“Now, I think he’s doing very well,” said Mrs. Meadows in an encouraging tone.
“Well,” said Tickle-My-Toes, “the little men worked away until they had baked the two hundred barrels of flour into nice brown loaves of bread. This made five hundred barrels they had used, and that was all the baker had on hand. The fifteen hundred pounds of flour made twenty hundred and odd fat loaves, and these the King of the Clinkers had carried into the storehouse.
“When all this was done, and nicely done, the King of the Clinkers went to the door of the room where the baker and his wife were sleeping. They were snoring as peacefully as two good people ever did. Then he went to the street door and listened.
“‘Get home—get home!’ he cried to the little men. ‘I hear wagons rumbling on the pavement; they will be here presently for bread.’
“The little men scampered this way and that, behind the oven and into the ash heap, and, in a few seconds, all had disappeared.
“‘Now,’ said the King of the Clinkers, ‘I want to tell you that I’ve had a splendid time, and I’m very much obliged to you for it. I have enjoyed myself, and I want to make some returns for it. Pretty soon the bread wagons will be at the door clamoring for bread. You will wake the baker and his wife. When they find all their flour made into nice bread they will be very much surprised. They will ask you who did it. You must tell them the truth. They will not believe it, but they’ll be very proud of you. They will be willing to give you anything you want. Tell them you want a wooden horse. They will have it built for you. It must have a window on each side and good strong hinges in the legs. Good-by! I hear the wagons at the door.’
“The King of the Clinkers waved his hand and disappeared behind the oven. The wagons rattled near the door, the teamsters cracking their whips and calling for bread for the hungry army. Sparkle Spry ran to the baker and shook him, and ran to the baker’s wife and shook her. They were soon awake, but when the baker learned that the wagons had come for bread, he threw up both hands in despair.
“‘I’m ruined!’ he cried. ‘I ought to have been baking and here I’ve been sleeping! And the army marches away to-day, leaving me with all my stock of flour on hand. Oh, why didn’t the boy wake me?’
“‘Come,’ said his wife; ‘we’ll sell what we’ve got, and not cry over the rest.’
“They went into the storehouse, and there they saw a sight such as they had never seen before. The room was so full of steaming bread that they could hardly squeeze in at the door. From floor to ceiling it was stacked and packed. They sold and sold until every loaf was gone, and then, instead of the bread, the baker and his wife had a sack full of silver money.