The Wonderful Cake

A mouse, a rat, and a little red hen once lived together in the same cottage, and one day the little red hen said, "Let us bake a cake and have a feast." "Let us," says the mouse, and "let us," says the rat. "Who'll go and get the wheat ground?" says the hen. "I won't," says the mouse; "I won't," says the rat. "I will myself," says the little red hen.

"Who'll make the cake?" "I won't," says the mouse; "I will," says the rat. "Indeed, you shall not," says the little red hen.

Well, while the hen was stretching her hand out for it--"Hey Presto!" out rolled the cake from the cottage, and after it ran the mouse, the rat, and the little red hen.

When it was running away it went by a barn full of threshers, and they asked it where it was running. "Oh," says it, "I'm running away from the mouse, the rat, and the little red hen, and from you, too, if I can." So they rushed away after it with their flails, and it ran, and it ran till it came to a ditch full of ditchers, and they asked it where it was running.

"Oh, I am running away from the mouse, the rat, and the little red hen, and from a barn full of threshers, and from you, too, if I can."

Well, they all ran after it along with the rest, till it came to a well full of washers, and they asked the same question, and it returned the same answer, and after it they went.

At last it came to a ford where it met with a fox, and he asked where it was running. "Oh, I'm running away from the mouse, the rat, and the little red hen, from a barn full of threshers, a ditch full of ditchers, a well full of washers, and from you, too, if I can."

"But you can't cross the ford," says the fox. "And can't you carry me over?" says the cake. "What'll you give me?" says the fox. "A kiss at Christmas and an egg at Easter," says the cake.

"Very well," says the fox--"up with you." So he sat on his haunches with his nose in the air, and the cake got up by his tail till it sat on his crupper.

"Now, over with you," says the cake. "You're not high enough," says the fox. Then it scrambled up on his shoulder. "Up higher still," says he; "you wouldn't be safe there." "Am I right now?" says he. "You'll be safer on the ridge pole of my nose."

"Well," says the cake, "I think I can go no further." "Oh, yes," says he, and he shot it up in the air, caught it in his mouth, and sent it down the Red Lane. And that was the end of the cake.