The Adventures of Nicholas Read Free

fierce and angry. “My sons,” he roared. “I had two sons, and when they were as big as you are, they left me. Ran away to sea. Left me all alone to grow old and crabbed.” The old man buried his face in his hands.
    Nicholas went over and placed his strong hands on the bent old shoulders. “I won’t leave you,” he whispered.
    Marsden lifted his head, “You’re a good lad, Nicholas. I think I’d like to help you with some of those little things you make. We’ll make them together these long winter evenings, eh Nicholas? And you won’t ever leave me alone, will you, lad?”
    The boy answered quietly, “No, Master. I’ll stay with you just as long as you want me.”
    So every evening the two heads bent over the workbench. With help from the master, the toys were more beautiful than they had ever been before. The dolls’ cheeks were as rosy as the little girls who would soon hold them in their arms. The little chairs and tables were stained the same soft colors as Marsden used on his own furniture, and the boats and sleighs were shiny with bright new paints.
    The night before Christmas everything was finished. A toy for each child in the village was packed in the sled with the steel runners. Yet Nicholas and the old man were still working at the bench. They were trying to finish a chest which had been ordered by a wealthy woman in the next village, twenty miles away.
    The chest had to be finished and delivered on Christmas Day. It was a wedding present, and the Christmas feast would also celebrate the wedding. Nicholas would have to borrow a horse and
    sleigh, and drive over with the chest early Christmas morning—the time he had planned to take the gifts to the children.
    “I’m sorry, Nicholas,” said old Marsden. “I’d go myself, but I’m not as strong as I used to be. It’s an all-day trip—twenty miles over, several hours to rest the horse, and twenty miles back. With the snow not crusted, it will be hard going.”
    “If only she didn’t want the chest on Christmas morning,” sighed Nicholas.
    “Well,” answered his master, “we did promise it and it has to be delivered. Now the toys weren’t promised—”
    “No, but I’ve always given them,” interrupted Nicholas.
    “I was just going to say, lad, that they weren’t promised for Christmas Day. Now, you know that little children go to bed early. Why can’t you.”
    “Of course!” cried Nicholas. “I can deliver the gifts tonight, after the children have gone to bed. Why, Master, that’s a wonderful idea!”
    The old man and the boy rushed around and finally got the sled out in the yard. Nicholas bundled himself up and was off through the snow, dragging the toy-laden sled behind him.
    Down in the village, a bright winter moon was shining on snow that glistened on rooftops and around the doorways. Not a soul stirred in the streets but one young boy, going from door to door, leaving a pile of little toys every place he stopped, until there was nothing left on the sled.
    It was Christmas Eve, and Nicholas had once more kept his promise to the children.

 
     
     

    There was a funny object seen dangling outside the door.

THE FIRST CHRISTMAS STOCKING  

    HE old woodcarver cheerfully taught Nicholas all that he knew of his difficult trade. The years went by busily and happily, and for Bertran Marsden they were the happiest of his life. When old age finally overcame him and he passed away peacefully in his sleep, the old woodcarver gratefully left his cottage, his tools, and his thriving business to Nicholas, whom he loved as his own son. As Nicholas himself grew older, the sound of children’s voices grew dearer and dearer to him. He arranged his work so that he spent only part of his time on the orders he received; the rest of the day and most of the evenings he worked on toys for the next Christmas. One Christmas Eve he was surprised to find that the children had hung on their doors little embroidered bags filled with
    oats for his