"Tell me a story, Toyman," he asked, "'bout that ole Giant Northwind."
"It might scare you," the Toyman answered.
Marmaduke only shook his head.
"Nothing makes me scared when I'm here," he said. He wasn't afraid of giants, or ogres, or wild animals, or anything, when he was safe in the Toyman's arms.
For a while he looked up into his face. The Toyman's hair stood up, all funny and rough. He was always running his fingers through it. His face had wrinkles like hard seams, and it was as brown as saddle leather from working outdoors. But Marmaduke thought that nowhere in the world was there so kind a face, except his Mother's.
The Toyman put down his corncob pipe and began:
"Once upon a time, long time ago, before your mother was born, or your grandmother, or your great-grandmother either, there was a King. He was King of all the Winds. And he lived in a great big cave up in a high mountain."
"Was the mountain as high as the church steeple?" asked Marmaduke.
"Oh, higher than that—as high as a lot of church steeples, stuck one on top of another," the Toyman explained.
"Sometimes the King of the Winds took a little snooze in his cave, and then everything was quiet. But when he woke up he would go out of his cave, raisin' ructions all over the world.