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

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

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Poor Little 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, "Not 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, it must be admitted, rather
discouraged, said, "Well, I will, then."