they were untied.

And that was not the worst of it; every one of the children seemed to
have become, in reality, the character which he or she had assumed.

The Mayor's daughter declared she was going to tend her geese out in
the pasture, and the shepherdesses sprang out of their little beds of
down, throwing aside their silken quilts, and cried that they must go
out and watch their sheep. The princesses jumped up from their straw
pallets, and wanted to go to court; and all the rest of them likewise.
Poor little Red Riding-hood sobbed and sobbed because she couldn't go
and carry her basket to her grandmother, and as she didn't have any
grandmother she couldn't go, of course, and her parents were very much
troubled. It was all so mysterious and dreadful. The news spread very
rapidly over the city, and soon a great crowd gathered around the new
Costumer's shop, for every one thought he must be responsible for all
this mischief.

The shop door was locked; but they soon battered it down with stones.
When they rushed in the Costumer was not there; he had disappeared
with all his wares. Then they did not know what to do. But it was
evident that they must do something before long, for the state of
affairs was growing worse and worse.

The Mayor's little daughter braced her back up against the tapestried
wall and planted her two feet in their thick shoes firmly. "I will
go and tend my geese!" she kept crying. "I won't eat my breakfast! I
won't go out in the park! I won't go to school. I'm going to tend my
geese--I will, I will, I will!"

And the princesses trailed their rich trains over the rough, unpainted
floors in their parents' poor little huts, and held their crowned
heads very high and demanded to be taken to court. The princesses
were, mostly, geese-girls when they were their proper selves, and
their geese were suffering, and their poor parents did not know what
they were going to do, and they wrung their hands and wept as they
gazed on their gorgeously-appareled children.

Finally, the Mayor called a meeting of the Aldermen, and they all
assembled in the City Hall. Nearly every one of them had a son or
a daughter who was a chimney-sweep, or a little watch-girl, or a
shepherdess. They appointed a chairman and they took a great many
votes, and contrary votes; but they did not agree on anything, until
some one proposed that they consult the Wise Woman. Then they all held
up their hands, and voted to, unanimously.