‘Belinda made them,’ said Ann Mary, twitching her pigtails into place.
‘For our Christmas,’ added Matilda, taking her thumb out of her mouth to say so.
Baby Polly didn’t speak a word. Perhaps she couldn’t. I am not sure about that. But she toddled straight over to Merrythought and slipped her hand in his. She knew at a glance that here was a friend. And she was right. For unless he were a good friend to little children Merrythought could never have made such beautiful playthings for them, in spite of the fact that this Christmas he had grown so tired of toys.
But, somehow, as he looked about the little room, bare of Christmas on Christmas Eve, Merrythought didn’t so dislike the idea of toys. Indeed, it seemed all wrong and strange not to see a shining Tree and stockings, filled to overflowing, in a row, and little heads, brown and black and yellow, snuggled down into a pillow and happy with Christmas dreams.
This was a strange Christmas Eve, and perhaps Merrythought’s face showed what he felt, for Belinda began at once to tell him how it had come about.
‘You see, Father and Mother went to town almost a week ago. Father went to help build a house. He is a carpenter, you know. And Mother went to do sewing for the minister’s wife,’ said Belinda, standing straight and tall. ‘And they left me to take care of the children. They meant to be home for Christmas. They were coming to-night. Mother said she would bring each of the children an orange, if she could. But the snow is very deep, and they didn’t come. So I made the pies for the children. They have apples and molasses and sugar in them. And the children will like them just as well as toys.’
The children did like them. They were hopping round the table and calling out, ‘Smell mine! Smell mine!’
But Merrythought did not like it at all. He thought of the many toys he had made that year in Santa Claus’s Snow Palace on the very tip-top of the North Pole, he thought of Santa Claus’s sleigh still well filled, he thought of the stockings and Christmas Trees that other children would enjoy on Christmas Day. And Merrythought wished with all his generous little Brownie heart that he could give a beautiful toy to each of these seven children who were made so happy on Christmas by a little saucer pie.
‘Oh!’ groaned Merrythought to himself. ‘And I said there were too many toys. I said children thought of nothing but toys and how many they would get. I said I was tired of toys. And these children haven’t a single one, not a single little toy. How could I have said such a thing! Oh! Oh! Oh!’
But here Merrythought felt some one pulling at his hand.