"Cilka," Pralinka said nervously, "do you know what’s on your head?" Cilka raised her hand and touched the apple with her fingertips. "A bump," she said. "Wow, it’s huge!" "That's not a bump, Cilka," Pralinka walked over to the bed and ran her hand over the apple. "That's an apple." "An apple’s growing on my head?" Pralinka nodded and sniffed it. "Hmmmmmmm!" she said. The other kids all sniffed it too and all said, "Hmmmmmmm!" "Should we pick it?" Ota asked hopefully. "Let’s wait until it falls off on its own," Pralinka decided. "Looks like it’s not fully ripe yet." In the afternoon, while playing, the kids noticed that the apple on Cilka’s head was gone. They searched all over the house and garden until they found Ota sleeping in the branch of a linden tree. Beneath the tree, there was a carefully gnawed apple core. "He ate it," little Tomík said regretfully. "Now we’ll never know what it tasted like!" But no one really bothered with the apple for long. That day, the kids were planning to play Indians, so they did. All afternoon, full of enthusiasm. Eventually, cook Františka had to go out to the garden to call them for dinner, as it was nearly dark. She stood in front of the door, banging a spoon against a pot and yelling, "Get out and get to dinner, you Comanches, or I’ll come and flush it all down the toilet!" The threat worked. The Indians started sneaking out of their hiding spots and, driven by hunger, wandered to dinner. There were meatballs with potato salad, one of the Indians' favorite meals.