Truly our Claus had wisdom, for his good fortune but strengthened his
resolve to befriend the little ones of his own race. He knew his plan
was approved by the immortals, else they would not have favored him so
greatly.
So he began at once to make acquaintance with mankind. He walked
through the Valley to the plain beyond, and crossed the plain in many
directions to reach the abodes of men. These stood singly or in groups
of dwellings called villages, and in nearly all the houses, whether big
or little, Claus found children.
The youngsters soon came to know his merry, laughing face and the kind
glance of his bright eyes; and the parents, while they regarded the
young man with some scorn for loving children more than their elders,
were content that the girls and boys had found a playfellow who seemed
willing to amuse them.
So the children romped and played games with Claus, and the boys rode
upon his shoulders, and the girls nestled in his strong arms, and the
babies clung fondly to his knees. Wherever the young man chanced to
be, the sound of childish laughter followed him; and to understand this
better you must know that children were much neglected in those days
and received little attention from their parents, so that it became to
them a marvel that so goodly a man as Claus devoted his time to making
them happy. And those who knew him were, you may be sure, very happy
indeed. The sad faces of the poor and abused grew bright for once; the
cripple smiled despite his misfortune; the ailing ones hushed their
moans and the grieved ones their cries when their merry friend came
nigh to comfort them.
Only at the beautiful palace of the Lord of Lerd and at the frowning
castle of the Baron Braun was Claus refused admittance. There were
children at both places; but the servants at the palace shut the door
in the young stranger's face, and the fierce Baron threatened to hang
him from an iron hook on the castle walls. Whereupon Claus sighed and
went back to the poorer dwellings where he was welcome.
After a time the winter drew near.
The flowers lived out their lives and faded and disappeared; the
beetles burrowed far into the warm earth; the butterflies deserted the
meadows; and the voice of the brook grew hoarse, as if it had taken
cold.
One day snowflakes filled all the air in the Laughing Valley, dancing
boisterously toward the earth and clothing in pure white raiment the
roof of Claus's dwelling.
At night Jack Frost rapped at the door.
"Come in!" cried Claus.
"Come out!" answered Jack, "for you have a fire inside."
So Claus came out. He had known Jack Frost in the Forest, and liked
the jolly rogue, even while he mistrusted him.
"There will be rare sport for me to-night, Claus!" shouted the sprite.
"Isn't this glorious weather? I shall nip scores of noses and ears and
toes before daybreak."
"If you love me, Jack, spare the children," begged Claus.
"And why?" asked the other, in surprise.
"They are tender and helpless," answered Claus.
"But I love to nip the tender ones!" declared Jack. "The older ones
are tough, and tire my fingers."
"The young ones are weak, and can not fight you," said Claus.
"True," agreed Jack, thoughtfully. "Well, I will not pinch a child
this night--if I can resist the temptation," he promised. "Good night,
Claus!"
"Good night."
The young man went in and closed the door, and Jack Frost ran on to the
nearest village.
Claus threw a log on the fire, which burned up brightly. Beside the
hearth sat Blinkie, a big cat given him by Peter the Knook. Her fur
was soft and glossy, and she purred never-ending songs of contentment.
"I shall not see the children again soon," said Claus to the cat, who
kindly paused in her song to listen. "The winter is upon us, the snow
will be deep for many days, and I shall be unable to play with my
little friends."
The cat raised a paw and stroked her nose thoughtfully, but made no
reply. So long as the fire burned and Claus sat in his easy chair by
the hearth she did not mind the weather.
So passed many days and many long evenings. The cupboard was always
full, but Claus became weary with having nothing to do more than to
feed the fire from the big wood-pile the Knooks had brought him.
One evening he picked up a stick of wood and began to cut it with his
sharp knife. He had no thought, at first, except to occupy his time,
and he whistled and sang to the cat as he carved away portions of the
stick. Puss sat up on her haunches and watched him, listening at the
same time to her master's merry whistle, which she loved to hear even
more than her own purring songs.
Claus glanced at puss and then at the stick he was whittling, until
presently the wood began to have a shape, and the shape was like the
head of a cat, with two ears sticking upward.
Claus stopped whistling to laugh, and then both he and the cat looked
at the wooden image in some surprise. Then he carved out the eyes and
the nose, and rounded the lower part of the head so that it rested upon
a neck.
Puss hardly knew what to make of it now, and sat up stiffly, as if
watching with some suspicion what would come next.
Claus knew. The head gave him an idea. He plied his knife carefully
and with skill, forming slowly the body of the cat, which he made to
sit upon its haunches as the real cat did, with her tail wound around
her two front legs.
The work cost him much time, but the evening was long and he had
nothing better to do. Finally he gave a loud and delighted laugh at
the result of his labors and placed the wooden cat, now completed, upon
the hearth opposite the real one.
Puss thereupon glared at her image, raised her hair in anger, and
uttered a defiant mew. The wooden cat paid no attention, and Claus,
much amused, laughed again.
Then Blinkie advanced toward the wooden image to eye it closely and
smell of it intelligently: Eyes and nose told her the creature was
wood, in spite of its natural appearance; so puss resumed her seat and
her purring, but as she neatly washed her face with her padded paw she
cast more than one admiring glance at her clever master. Perhaps she
felt the same satisfaction we feel when we look upon good photographs
of ourselves.
The cat's master was himself pleased with his handiwork, without
knowing exactly why. Indeed, he had great cause to congratulate
himself that night, and all the children throughout the world should
have joined him rejoicing. For Claus had made his first toy.