Half-Past Seven Stories Part 3

And one cross-piece with handles:

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Then one very long one like this:

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The thing to do was to guess what they would make when put together.

Just then the Toyman arrived with three barrel hoops. And he worked away with his tools until the hoops were almost straight. Then he made little holes in them and nailed them with little nails, very neatly, on the four long curved pieces of wood. Then he fastened these curved pieces together by nailing the cross-pieces between. He fastened the other pair in the same way, and the affair began to look something like catamarans, those funny boats the geographies say folks use in Australasia.

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But when he nailed the big board on and attached the steering gear, it was easy to see what all the time the Toyman had been planning to make. And when he painted the runners yellow with a little blue edge running around them, and the seat bright red, with a white star on it, they decided it was the finest bobsled in the world.

And, oh yes, he had to paint the word "Scud" in blue letters, right near the star.

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Yes sir, there was no doubt about it, it was the finest bobsled in the world--the _whole_ world, we mean.

And again the boys shouted, "Hooray!," together as in a chorus, not forgetting to add,--"And thank you, Toyman, _heaps_!"

Then they happened to think the bobsled was ready, but something else was missing--something very necessary, too.

"Now for the snow!" Jehosophat said.

"I can knock together a bobsled, sonny," the Toyman replied, "But I haven't any tools to make _that_."

So every night, when he said his prayers, Marmaduke added another sentence to "G.o.d bless Mamma an' Papa an' the Toyman an' Wienie an'"

all the rest of his friends. Perhaps you can guess what it was. No?

Well it sounded something like this:

"An' please, G.o.d, send us some snow,--a _whole lot of it_!"

Well, it came in about a week. On the twenty-third of November, to be exact.

It took only an hour to make the fields white, and only about three for the snow to pile deep enough to carry the new bobsled.

The Toyman looked at the sky, then at the ground, and then at his shop.

"Guess I'll knock off," he said. He was always knocking off work or something for the children.

But he had to stop their quarreling now. Each one wanted the honor of pulling the big bobsled first. For it was a thing to be proud of, with its yellow runners and the blue edge around them, and the red seat with the white star in the middle.

"You're as bad as the pigs in the corner pen," said the Toyman, "where are your manners?"

That settled it, of course. Turns! That was the proper way, and off they went.

But after all, "taking turns" wasn't as fine as the next thing the Toyman suggested.

"All jump on," he called, "and I'll be the cayuse."

That was a funny word he had learned out West, but by this time the children knew he meant _horse_. So the three, Jehosophat, Marmaduke, and Hepzebiah, sat on the red seat and were pulled through the snow, oh, ever so swiftly!

It was like riding through fairyland, for the branches above them were furred with white feathery snow, and the woods looked like some great lace design made by the Winter Queen who, they say, knits when the nights are cold and the Winter King is out at the club.

Soon they reached the hill. It was pretty steep and Jehosophat and Marmaduke wanted to get off and walk up so as to make it easier for the Toyman. He wouldn't hear of that, but just set his shoulders like Teddy in the shafts and puffed and pulled up hill.

On the fields the snow was light and feathery like powdered sugar, but on the hill it had been packed down hard by the coasters. There were so many of them, boys and girls from the neighborhood all around! Some were at the top, and some at the bottom, and some in the middle, sliding merrily down.

When the Three Happy Children reached the top of the hill the Toyman cried:

"I'll sit in front to steer and hold little Hepzebiah. You boys sit in back, Jehosophat at the end, and hold on to the grips."

Yes there were grips, too, for the Toyman hadn't forgotten anything that goes with a perfect sled.

"All aboard! Toot, toot!" he shouted, and Jehosophat yelled,--

"Clear the way!"

And down the hill they shot. It wasn't like any other kind of travel in the world. Perhaps it was more like flying than anything else, but that was funny, too, when you come to think of it, for when you fly you usually go up, and they were going down.

They reached the bottom all too soon, but the trip was worth the trouble of trudging back, especially as all the hard work was done by the Toyman.

When they reached the top again, once more he shouted, "All aboard, toot, toot!"

Some folks thought he was silly, and Mrs. Hamm, riding by in a buggy, on the road below, said to Mr. Hamm,--

"There's that good-for-nothing Frank Clark again, hollerin' like a wild Injun with all those children."

"Yes, Maria," agreed her husband. "I'd send him to the work'us if I was on the Township Committee."

But the Hamms, like many other people, were very stupid. Was the Toyman worth while? You just ask Jehosophat and Marmaduke and Hepzebiah and Wienerwurst, and hear what _they_ have to say.

Once during that long and glorious afternoon they had trouble. Fatty Hamm started it. It was the only thing he was good at--trouble and eating. And, of course, Reddy Toms and d.i.c.ky Means had to help him.

Anyway, Fatty pushed Hepzebiah into a deep snowdrift--when he thought the Toyman wasn't looking. And Hepzebiah fell into the snowdrift head first so that only her legs could be seen, and they were kicking wildly in the air. Now the Toyman was busy untangling the rope, which had gotten mixed with the steering-gear, and he hadn't noticed Fatty and Reddy at their old tricks. But her two brothers pulled her out of the drift by her little kicking legs, and brushed her off and dried her tears. Then they went for Reddy and Fatty. Reddy ran away, but Fatty stood his ground, for he was much bigger than they. They had their fists clenched, and were going to punch him, very hard, I guess, when the Toyman looked up from his work and called,--

"What's the trouble, son?"

The boys explained it, but they kept their fists clenched just the same. They were rather excited, you see, and as soon as they were through telling the Toyman all about it, they wanted to pitch into "that ole Fatty."

But Fatty tried to lie out of it.

"She just fell herself," he said, half scared.

"She didn't, either," Jehosophat yelled, "he pushed her in." And he started to rush for the fat boy when the Toyman called,--

"Hold on there, let _me_ settle it."