The Santa Claus Brownies

It was a bright cold March morning and round the four corners of Santa Claus’s Snow Palace on the very tip-top of the North Pole the wind swept blustering and shouting on his way.

It was so early in the morning that some of Santa Claus’s Brownies had not yet finished their household tasks.

Little Crusty, oldest of the Brownies, who was in charge of the reindeer and who, in spite of a snarled-up face, had a very tender heart, was still busy in the stable, brushing the brown coats of the eight tiny reindeer and making them glossy and neat for the day.

Down in the kitchen Sweet-Tooth, chief of the candy cooks, was showing his tidy little band of helpers, each in white apron and cap, how to make very-black licorice drops.

‘Now that March is here some Brownie is sure to catch a Spring cold,’ said Sweet-Tooth, measuring and mixing with all his might, ‘and there is nothing better than licorice drops for a cold in the Spring.’

Out in front of the Palace stood Nimbletoes, sweeping off the steps with great strokes of his broom. Nimbletoes, who could run as fast and jump as high as any Brownie who ever lived, was late with his work this morning because he had been running and playing in the wind.

‘I could run for miles and miles this morning,’ said Nimbletoes with a last little jump, ‘but I suppose I must finish my work. Here goes!’

And Nimbletoes made his arms fly round like the sails of a windmill as he swept the steps with great wide flourishes of his broom.

All the other Brownies were hard at work in Santa Claus’s work-room, making Christmas toys. Although December and Christmas seemed far away, when you stop to think how many toys Santa Claus must have ready on Christmas Eve, you will see why the Brownies were kept busy the whole year long.

Kindheart was fitting a blue flannel jacket on a tiny baby doll. Silvertongue was finishing off a great white furry rabbit, with gleaming ruby-red eyes and the cunningest little bob-tail in the world. Mischief was painting a gay yellow sled. Fleetfoot was whittling the sticks of a drum. Santa Claus was fitting out a little boy’s tool box, and very great pains he took with it, too.

Over in a corner sat Merrythought, the very best toy-maker of them all, and beside him stood Sharpeyes, the little errand boy, who picked up pins and threaded needles and found lost scissors for all the other Brownies. But for the past week, as a special treat, Sharpeyes had been working upon a toy, too. Merrythought had showed him how to make a Rocking-Horse, and now the gay little prancing steed stood before them finished, except for a leather bridle that Sharpeyes was trying to fit into the Pony’s mouth.

He was a little brown Pony with a long brown tail and a wavy brown mane. His mouth was a bright, bright red. He wore a yellow saddle fastened by neat little straps. And in his head there sparkled two dark brown eyes, quite the prettiest brown eyes, Sharpeyes thought, that a little Pony had ever worn.

But, in spite of this, there was something about those pretty brown eyes that did not please the Rocking-Horse Pony. And this is the way he showed his feeling about it.

The first thing that morning, when Merrythought and Sharpeyes went to work on the Rocking-Horse Pony, Sharpeyes said, ‘I think I will give my Pony brown eyes, Merrythought, because they will match his brown coat so well.’

So into the little Pony’s head went the dark brown eyes.

This was the first time the Pony had been able to see, you know, and Sharpeyes and Merrythought both laughed to watch him stare in pleasure and astonishment round the work-room, already fairly well filled with toys.

The little Rocking-Horse Pony looked at Santa Claus, he looked at the Brownies, he looked at the toys. Then slowly and taking plenty of time the Rocking-Horse Pony began to rock himself all around the room.

He stopped before the woolly lambs and stared earnestly into their mild brown eyes. He rocked round to the furry rabbits and gazed at their eyes of ruby-red. He studied the pussy-cats and the toy dogs, the tigers and the elephants, the Teddy bears with their eyes of yellow and brown and black. But when he reached the corner where Kindheart was at work upon his baby dolls, each one with eyes of beautiful bright blue, then the Rocking-Horse Pony stood still before them and quite refused to move.

He shook himself impatiently when Sharpeyes called him to come. He did not turn his head when Merrythought snapped his fingers and said, ‘Here, Pony! Here, sir, come!’

He not only stood still before the dolls, but he looked and he looked at their lovely blue eyes. And the next moment, with a wink and a blink, the Pony’s own brown eyes flew out of his head and landed upon the floor!

‘Good gracious!’ exclaimed Merrythought. ‘Put them in again, Sharpeyes, as fast as you can.’

Into the little Pony’s head went the dark brown eyes again. But--would you believe it?--in less than no time the brown eyes lay upon the floor once more, and the pony’s red mouth wore a satisfied smile that seemed to say, ‘Now see! I’ve done it again.’

‘I don’t like this,’ said Merrythought, shaking his head. ‘I never knew eyes to fall out of a Pony’s head before.’

‘Perhaps I don’t put them in the right way,’ answered Sharpeyes, looking troubled. ‘This is the first toy I have ever made. Watch me, Merrythought, and see that I do it well.’

Merrythought and Sharpeyes both worked away until it seemed as if the brown eyes would never come out again.

But in less than ten minutes not only were the eyes out of the Pony’s head, but they were lost as well. Sharpeyes searched for almost half an hour before he found them. And where do you think they were? You would never, never guess. One of them was tucked in the corner of a doll carriage under a pink-and-white wool cover. That was strange enough. But the other eye was stuffed into the wide-open red mouth of a poor little trumpeting elephant, who was so surprised that his thin gray tail stood straight out with excitement and fright. This was stranger and stranger still. It almost seemed as if the Pony had hidden them on purpose himself, though no one could imagine how he had done such a thing. A lively little toy monkey, who had been watching the Pony, might have told something about it, if he had wished. But he didn’t speak a word.

‘What ails my Pony, Merrythought?’ asked Sharpeyes. ‘I never knew toys acted in this way. Do you think perhaps he doesn’t like his brown eyes?’

‘Why wouldn’t he like his brown eyes?’ replied Merrythought. ‘He is simply full of fun and likes a joke. But we must put those eyes in to stay. Let us go and look for some of Mr. Mendham’s glue. He may have left a little when he was here a year or so ago. There is no glue in the world like Mr. Mendham’s.’

‘Mr. Mendham is a very fine Toy Tinker, isn’t he?’ asked Sharpeyes. ‘I believe he could mend any broken toy. Do you remember the Christmas time he and Mrs. Mendham came here to help Santa Claus make the toys?’

‘Of course I do,’ answered Merrythought, smiling at the question. ‘He came to help because we Brownies were all ill in bed from eating too many of Sweet-Tooth’s rich caramel creams.’

‘Does he live far from here?’ asked Sharpeyes. ‘I have never seen his house.’

‘Not so far,’ was Merrythought’s reply. ‘Straight down past the Eskimo village and then on to a little wood of evergreen trees. His house stands there with a sign over the door. Now let us try to find a bit of Mr. Mendham’s glue.’

Neither Sharpeyes nor Merrythought glanced at the Pony. If they had they would have seen in a moment that he had listened to every word they said.

At the words ‘Toy Tinker’ the Pony’s tail had begun to swish. When Merrythought had told where Mr. Mendham lived, the Pony’s ears had twitched to and fro. And no sooner did the Pony have a moment to himself than over to the window he rocked and tried to push it open with his little red nose. How he knew his way about without any eyes I don’t know. And once he had opened the window, did he mean to jump out?

Nobody can tell. For Brownie Kindheart felt the cold air on his doll babies and closed the window. And just then back came Merrythought and Sharpeyes with a pot of Mr. Mendham’s glue. Neatly and firmly the brown eyes were glued in, this time to stay, though the naughty little Pony rocked and pranced to show that he did not like it at all.

But Sharpeyes was pleased.

‘He is a beautiful Pony,’ said Sharpeyes with pride. ‘I will put on his bridle now and then he will be finished.’

But the Rocking-Horse Pony did not want to wear his bridle. He shut his mouth tight and tossed his head. He rocked himself to and fro with a thump and a bump. It was plain to be seen that the Rocking-Horse Pony did not wish to wear a bridle. And with a sudden toss and jerk of his head he managed to break the bridle quite in two.

‘Oh!’ exclaimed Sharpeyes, unexpectedly tumbling backward and sitting down hard upon the floor. ‘Oh! What shall we do?’

‘Fetch a new bridle out of the store-room,’ answered Merrythought, helping his friend to his feet. ‘Come along and I will show you where they are.’