Well, as I was saying, Little Red Riding-Hood lived with her parents
in a little white cottage with a green door and a thatched roof, and
red and white roses climbing all over the walls, and even putting
their pretty heads in at the latticed windows, to peep at the child
who was so like them.
It was on a bright spring morning early in May, when little Red
Riding-Hood had just finished putting away the breakfast-cups that her
mother came bustling in from the dairy.
"Here's a to-do," she said. "Farmer Hodge has this very minute told
me that he hears your Grannie isn't quite well, and I can't leave the
cheese-making this morning for love or money! Do you go, my dear,
and find out how she is--and--stay--take her this little pot of sweet
fresh butter, and these two new-laid eggs, and these nice tasty little
pasties. Maybe they'll tempt her to eat a bit. Here's your basket, and
don't be too long away, honey."
So little Red Riding-Hood pulled her hood over her curls, and set off
down the sunny green slope, with her basket in her hand, at a brisk
pace. But as she got deeper into the forest, she walked more slowly.
Everything was so beautiful; the great trees waved their huge arms
over her, the birds were calling to one another from the thorns all
white with blossom, and the child began singing as she went, she could
not have told why, but I think it was because the beautiful world made
her feel glad.
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