‘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.’