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Page 15
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.
3. How the Ryls Colored the Toys
A hush lay on the Laughing Valley now. Snow covered it like a white
spread and pillows of downy flakes drifted before the dwelling where
Claus sat feeding the blaze of the fire. The brook gurgled on beneath
a heavy sheet of ice and all living plants and insects nestled close
to Mother Earth to keep warm. The face of the moon was hid by dark
clouds, and the wind, delighting in the wintry sport, pushed and
whirled the snowflakes in so many directions that they could get no
chance to fall to the ground.
Claus heard the wind whistling and shrieking in its play and thanked
the good Knooks again for his comfortable shelter. Blinkie washed her
face lazily and stared at the coals with a look of perfect content.
The toy cat sat opposite the real one and gazed straight ahead, as toy
cats should.
Suddenly Claus heard a noise that sounded different from the voice of
the wind. It was more like a wail of suffering and despair.
He stood up and listened, but the wind, growing boisterous, shook the
door and rattled the windows to distract his attention. He waited
until the wind was tired and then, still listening, he heard once more
the shrill cry of distress.
Quickly he drew on his coat, pulled his cap over his eyes and opened
the door. The wind dashed in and scattered the embers over the
hearth, at the same time blowing Blinkie's fur so furiously that she
crept under the table to escape. Then the door was closed and Claus
was outside, peering anxiously into the darkness.
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