TOY-MAKING
"WAKE up, Bertha. Come, Gretchen. You will have to hurry, for it is
quite late," called their mother. It was one morning about a week after
Christmas.
[Illustration: BERTHA'S FATHER AND MOTHER.]
"Oh dear, I am so sleepy, and my bed is nice and warm," thought Bertha.
But she jumped up and rubbed her eyes and began to dress, without
waiting to be called a second time. Her mother was kind and loving, but
she had taught her children to obey without a question.
Both little girls had long, thick hair. It must be combed and brushed
and braided with great care. Each one helped the other. They were soon
dressed, and ran down-stairs.
As soon as the breakfast was over and the room made tidy, every one in
the family sat down to work. Bertha's father was a toy-maker. He had
made wooden images of Santa Claus all his life. His wife and children
helped him.
When Bertha was only five years old, she began to carve the legs of
these Santa Claus dolls. It was a queer sight to see the little girl's
chubby fingers at their work. Now that she was nine years old, she
still carved legs for Santa Claus in her spare moments.
Gretchen always made arms, while Hans worked on a still different part
of the bodies. The father and mother carved the heads and finished the
little images that afterward gave such delight to children in other
lands.
Bertha lives in the Black Forest. That name makes you think at once of
a dark and gloomy place. The woods on the hills are dark, to be sure,
but the valleys nestling between are bright and cheerful when the sun
shines down and pours its light upon them.
Bertha's village is in just such a valley. The church stands on the
slope above the little homes. It seems to say, "Look upward, my
children, to the blue heavens, and do not fear, even when the mists
fill the valley and the storm is raging over your heads."
All the people in the village seem happy and contented. They work hard,
and their pay is small, but there are no beggars among them.
Toys are made in almost every house. Every one in a family works on the
same kind of toy, just as it is in Bertha's home.
The people think: "It would be foolish to spend one's time in learning
new things. The longer a person works at making one kind of toy, the
faster he can make them, and he can earn more money."
One of Bertha's neighbours makes nothing but Noah's Arks. Another
makes toy tables, and still another dolls' chairs.
Bertha often visits a little friend who helps her father make
cuckoo-clocks. Did you ever see one of these curious clocks? As each
hour comes around, a little bird comes outside the case. Then it flaps
its wings and sings "cuckoo" in a soft, sweet voice as many times as
there are strokes to the hour. It is great fun to watch for the little
bird and hear its soft notes.
Perhaps you wonder what makes the bird come out at just the right time.
It is done by certain machinery inside the clock. But, however it is,
old people as well as children seem to enjoy the cuckoo-clocks of
Germany.
"Some day, when you are older, you shall go to the fair at Easter
time," Bertha's father has promised her.
"Is that at Leipsic, where our Santa Claus images go?" asked his little
daughter.
"Yes, my dear, and toys from many other parts of our country. There
you will see music-boxes and dolls' pianos and carts and trumpets and
engines and ships. These all come from the mining-towns.
"But I know what my little Bertha would care for most. She would best
like to see the beautiful wax dolls that come from Sonneberg."
"Yes, indeed," cried Bertha. "The dear, lovely dollies with yellow
hair like mine. I would love every one of them. I wish I could go to
Sonneberg just to see the dolls."
"I wonder what makes the wax stick on," said Gretchen, who came into
the room while her father and Bertha were talking.
"After the heads have been moulded into shape, they are dipped into
pans of boiling wax," her father told her. "The cheap dolls are dipped
only once, but the expensive ones have several baths before they are
finished. The more wax that is put on, the handsomer the dolls are.
"Then comes the painting. One girl does nothing but paint the lips.
Another one does the cheeks. Still another, the eyebrows. Even then
Miss Dolly looks like a bald-headed baby till her wig is fastened in
its place."
"I like the yellow hair best," said Bertha. "But it isn't real, is it,
papa?"
"I suppose you mean to ask, 'Did it ever grow on people's heads?' my
dear. No. It is the wool of a kind of goat. But the black hair is real
hair. Most dolls, however, wear light wigs. People usually prefer them."
"Do little girls in Sonneberg help make the dolls, just as Bertha and I
help you on the Santa Claus images?" asked Gretchen.
"Certainly. They fill the bodies with sawdust, and do other easy
things. But they go to school, too, just as you and Bertha do. Lessons
must not be slighted."
"If I had to help make dolls, just as I do these images," said Gretchen
to her sister as their father went out and left the children together,
"I don't believe I'd care for the handsomest one in the whole toy fair.
I'd be sick of the very sight of them."
"Look at the time, Bertha. See, we must stop our work and start for
school," exclaimed Gretchen.
It was only seven o'clock in the morning, but school would begin in
half an hour. These little German girls had to study longer and harder
than their American cousins. They spent at least an hour a day more in
their schoolrooms.
As they trudged along the road, they passed a little stream which came
trickling down the hillside.
"I wonder if there is any story about that brook," said Bertha.
"There's a story about almost everything in our dear old country, I'm
sure."
"You have heard father tell about the stream flowing down the side of
the Kandel, haven't you?" asked Gretchen.
"Yes, I think so. But I don't remember it very well. What is the story,
Gretchen?"
"You know the Kandel is one of the highest peaks in the Black Forest.
You've seen it, Bertha."
"Yes, of course, but tell the story, Gretchen."
"Well, then, once upon a time there was a poor little boy who had no
father or mother. He had to tend cattle on the side of the Kandel. At
that time there was a deep lake at the summit of the mountain. But the
lake had no outlet.
"The people who lived in the valley below often said, 'Dear me! how
glad we should be if we could only have plenty of fresh water. But no
stream flows near us. If we could only bring some of the water down
from the lake!'
"They were afraid, however, to make a channel out of the lake. The
water might rush down with such force as to destroy their village. They
feared to disturb it.
"Now, it came to pass that the Evil One had it in his heart to destroy
these people. He thought he could do it very easily if the rocky wall
on the side of the lake could be broken down. There was only one way in
which this could be done. An innocent boy must be found and got to do
it.
"It was a long time before such an one could be found. But at last
the Evil One came across an orphan boy who tended cattle on the
mountainside. The poor little fellow was on his way home. He was
feeling very sad, for he was thinking of his ragged clothes and his
scant food.
"'Ah ha!' cried the Evil One to himself, 'here is the very boy.'
"He changed himself at once so he had the form and dress of a hunter,
and stepped up to the lad with a pleasant smile.
"'Poor little fellow! What is the matter? And what can I do for you?'
he said, in his most winning manner.
"The boy thought he had found a friend, and told his story.
"'Do not grieve any longer. There is plenty of gold and silver in these
very mountains. I will show you how to become rich,' said the Evil One.
'Meet me here early to-morrow morning and bring a good strong team with
you. I will help you get the gold.'
"The boy went home with a glad heart. You may be sure he did not
oversleep the next morning. Before it was light, he had harnessed
four oxen belonging to his master, and started for the summit of the
mountain.
"The hunter, who was waiting for him, had already fastened a metal ring
around the wall that held in the waters of the lake.
"'Fasten the oxen to that ring,' commanded the hunter, 'and the rock
will split open.'
"Somehow or other, the boy did not feel pleased at what he was told to
do. Yet he obeyed, and started the oxen. But as he did so, he cried,
'Do this in the name of God!'
"At that very instant the sky grew black as night, the thunder rolled
and the lightning flashed. And not only this, for at the same time the
mountain shook and rumbled as though a mighty force were tearing it
apart."
"What became of the poor boy?" asked Bertha.
"He fell senseless to the ground, while the oxen in their fright rushed
headlong down the mountainside. But you needn't get excited, Bertha, no
harm was done. The boy was saved as well as the village, because he
had pulled in the name of God.
"The rock did not split entirely. It broke apart just enough to let out
a tiny stream of water, which began to flow down the mountainside.
"When the boy came to his senses, the sky was clear and beautiful once
more. The sun was shining brightly, and the hunter was nowhere to be
seen. But the stream of water was running down the mountainside.
"A few minutes afterward, the boy's master came hurrying up the slope.
He was frightened by the dreadful sounds he had heard. But when he saw
the waterfall, he was filled with delight.
"'Every one in the village will rejoice,' he exclaimed, 'for now we
shall never want for water.'
"Then the little boy took courage and told the story of his meeting the
hunter and what he had done.
"'It is well you did it in the name of the Lord,' cried his master. 'If
you had not, our village would have been destroyed, and every one of us
would have been drowned.'"
"See! the children are going into the schoolhouse, Gretchen. We must
not be late. Let's run," said Bertha.
The two little girls stopped talking, and hurried so fast that they
entered the schoolhouse and were sitting in their seats in good order
before the schoolmaster struck his bell.