FullReads

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 Peacock, parading up and down, showing off its beautiful tail, and “Peacock” 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 “Peacock,” 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!”

And he wrote “White Swan” on one chip, “Peacock” on another, and “Arrow” on the last. Then he held them towards the children.

“The smallest must choose first,” he said, and Hepzebiah took one of the little white pieces of wood from the Toyman’s hand. He turned it over and read:

“White Swan.”

“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.