The gnomes are upset by the fire that has started to burn some of their homes. I apologize profusely and see if there is an agreement we could work out together. They agreed, only on the condition that I bring them slices of cake every week since they can’t grow it in the backyard. That seemed fair enough, so now my mom buys a cake once a month while I deliver a slice once a week to the gnomes. After a while, the gnomes agreed to guard the backyard if Charlie’s stool doesn’t light things on fire with the sun’s beams.