The Life and Adventures of Santa Claus - The Original Classic Edition. Baum Baum L

seen the poorer classes of men inhabit. Then, resolving to await another day before he tried to fit the logs together, Claus ate some of the sweet roots he well knew how to find, drank deeply from the laughing brook, and lay down to sleep on the grass, first seeking a spot where no flowers grew, lest the weight of his body should crush them.

       And while he slumbered and breathed in the perfume of the wondrous Valley the Spirit of Happiness crept into his heart and drove out all terror and care and misgivings. Never more would the face of Claus be clouded with anxieties; never more would the trials of life weigh him down as with a burden. The Laughing Valley had claimed him for its own.

       Would that we all might live in that delightful place!--but then, maybe, it would become overcrowded. For ages it had awaited a tenant. Was it chance that led young Claus to make his home in this happy vale? Or may we guess that his thoughtful friends, the immortals, had directed his steps when he wandered away from Burzee to seek a home in the great world?

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       Certain it is that while the moon peered over the hilltop and flooded with its soft beams the body of the sleeping stranger, the Laughing Valley was filled with the queer, crooked shapes of the friendly Knooks. These people spoke no words, but worked with skill and swiftness. The logs Claus had trimmed with his bright ax were carried to a spot beside the brook and fitted one upon another, and during the night a strong and roomy dwelling was built.

       The birds came sweeping into the Valley at daybreak, and their songs, so seldom heard in the deep wood, aroused the stranger. He rubbed the web of sleep from his eyelids and looked around. The house met his gaze.

       "I must thank the Knooks for this," said he, gratefully. Then he walked to his dwelling and entered at the doorway. A large room faced him, having a fireplace at the end and a table and bench in the middle. Beside the fireplace was a cupboard. Another doorway was beyond. Claus entered here, also, and saw a smaller room with a bed against the wall and a stool set near a small stand. On the bed were many layers of dried moss brought from the Forest.

       "Indeed, it is a palace!" exclaimed the smiling Claus. "I must thank the good Knooks again, for their knowledge of man's needs as well as for their labors in my behalf."

       He left his new home with a glad feeling that he was not quite alone in the world, although he had chosen to abandon his Forest life. Friendships are not easily broken, and the immortals are everywhere.

       Upon reaching the brook he drank of the pure water, and then sat down on the bank to laugh at the mischievous gambols of the ripples as they pushed one another against rocks or crowded desperately to see which should first reach the turn beyond. And as they raced away he listened to the song they sang:

       "Rushing, pushing, on we go!

       Not a wave may gently flow--

       All are too excited. Ev'ry drop, delighted,

       Turns to spray in merry play

       As we tumble on our way!"

       Next Claus searched for roots to eat, while the daffodils turned their little eyes up to him laughingly and lisped their dainty song: "Blooming fairly, growing rarely,

       Never flowerets were so gay!

       Perfume breathing, joy bequeathing, As our colors we display."

       It made Claus laugh to hear the little things voice their happiness as they nodded gracefully on their stems. But another strain caught his ear as the sunbeams fell gently across his face and whispered:

       "Here is gladness, that our rays

       Warm the valley through the days; Here is happiness, to give

       Comfort unto all who live!"

       "Yes!" cried Claus in answer, "there is happiness and joy in all things here. The Laughing Valley is a valley of peace and goodwill."

       He passed the day talking with the ants and beetles and exchanging jokes with the light-hearted butterflies. And at night he lay on his

       bed of soft moss and slept soundly.

       Then came the Fairies, merry but noiseless, bringing skillets and pots and dishes and pans and all the tools necessary to prepare food and to comfort a mortal. With these they filled cupboard and fireplace, finally placing a stout suit of wool clothing on the stool by the bedside.

       When Claus awoke he rubbed his eyes again, and laughed, and spoke aloud his thanks to the Fairies and the Master Woodsman who had sent them. With eager joy he examined all his new possessions, wondering what some might be used for. But, in the days when he had clung to the girdle of the great Ak and visited the cities of men, his eyes had been quick to note all the manners and customs of the race to which he belonged; so he guessed from the gifts brought by the Fairies that the Master expected him hereafter to live in the fashion of his fellow-creatures.

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       "Which means that I must plow the earth and plant corn," he reflected; "so that when winter comes I shall have garnered food in

       plenty."

       But, as he stood in the grassy Valley, he saw that to turn up the earth in furrows would be to destroy hundreds of pretty, helpless

       flowers, as well as thousands of the tender blades of grass. And this he could not bear to do.

       Therefore he stretched out his arms and uttered a peculiar whistle he had learned in the Forest, afterward crying: "Ryls of the Field Flowers--come to me!"

       Instantly a dozen of the queer little Ryls were squatting upon the ground before him, and they nodded to him in cheerful greeting. Claus gazed upon them earnestly.

       "Your brothers of the Forest," he said, "I have known and loved many years. I shall love you, also, when we have become friends. To

       me the laws of the Ryls, whether those of the Forest or of the field, are sacred. I have never wilfully destroyed one of the flowers you tend so carefully; but I must plant grain to use for food during the cold winter, and how am I to do this without killing the little creatures that sing to me so prettily of their fragrant blossoms?"

       The Yellow Ryl, he who tends the buttercups, made answer: