"Get back to your work in a hurry, for you know if Mother comes before we've finished, there'll be trouble." Haensel, however, was not inclined toward work that afternoon. In fact, he was in a very rebellious mood, altogether. "Don't let's work," suggested he. "Let's dance." Now you must remember that Gretel was only a little girl with twinkling feet that loved to dance and a merry voice that loved to sing. So do not judge her too harshly, even though she quickly dropped her tiresome knitting. Their wooden shoes--for they were the style in those days--clattered over the board floor; they clapped their hands, their childish voices rang out, and they had, all in all, a most beautiful time. They forgot their empty stomachs; they forgot their aching fingers. Gretel, who was clever in such things, taught Haensel some new steps. And he, less awkward than usual, learned them so quickly that Gretel praised him for his aptness. Her words made him as proud as a peacock. He seized her hands in both of his own. Round and round they whirled, faster and faster, until suddenly, losing their balance, they fell, laughing loudly, in one heap on the floor. And then--the door opened. "Gracious goodness!" they cried. "It's Mother!" And up they jumped in double-quick time. Yes, it was Mother, and an angry Mother at that. "What does this mean?" she exclaimed, "all the noise and clatter? Where is your work, you good-for-nothing children?" The children, half penitent, wholly frightened, looked at each other. Haensel blamed Gretel, Gretel blamed Haensel. The Mother blamed them both. She scolded, she raged, she brandished a stick, and I confess I am afraid to think of what her anger might have led her to do next. But just at that moment, in her excitement, she gave the milk jug a push, and down it went, breaking into a thousand pieces, with the precious milk running in little streams all over the floor. That was the last straw! What was there left to be cooked for supper? The furious woman snatched a basket from a nail on the wall. She thrust it into Gretel's hand. "Off with you both to the wood!" she cried. "And hurry up, too! Pick strawberries for supper! If the basket isn't full, you'll get a whipping. Yes, that's what you'll get." She shook her fist to make the admonition more impressive. Scarcely had they gone, however, when the woman, completely exhausted, sat down by the table and began to weep and moan. You see, she was really not an ill-natured woman at all. Poverty had embittered her, and the mere thought that her children might be starving, caused her to lose entire control of her feelings. It had been a long, wearisome, and disappointing day, and now, even at its end, her own irritability had caused another calamity. Angry with herself, the world, and everything, she rested her head on her arms and sobbed herself to sleep.