The old woman did not mind this at all; she was too busy to be angry.  Some of the children were always getting bumped heads or bruised shins, or falling down and hurting themselves, and these had to be comforted.  And some were naughty and had to be whipped; and some were dirty and had to be washed; and some were good and had to be kissed.  It was “Gran’ma, do this!” and “Gran’ma, do that!” from morning to night, so that the poor grandmother was nearly distracted.  The only peace she ever got was when they were all safely tucked in their little cots and were sound asleep; for then, at least, she was free from worry and had a chance to gather her scattered wits.

“There are so many children,” she said one day to the baker-man, “that I often really do n’t know what to do!”

“If they were mine, ma’am,” he replied, “I ’d send them to the poor-house, or else they ’d send me to the madhouse.”

Some of the children heard him say this, and they resolved to play him a trick in return for his ill-natured speech.

The baker-man came every day to the shoe-house, and brought two great baskets of bread in his arms for the children to eat with their milk and their broth.

So one day, when the old woman had gone to the town to buy shoes, the children all painted their faces, to look as Indians do when they are on the warpath; and they caught the roosters and the turkey-cock and pulled feathers from their tails to stick in their hair.  And then the boys made wooden tomahawks for the girls and bows-and-arrows for their own use, and then all sixteen went out and hid in the bushes near the top of the hill.

By and by the baker-man came slowly up the path with a basket of bread on either arm; and just as he reached the bushes there sounded in his ears a most unearthly war-whoop.  Then a flight of arrows came from the bushes, and although they were blunt and could do him no harm they rattled all over his body; and one hit his nose, and another his chin, while several stuck fast in the loaves of bread.

Altogether, the baker-man was terribly frightened; and when all the sixteen small Indians rushed from the bushes and flourished their tomahawks, he took to his heels and ran down the hill as fast as he could go!

When the grandmother returned she asked,

“Where is the bread for your supper?”

The children looked at one another in surprise, for they had forgotten all about the bread.  And then one of them confessed, and told her the whole story of how they had frightened the baker-man for saying he would send them to the poor-house.

“You are sixteen very naughty children!” exclaimed the old woman; “and for punishment you must eat your broth without any bread, and afterwards each one shall have a sound whipping and be sent to bed.”

Then all the children began to cry at once, and there was such an uproar that their grandmother had to put cotton in her ears that she might not lose her hearing.