The Little Red House

by Caroline Sherwin Bailey

Once upon a time, there was a little boy who was tired of all his toys, and tired of all his play.

"What shall I do?" he asked his mother. And his mother, who always knew beautiful things for little boys to do, said: "You shall go on a journey and find a little red house with no doors and no windows and a star inside."

This really made the little boy wonder. Usually his mother had good ideas, but he thought that this one was very strange. "Which way shall I go?" he asked his mother. "I don't know where to find a little red house with no doors and no windows."

"Go down the lane past the farmer's house and over the hill," said his mother, "and then hurry back as soon as you can and tell me all about your journey."

So the little boy put on his cap and his jacket and started out. He had not gone very far down the lane when he came to a merry little girl dancing along in the sunshine. Her cheeks were like pink blossom petals and she was singing like a robin.

"Do you know where I shall find a little red house with no doors and no windows and a star inside?" asked the little boy.

The little girl laughed. "Ask my father, the farmer," she said. "Perhaps he knows."

So the little boy went on until he came to the great brown barn where the farmer kept barrels of fat potatoes and baskets of yellow squashes and golden pumpkins. The farmer himself stood in the doorway looking out over the green pastures and yellow grain fields.

"Do you know where I shall find a little red house with no doors and no windows and a star inside?" asked the little boy of the farmer.

The farmer laughed too. "I've lived a great many years and I never saw one," he chuckled, "but ask Granny who lives at the foot of the hill...She knows how to make molasses, taffy and popcorn balls...and red mittens! Perhaps she can direct you."

So the little boy went on farther still, until he came to the Granny sitting in her pretty garden of herbs and marigolds. She was as wrinkled as a walnut and as smiling as the sunshine. Please dear Granny, said the little boy, "Where shall I find a little red house with no doors and no windows and a star inside?"

The granny was knitting a red mitten and when she heard the little boy's question, she laughed so cheerily that the wool ball rolled out of her lap and down to the little pebbly path.

"I should like to find that little house myself," she chuckled. It would be warm when the frosty night comes and the starlight would be much prettier than a candle. But ask the wind who blows about so much and listens at all the chimneys. Perhaps the wind can direct you."

So the little boy took off his cap politely to Granny and went on up the hill rather sorrowfully. He wondered if his mother, who usually knew almost everything, had perhaps made a mistake.

The wind was coming down the hill as the little boy climbed up. As they met, the wind turned about and went along, singing beside the little boy. It whistled in his ear, and pushed him and dropped a pretty leaf into his hands.

"I wonder," thought the little boy, after they had gone along together for a while, "if the wind could help me find a little red house with no doors, and no windows and a star inside."

The wind cannot speak in our words, but it went singing ahead of the little boy until it came to an orchard. There it climbed up in the apple tree and shook the branches. When the little boy caught up, there, at his feet, lay a great rosy apple.

The little boy picked up the apple. It was as much as his two hands could hold. It was as red as the sun had been able to paint it, and the thick brown stem stood up as straight as a chimney, and it had no doors and no windows. Was there a star inside?

The little boy called to the wind, "Thank you," and the wind whistled back, "You're welcome."

Then the little boy gave the apple to his mother. His mother took a knife and cut the apple through the center. Oh, how wonderful! There inside the apple, lay a star holding brown seeds.

"It is too wonderful to eat without looking at the star, isn't it?" the little boy said to his mother.

"Yes, indeed," answered his mother.

The Big Red Apple

Once upon a time there was a little boy who lived in a cottage by a wood with his grandpa. All summer long the boy and his grandpa worked in their garden, milked the cow, fed and gathered eggs from the hens. 

One crisp autumn day Bobby's grandpa sat by the fire while Bobby lay on the hearth rug, looking at a picture-book. 

"Ho, ho!" yawned grandpa, "I wish I had a big red apple! I could show you how to roast it, Bobby."

Bobby jumped up as quick as a flash. "I'll get you one," he said; and he picked up his hat and ran out of the house as fast as he could go. 

He remembered an apple tree down the road —a tree all bright with big red apples. 

Bobby ran on by the side of the road, through the drifts of fallen leaves, all red and yellow and brown. The leaves crunched under his feet. At last he came to the big apple tree, but though Bobby looked and looked there was not an apple to be seen—not an apple on the tree, nor an apple on the ground! 

"Oh," cried Bobby, "where have they all gone?" Then he heard a rustling through the dry leaves on the branches of the tree: 

"I haven't an apple left, my dear.
You'll have to wait till another year."

 Bobby was surprised. 

"But where have they all gone?" he asked again. The apple tree only sighed. So the little boy turned away and started home across the fields. 

Pretty soon he met a pussy-cat. "Oh, pussy," he cried; "do you know what they have done with the big red apples?" 

Pussy looked up at him, and then began rubbing against his legs, saying: 

"Mew, mew, me-ew!
I haven't a big red apple for you."

So Bobby went on, and at last he met a friendly dog. The dog stopped and wagged his tail, so the little boy said to him: "Oh, Wagtail, can you tell me what they have done with the big red apples?" The dog kept on wagging his tail, and barked: 

"Bow, wow, wow!
If I knew, I'd surely tell you now." 

So the little boy went on until he came to a kind old cow who stood looking over the fence. "Oh, mooly cow," said Bobby, "will you tell me what has become of the big red apples?"

 Mooly cow rubbed her nose against him, and said: 

"Moo! Moo-o-o!
 I'd like a big red apple, too." 

The little boy laughed, and he walked on till he came to the edge of the wood, and there was a big, gray squirrel. "Hullo, gray squirrel," said Bobby, "can you tell me what has become of the big red apples?" 

The squirrel whisked about and looked at Bobby. 

"The farmer has hidden them all away,
To eat on a pleasant winter's day," he chattered. 

Then the squirrel ran to the foot of a chestnut tree and began to fill his little pockets with shiny nuts to carry to his own storehouse; but Bobby said: "Oh, thank you," and ran up the hill to the farmer's house as fast as he could go. The farmer was standing by the door, and he smiled when he saw Bobby. 

"Good morning, good morning, my dear boy," he said; "and what can I do for you to-day?" "Please," said Bobby, "I'm seeking a big red apple." The farmer laughed. "Come with me," he said, "and you shall pick one out for yourself." 

So Bobby and the farmer walked out to the great barn, and there Bobby saw many barrels standing in a row, and every barrel was full of big red apples! "Oh, what a lot!" said Bobby. 

"Why did you pick them all?"

 "We didn't want to leave them for Jack Frost, did we?" said the farmer. "Does Jack Frost like apples?" asked Bobby. 

"He likes to pinch them," said the farmer, "but we like to eat them; so we gather them in for the winter." 

Bobby began to look about the barn. Near the barrels of red apples was another row of barrels all filled with green apples, and further on was a great pile of golden pumpkins; and near that was a heap of green and yellow squashes, and another of turnips, and then piles of yellow corn.

 "Are you keeping all those things for winter?" asked Bobby. "Yes," said the farmer, "we've been gathering in the harvest —all the good things that the summer has given us."

 "And do the squirrels gather in a harvest, too?" asked Bobby.

 "I reckon they do," said the farmer. 

"Then that was how he knew," thought Bobby. 

Soon the little boy's eyes began to shine. 

"Won't you have lots of good things for Thanksgiving!" he said. "Pumpkin pie, and apple pie—and everything!"

 Bobby walked up to the barrel and picked out the biggest red apple he could find. 

"Thank you, Mr. Farmer," he said; and then he ran home to give the apple to his grandpa. "My, my," said grandpa, "wherever did you find it?" 

"Oh," said Bobby, "I went to the apple tree, but it didn't have any. Then I asked the cat where the big red apples were, but she didn't know. I asked the dog, and he didn't know, and then I asked the cow and she didn't know; but then I met the squirrel, and he knew, because he gathers in a harvest himself. So he told me to go to the farmer. And I went to the farmer and asked him for a red apple, and he gave me this great big one!"

 "Well, well," said grandpa, when Bobby stopped, out of breath. "Now find me a bit of string."

 Bobby found the string, and grandpa tied one end of it to the stem of the apple. He fastened the other end of the string to the mantel shelf; and there the apple hung over the fire.

 It turned and twisted, and twisted and turned, while grandpa and Bobby watched it; and the juice sizzled out, and the apple grew softer and softer, and, by and by, it was all roasted. Then Bobby fetched a plate and two spoons, and he and grandpa sat before the fire and ate the big red apple.

This story from the turn of the 19th century by Kate Whiting Patch, with a few adaptations of my own. 

Photo by me.

Hope you liked the story. It's one that would make a nice prelude to building a fire and roasting apples together. Or it could be told with figures for Bobby and his Grandpa and the animals he meets on his journey to find the apple.