Seven O'Clock Stories Part 10

Robber Hawk hung limp from the Toyman's hand.

His dark brown feathers never stirred. His white breast with its dark bars and patches never moved.

"Robber Hawk," spoke the Toyman, "your old curved beak will never feed on any more good chicken."

Then he turned to the children.

"We must bury him by Jim Crow."

So Jehosophat, Marmaduke, Hepzebiah, Rover, Brownie, Wienerwurst and the Toyman marched with Robber Hawk on towards the cornfield.

There by the side of Jim Crow they buried him.

And the Toyman took two pieces of wood. On these he cut with his knife:

JIM CROW KILLED 1918 THIEF

ROBBER HAWK KILLED 1918 THIEF AND MURDERER

At their heads he placed the two boards side by side.

"There we will leave them," the Toyman spoke sternly, "as a warning to all evil-doers."

So they walked back slowly to the House of the White Wyandottes where Mother Hen clucked contentedly once more and all the yellow chickens ran around, chasing the little bugs in their game of hide-and-seek. A fine game it was too, only it was more interesting for the chickens than the bugs, you see.

The three happy children noticed that one of the little yellow fellows was larger than the others. He--

"Ting--ting--ting--ting--ting--ting--ting!"

"End--that--tale--to--mor--row--night."

So says the Little Clock. He must be obeyed. So good-bye for a little while.

TWELFTH NIGHT

ABOUT DUCKIE THE STEPCHILD AND THE LITTLE SHIP

In the door of the workshop stood the three happy children, watching the Toyman.

It was one of the very nicest places on the whole farm. Tools of all sorts, bright and sharp, lay on the table. Lumber of every kind lay piled against the walls. The shelves were filled with cans of paint. All the colours of the rainbow were in those cans. The children could tell that by the pretty splashes of the paint dripping down their sides.

Back and forth, back and forth swung the arms of the Toyman. He was very busy over something--something very important it must be, for he never talked, only worked and whistled away.

"Oh dear! I wish I knew what it was," sighed Marmaduke. Anyway he knew it was something for _them_. Father Green had given the Toyman a holiday, all for himself, to do as he liked. And _of course_ he'd make something for _them_.

On the edge of the table was a vise, a big tool with iron jaws. In the iron jaws was a block of wood. The Toyman screwed the vise--very tight--so tight the wood couldn't budge. Then he shaved this side of the block, then the other side, with a plane, a tool with a very sharp edge. Clean white shavings fell on the floor, some of them twisting like Hepzebiah's curls.

"I wonder what it's going to be," Marmaduke repeated.

Jehosophat was pretty sure he knew.

"I'll bet it's a boat," he said.

The Toyman chuckled.

"Right you are, Son. It's the Good Ship--well, let's see. All boats have a name, you know. What do you think would be a good name for a fine ship?"

Jehosophat had one, right on the tip of his tongue.

"The Arrow."

The Toyman thought this over.

"That isn't bad," said he.

Then he turned to Marmaduke.

"What's your idea for a name, little chap?"

Marmaduke thought and thought. He looked out through the door and saw the Party Bird, the vain Peac.o.c.k, parading up and down, showing off its beautiful tail, and "Peac.o.c.k" was the only name he could think of.

Jehosophat laughed out loud.

"That's no name for a boat."

And Marmaduke had to shout back--as little boys will, losing his temper:

"_'Tis too!_"

The Toyman stopped the quarrel, just as he always did, with something pleasant or funny he said. Then he leaned over and picked up three chips of wood.

"I'll write the names on these little chips," he explained, "and we'll choose."

Putting his hand on Hepzebiah's sunny curls, he asked that little girl:

"What name do _you_ think would be nice for the boat?"

Now Hepzebiah really didn't know just what it all was about. But she had heard Marmaduke say "Peac.o.c.k," so she took her finger out of her mouth just long enough to point at the Guinea-hen, who was screeching horribly out in the barnyard.

"The Guinea-hen! Ha, ha! That's a good one!" The Toyman was forever saying that and laughing at the funny things the children said.

Hepzebiah, thinking that this was a nice sort of a game, took her finger out of her mouth and pointed again--this time out at the pond where the swans were sailing, like pretty white ships themselves.

"The very thing," exclaimed the Toyman. "White Swan's a _fine_ name for a boat!"