” she said.
And she did.
She dug small holes in the soil.
She dropped each seed carefully inside.
She covered them with earth.
She carried water from the well.
Day after day, she worked beneath the sun.
The seeds began to grow.
Tiny green shoots pushed through the soil.
They swayed gently in the breeze.
The wheat grew taller.
And taller.
And taller.
Soon, the field shimmered gold in the afternoon light.
The little red hen stood proudly before her crop.
“Who will help me cut this wheat?” she called.
The cat yawned.
“Not I.”
The dog stretched.
“Not I.”
The duck flapped her wings.
“Not I.”
The pig snorted.
“Not I.”
“Then I will cut it myself,” said the hen.
She worked from morning until evening.
Snip.
Bundle.
Tie.
She gathered the tall stalks into neat piles.
When the wheat was cut, she looked at the heavy bundles.
“Who will help me carry this wheat to the mill?” she asked.
The cat closed his eyes.
“Not I.”
The dog rolled onto his side.
“Not I.”
The duck turned away.
“Not I.”
The pig sank deeper into the mud.
“Not I.”
“Then I will carry it myself,” said the hen.
She tugged and pulled.
She pushed and lifted.
Slowly, she brought the wheat to the miller.
The great mill wheel turned round and round.
Grind.
Grind.
Grind.
Soon, soft white flour filled her sack.
The little red hen hurried back to the farm.
“Who will help me make the bread?” she asked.
The cat blinked.
“Not I.”
The dog scratched behind his ear.
“Not I.”
The duck shook her head.
“Not I.”
The pig sighed.
“Not I.”
“Then I will make it myself,” said the hen.
She mixed the flour with water.
She added yeast and a pinch of salt.
She kneaded the dough with strong, steady wings.
Push.
Fold.
Turn.
She shaped the dough into round loaves.
She placed them carefully into the oven.
Soon, a warm, delicious smell drifted through the farmyard.
The cat sniffed the air.
The dog sat up.
The duck hurried closer.
The pig climbed out of the mud.
The smell grew richer.
Sweeter.
Warmer.
At last, the little red hen pulled the golden loaves from the oven.
They were crusty and brown.
Steam rose gently into the air.
She placed them on the table outside the barn.
“Who will help me eat this fresh bread?” she asked.
This time, the animals jumped up at once.
“I will!” said the cat.
“I will!” barked the dog.
“I will!” quacked the duck.
“I will!” grunted the pig.
The little red hen looked at them quietly.
Her feathers were dusty.
Her wings were tired.
“I am sorry,” she said calmly. “You would not help me plant the wheat. You would not help me cut it. You would not help me carry it. And you would not help me bake it.”
The animals lowered their heads.
“So I will eat the bread myself.”
And she did.
She broke off a warm piece.
Then another.
It tasted better than any bread she had ever eaten.
Not only because it was fresh and golden.
But because she had worked for it.
The cat looked thoughtful.
The dog stared at the ground.
The duck shuffled her feet.
The pig scratched his ear.
They understood.
The next morning, when the little red hen stepped outside, she saw something surprising.
The animals were already in the field.
The cat held a small watering can.
The dog carried a basket.
The duck gathered seeds.
The pig stood ready with a shovel.
The little red hen smiled.
The farm felt different that day.
Brighter.
Busier.
Kinder.
And from then on, when there was work to be done, no one said, “Not I.”
Moral of the Story
Those who do not help with the work should not expect to share the reward. Hard work brings pride, and cooperation brings friendship.
Think and Answer
- What did the little red hen find on the farm?
- Why did the other animals refuse to help her?
- What steps did the hen take to make the bread?
- How did the animals react when they smelled the fresh bread?
- Why did the hen decide to eat the bread herself?
- What lesson did the animals learn at the end of the story?
- If you were on the farm, would you help the hen? Why?
Word Power
Wheat
A plant used to make flour for bread.
Harvest
To gather crops when they are ready.
Mill
A place where grain is ground into flour.
Dough
A mixture of flour and water used to make bread.
Knead
To press and fold dough with your hands.
Reward
Something good you receive after effort or work.
Cooperate
To work together with others.
Leave a Reply