"We'd go a good ways before we'd get a better name," he decided. "When the boat's all finished and all sails set, she'll sail away just like a swan; you see if she doesn't."
The hull of the boat was finished now, and on the bow, at the very front, he nailed a thin little stick, with tiny nails. This was the bowsprit.
On the keel at the very bottom, he fastened a piece of lead so she wouldn't "turn turtle"—turn over, he meant, when her sails were set and the wind blew too hard.
Then choosing some sticks—very carefully, for they must be straight—he tucked the boat under his arm and, with the three children close at his heels, walked over to the pond and sat down under the Crying Tree, where the sun shone bright and warm.
Out came the magic knife and he whittled away at the little sticks; whittled and whistled and smiled all the time.
Sliver after sliver of the wood fell on the ground. Sometimes one would drop into the water and float away like a fairy canoe, with the green willow leaves that fell from the Crying Tree.
So under the magic knife the little ship grew and grew, till the masts were fitted too, and set fast and tight in the clean smooth deck.
"But where are the sails?" asked Jehosophat impatiently.
A funny answer the Toyman made.
He just said: