for you can't get me."

"Can't I, though!" said the Fox. And what do you think he did? He
stood on the floor underneath the little Red Hen and twirled round in a
circle after his own tail. And as he spun, and spun, and spun, faster,
and faster, and faster, the poor little Red Hen got so dizzy watching
him that she couldn't hold on to the perch. She dropped off, and the
old Fox picked her up and put her in his bag, slung the bag over his
shoulder, and started for home, where the kettle was boiling.

He had a very long way to go, up hill, and the little Red Hen was still
so dizzy that she didn't know where she was. But when the dizziness
began to go off, she whisked her little scissors out of her apron
pocket, and snip! she cut a little hole in the bag; then she poked her
head out and saw where she was, and as soon as they came to a good spot
she cut the hole bigger and jumped out herself. There was a great big
stone lying there, and the little Red Hen picked it up and put it in
the bag as quick as a wink. Then she ran as fast as she could till she
came to her own little farm-house, and she went in and locked the door
with the big key.

The old Fox went on carrying the stone and never knew the difference.
My, but it bumped him well! He was pretty tired when he got home. But
he was so pleased to think of the supper he was going to have that he
did not mind that at all. As soon as his mother opened the door he
said, "Is the kettle boiling?"

"Yes," said his mother; "have you got the little Red Hen?"

"I have," said the old Fox. "When I open the bag you hold the cover
off the kettle and I'll shake the bag so that the Hen will fall in, and
then you pop the cover on, before she can jump out."

"All right," said his mean old mother; and she stood close by the
boiling kettle, ready to put the cover on.

The Fox lifted the big, heavy bag up till it was over the open kettle,
and gave it a shake. Splash! thump! splash! In went the stone and out
came the boiling water, all over the old Fox and the old Fox's mother!

And they were scalded to death.

But the little Red Hen lived happily ever after, in her own little
farmhouse.

THE STORY OF THE LITTLE RID HIN[1]

[1] From Horace E. Scudder's Doings of the Bodley Family in Town and
Country (Houghton, Mifflin & Co.).

There was once't upon a time
A little small Rid Hin,
Off in the good ould country
Where yees ha' nivir bin.

Nice and qu