Blushing beneath her fingers
Looked up the berries red;
The flowers seemed to know her
And listened for her tread.
For she was good and loving
And beautiful as good,
With daily acts of kindness,
Little Red Riding Hood.
Afar off, in the forest,
There lived her grandam old;
And she was poor and needy,
And often sick and cold.
And once a week, her grandchild
Would walk the lonely wood,
And carry little bundles
Of faggots and of food.
One morn the mother started
The maid upon her way,
And said, “now you must carry
To grandmamma to day.”
“This little pot of butter
I’ve churned so nice and sweet;
And mind not stop and prattle
With any one you meet!”