THE ROCKING-HORSE PONY WHO WANTED BLUE EYES
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.’
Now every one in the work-room was as busy as could be. No one saw that Sharpeyes and Merrythought had left the room. Much less did they notice the Rocking-Horse Pony, who now rocked quietly over to the door, moved out into the hall, and started down the stairs with a thump! thump! thump! Just as softly as he could manage, you may be sure.
The first one to spy the Rocking-Horse Pony was Nimbletoes, still busy at sweeping the Palace front steps.
Down the steps behind Nimbletoes’ back bumped the Pony, and then off he started over the snow at a rocking, galloping canter that surprised even himself, it carried him over the ground at such a pace.
In the mean time Nimbletoes stood staring. He couldn’t believe his eyes. For a whole half-minute he stood there, leaning on his broom, his eyes and his mouth open wide.
Then Nimbletoes gave a great leap into the air.
‘Hi, there!’ he shouted up at the work-room windows. ‘Hi, there! Sharpeyes! Merrythought! Your Pony has run away! Brownies! Brownies! Come! Come!’
At this loud shouting all the Brownies, and Santa Claus, too, rushed to the work-room windows and looked out. Up from the kitchen scampered Sweet-Tooth, leaving the very-black licorice drops to his band of little cooks. Out of the stable hurried little Crusty, his scarlet cap tipped over one ear and the reindeer’s hair-brush clutched in his hand.
They all saw a strange sight—the Rocking-Horse Pony rocking swiftly away over the snow and after him Brownie Nimbletoes, using his broom as a staff, taking great flying leaps and bounds, the wind lifting him off his feet time and time again.
‘My Pony! My Pony!’ called Sharpeyes, running toward the door. ‘Oh, Merrythought! Oh, Brownies! Help me, do!’
At this, all the Brownies trooped after him, down the stairs, out the front door, and over the snow, while Santa Claus stood on the steps, laughing and waving them on.
‘Catch him, Brownies! Catch him!’ called Santa Claus. ‘Oh, what a race!’
A race it was! For the Rocking-Horse Pony seemed fairly to skim over the ground, and behind him, blown by the wind and carried by their own swift little feet, came the Brownies, every one, for Sweet-Tooth and Crusty had joined them and were running quite as fast as any one else.
The Rocking-Horse Pony seemed to know where he wanted to go. On and on he rocked over the ice and snow. Now he came to a group of low round huts made of snow, where the Eskimos lived, fathers and mothers and little boy and girl Eskimos, too. Smoke was pouring from the hole in the top of each hut, and this smoke the wind caught and gayly blew hither and yon. The little Eskimo boys and girls, bundled in fur, ran out of the huts, their long-haired dogs barking at their heels, and they all, children and dogs, stared in amazement at the galloping Rocking-Horse Pony who was followed so closely by the gay band of Brownies, laughing and shouting and waving their arms as they sped by.
Now came the evergreen trees, tall and thick and green, and the Rocking-Horse Pony and the Brownies found themselves racing through a dense little wood.
‘I know where he is going!’ shouted Nimbletoes, who, with Brownie Fleetfoot, was running well in the lead. ‘I believe he is going to Mr. Mendham’s house!’
The news was passed down the line until the last one in the procession, little old Crusty, heard the tidings.
‘He is going to Mr. Mendham’s, we all believe!’
Soon the Brownies set up another shout.
‘There is Mr. Mendham’s house! We are right! Sharpeyes’ Pony is going to Mr. Mendham’s house.’
Between two tall trees before them there stood a little house, a little white house with a bright red chimney, green window-boxes, and a green front door. Over the door hung a sign—
MR. MENDHAM
TOY TINKER
The Brownies saw the Rocking-Horse Pony take the knocker on the green front door in his mouth and rap smartly—Rap-a-tap-tap! There was no answer, so the Rocking-Horse Pony gently pushed the door open and rocked inside. The door shut behind him with a thump.
Now out behind the house, busily hanging up a basketful of clothes, were Mr. and Mrs. Mendham. They spied the Brownies, they came running forward, and when they heard about the Rocking-Horse Pony they crept into the house on tiptoe, followed by the Brownies, to see what the Pony was doing now.
There he was in Mr. Mendham’s work-room, rocking round and round, looking for something with all his might and main. He looked high, he looked low, he even looked in the corners and on the floor. But at last he gave up the search and stood still in the middle of the room, and the Brownies and Mr. and Mrs. Mendham saw that the tears were rolling down his little brown face. He looked as if his heart was broken. What was the matter with the Rocking-Horse Pony?
The mended toys in the work-room were trying to help the little brown Pony.
‘I know Mr. Mendham keeps his eyes in that basket over there,’ said a black-and-white dog with a bright red tongue, ‘but, as you can see, he hasn’t a blue eye left, not one.’
‘He put his last blue eyes in my head,’ said a big white furry kitten, who had a golden bell tied about his neck. ‘For my part I don’t like blue eyes. I prefer green. They shine so well in the dark. If Mr. Mendham will give me green eyes, you may have my blue.’
At this kind offer all the toys began to call out, ‘Mr. Mendham! Mr. Mendham!’
So Mr. Mendham and the Brownies trooped into the room.
‘Why didn’t you tell me you wanted blue eyes?’ asked Sharpeyes as he wiped the tears from his little Pony’s face. ‘Of course you shall have them if Mr. Mendham is willing to make the change.’
‘Certainly, certainly,’ agreed Mr. Mendham, who was a kind-hearted man. ‘Green eyes always look well in a cat, and there is no reason why this Pony shouldn’t have blue eyes, though I will say I never gave them to a Rocking-Horse before.’
‘Blue eyes are so beautiful,’ murmured the Rocking-Horse Pony. ‘I couldn’t bear to think of starting out next Christmas Eve with brown eyes in my head.’
So Mr. Mendham made the change in a twinkling.
The white cat was more than satisfied with his new green eyes.
‘They have a fine sparkle and gleam,’ he purred, with a proud wave of his tail. ‘Blue eyes are too girlish for me.’
And the Rocking-Horse Pony was happier than words can tell. He smiled, he rocked, he bumped about in a very ecstasy of joy. When the time came, he rocked home, with Sharpeyes on his back, in a very whirl of pleasure.
‘Blue eyes! Blue eyes!’ he sang to himself as he bumped over the snow.
When Sharpeyes showed the Pony to Santa Claus and told him what had happened, Santa Claus laughed and rubbed the Rocking-Horse Pony upon his soft brown nose.
‘I know a little boy who likes blue eyes the very best of all,’ said Santa Claus, ‘and you shall go to live with him next Christmas, if you wish.’
When he heard this, the Rocking-Horse Pony was so happy he thought his heart would burst with joy.
So if, next Christmas, you meet a little boy who has a Rocking-Horse Pony with bright blue eyes, you may know that the Pony was made by Brownie Sharpeyes and that he came down on Christmas Eve in Santa Claus’s sleigh straight from the Snow Palace on the very tip-top of the North Pole.
THE GAY LITTLE TOWN OF BO-PEEP