All the year round Merrythought sat in the Snow Palace, at the very tip-top of the North Pole, making toys for Christmas--toys for boys, toys for girls, toys for babies too, and no one but the most skillful Brownie could have made such beautiful, shining Christmas toys. There is not the slightest doubt in the world about that. It was the week before Christmas and all the other Brownies who help Santa Claus stood together in a corner of the work-room whispering about Merrythought behind their hands. ‘To think that Merrythought is tired of Christmas!’ said Brownie Kindheart, who was in charge of the smallest baby dolls because of his gentle, friendly way. ‘Why, I think Merrythought’s dolls are the most beautiful of all. Their eyes are the bluest, and their cheeks are the rosiest, and their lips have the sweetest smiles. I don’t see how Merrythought can be tired of Christmas.’ ‘He says he doesn’t like toys any more,’ spoke up Nimbletoes, ‘but I never saw such fine Jumping Jacks as he has made this year. They leap and dance and fling their arms and legs about until I can scarcely stand still.’ And Nimbletoes jumped up and down like a Jumping Jack till he lost his breath and had to sit down in the corner to find it again. ‘I like his Jack-in-the-Boxes immensely,’ said Brownie Mischief, smiling at the very thought. ‘They shoot up in the air with so much spirit and dash and they all wear such cheerful grins. Each one seems to say, “Don’t you wish you were a Jack-in-the-Box?” And, I declare, sometimes I almost do.’ ‘Give me his rocking-horses,’ said Fleetfoot, whose specialty was making roller skates and snow coasters and kites. ‘They prance and gallop and champ at their bits as if they would like nothing better than to take you for a ride to Banbury Cross and back again. I think he is the best toy-maker of us all.’ ‘Poor Merrythought!’ whispered gentle Silvertongue, pointing to the corner where Merrythought sat alone. ‘How sober he looks! He used to grow happier and happier as Christmas drew near. He would sing at his work and smile to himself until the whole Snow Palace was in a good humor no matter how busy we might be.’ ‘Yes, indeed,’ agreed Kindheart. ‘He was as merry as his name. But he says this year he has lost his feeling for Christmas. He used to love it, the toys and the candy and the surprises. But he doesn’t feel so now. He thinks children want too many toys. He has lost Christmas, he says.’ ‘Lost Christmas?’ exclaimed little Sharpeyes, the errand boy. He was the Brownie who picked up pins and threaded needles and found the scissors for every one else. ‘Perhaps I can find it for him. I will begin to look this very minute. I would look for a week without stopping rather than have Merrythought feel so sad.’