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.
The wind laughed and scolded and tried to push him over, but he stood firm. The helpless flakes stumbled against his eyes and dimmed his sight, but he rubbed them away and looked again. Snow was everywhere, white and glittering. It covered the earth and filled the air.
The cry was not repeated.
Claus turned to go back into the house, but the wind caught him unawares and he stumbled and fell across a snowdrift. His hand plunged into the drift and touched something that was not snow. This he seized and, pulling it gently toward him, found it to be a child. The next moment he had lifted it in his arms and carried it into the house.
The wind followed him through the door, but Claus shut it out quickly. He laid the rescued child on the hearth, and brushing away the snow he discovered it to be Weekum, a little boy who lived in a house beyond the Valley.
Claus wrapped a warm blanket around the little one and rubbed the frost from its limbs. Before long the child opened his eyes and, seeing where he was, smiled happily. Then Claus warmed milk and fed it to the boy slowly, while the cat looked on with sober curiosity. Finally the little one curled up in his friend’s arms and sighed and fell asleep, and Claus, filled with gladness that he had found the wanderer, held him closely while he slumbered.
The wind, finding no more mischief to do, climbed the hill and swept on toward the north. This gave the weary snowflakes time to settle down to earth, and the Valley became still again.
The boy, having slept well in the arms of his friend, opened his eyes and sat up. Then, as a child will, he looked around the room and saw all that it contained.
“Your cat is a nice cat, Claus,” he said, at last. “Let me hold it.”
But puss objected and ran away.
“The other cat won’t run, Claus,” continued the boy. “Let me hold that one.” Claus placed the toy in his arms, and the boy held it lovingly and kissed the tip of its wooden ear.
“How did you get lost in the storm, Weekum?” asked Claus.
“I started to walk to my auntie’s house and lost my way,” answered Weekum.
“Were you frightened?”
“It was cold,” said Weekum, “and the snow got in my eyes, so I could not see. Then I kept on till I fell in the snow, without knowing where I was, and the wind blew the flakes over me and covered me up.”
Claus gently stroked his head, and the boy looked up at him and smiled.
“I’m all right now,” said Weekum.
“Yes,” replied Claus, happily. “Now I will put you in my warm bed, and you must sleep until morning, when I will carry you back to your mother.”
“May the cat sleep with me?” asked the boy.
“Yes, if you wish it to,” answered Claus.
“It’s a nice cat!” Weekum said, smiling, as Claus tucked the blankets around him; and presently the little one fell asleep with the wooden toy in his arms.
When morning came the sun claimed the Laughing Valley and flooded it with his rays; so Claus prepared to take the lost child back to its mother.
“May I keep the cat, Claus?” asked Weekum. “It’s nicer than real cats. It doesn’t run away, or scratch or bite. May I keep it?”
“Yes, indeed,” answered Claus, pleased that the toy he had made could give pleasure to the child. So he wrapped the boy and the wooden cat in a warm cloak, perching the bundle upon his own broad shoulders, and then he tramped through the snow and the drifts of the Valley and across the plain beyond to the poor cottage where Weekum’s mother lived.
“See, mama!” cried the boy, as soon as they entered, “I’ve got a cat!”
The good woman wept tears of joy over the rescue of her darling and thanked Claus many times for his kind act. So he carried a warm and happy heart back to his home in the Valley.
That night he said to puss: “I believe the children will love the wooden cats almost as well as the real ones, and they can’t hurt them by pulling their tails and ears. I’ll make another.”
So this was the beginning of his great work.
The next cat was better made than the first. While Claus sat whittling it out the Yellow Ryl came in to make him a visit, and so pleased was he with the man’s skill that he ran away and brought several of his fellows.
There sat the Red Ryl, the Black Ryl, the Green Ryl, the Blue Ryl and the Yellow Ryl in a circle on the floor, while Claus whittled and whistled and the wooden cat grew into shape.
“If it could be made the same color as the real cat, no one would know the difference,” said the Yellow Ryl, thoughtfully.
“The little ones, maybe, would not know the difference,” replied Claus, pleased with the idea.
“I will bring you some of the red that I color my roses and tulips with,” cried the Red Ryl; “and then you can make the cat’s lips and tongue red.”
“I will bring some of the green that I color my grasses and leaves with,” said the Green Ryl; “and then you can color the cat’s eyes green.”
“They will need a bit of yellow, also,” remarked the Yellow Ryl; “I must fetch some of the yellow that I use to color my buttercups and goldenrods with.”
“The real cat is black,” said the Black Ryl; “I will bring some of the black that I use to color the eyes of my pansies with, and then you can paint your wooden cat black.”
“I see you have a blue ribbon around Blinkie’s neck,” added the Blue Ryl. “I will get some of the color that I use to paint the bluebells and forget-me-nots with, and then you can carve a wooden ribbon on the toy cat’s neck and paint it blue.”
So the Ryls disappeared, and by the time Claus had finished carving out the form of the cat they were all back with the paints and brushes.
They made Blinkie sit upon the table, that Claus might paint the toy cat just the right color, and when the work was done the Ryls declared it was exactly as good as a live cat.
“That is, to all appearances,” added the Red Ryl.
Blinkie seemed a little offended by the attention bestowed upon the toy, and that she might not seem to approve the imitation cat she walked to the corner of the hearth and sat down with a dignified air.
But Claus was delighted, and as soon as morning came he started out and tramped through the snow, across the Valley and the plain, until he came to a village. There, in a poor hut near the walls of the beautiful palace of the Lord of Lerd, a little girl lay upon a wretched cot, moaning with pain.
Claus approached the child and kissed her and comforted her, and then he drew the toy cat from beneath his coat, where he had hidden it, and placed it in her arms.
Ah, how well he felt himself repaid for his labor and his long walk when he saw the little one’s eyes grow bright with pleasure! She hugged the kitty tight to her breast, as if it had been a precious gem, and would not let it go for a single moment. The fever was quieted, the pain grew less, and she fell into a sweet and refreshing sleep.
Claus laughed and whistled and sang all the way home. Never had he been so happy as on that day.
When he entered his house he found Shiegra, the lioness, awaiting him. Since his babyhood Shiegra had loved Claus, and while he dwelt in the Forest she had often come to visit him at Necile’s bower. After Claus had gone to live in the Laughing Valley Shiegra became lonely and ill at ease, and now she had braved the snow-drifts, which all lions abhor, to see him once more. Shiegra was getting old and her teeth were beginning to fall out, while the hairs that tipped her ears and tail had changed from tawny-yellow to white.
Claus found her lying on his hearth, and he put his arms around the neck of the lioness and hugged her lovingly. The cat had retired into a far corner. She did not care to associate with Shiegra.
Claus told his old friend about the cats he had made, and how much pleasure they had given Weekum and the sick girl. Shiegra did not know much about children; indeed, if she met a child she could scarcely be trusted not to devour it. But she was interested in Claus’ new labors, and said:
“These images seem to me very attractive. Yet I can not see why you should make cats, which are very unimportant animals. Suppose, now that I am here, you make the image of a lioness, the Queen of all beasts. Then, indeed, your children will be happy—and safe at the same time!”
Claus thought this was a good suggestion. So he got a piece of wood and sharpened his knife, while Shiegra crouched upon the hearth at his feet. With much care he carved the head in the likeness of the lioness, even to the two fierce teeth that curved over her lower lip and the deep, frowning lines above her wide-open eyes.
When it was finished he said:
“You have a terrible look, Shiegra.”
“Then the image is like me,” she answered; “for I am indeed terrible to all who are not my friends.”
Claus now carved out the body, with Shiegra’s long tail trailing behind it. The image of the crouching lioness was very life-like.
“It pleases me,” said Shiegra, yawning and stretching her body gracefully. “Now I will watch while you paint.”
He brought the paints the Ryls had given him from the cupboard and colored the image to resemble the real Shiegra.
The lioness placed her big, padded paws upon the edge of the table and raised herself while she carefully examined the toy that was her likeness.
“You are indeed skillful!” she said, proudly. “The children will like that better than cats, I’m sure.”
Then snarling at Blinkie, who arched her back in terror and whined fearfully, she walked away toward her forest home with stately strides.