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 hi