Chapter Ten

Holly

      Holveg, who everyone called Holly, was a timid little girl who was sometimes frightened by the dark. Her skill at growing flowers in the harsh climate was remarkable and nothing gave Holly more pleasure than to repay Nicholas’ generosity by sharing flowers with him. One day as she was arranging the flowers for him she queried,

      "Are you afraid of goblins?" Nicholas put down the toy he was working on and turned a surprised face toward the little girl. "Goblins!" he exclaimed. "Now here am I, well past sixty years old and I’ve never heard of goblins. What are they Holly?" he asked in an interested tone. Holly looked confused, then a doubtful tone crept into her voice, "Why I don’t exactly know," she confessed, "but I’ve heard of them and when I’m lying in my bed at night I’m sure that’s what I see creeping about my room."

      "They must be shadows," said Nicholas, "I’ve never come across goblins, or for that matter ghosts either," he added.

      Holly looked very impressed and said, "If I think I see a goblin in my room, I’ll just say to him, Nicholas says you just aren’t, you old goblin!"

      They both laughed and Nicholas hugged the little girl and told her it was time for her to run home for her supper. The winter months passed by and when spring arrived and it was time again for planting the flowers, Holly fell very sick. All through the summer weeks she lay on her bed, weakened by a

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      Marsden lifted his head, and looked at the strong young face with the kind blue eyes.

      "You’re a good lad Nicholas, and," he added almost shyly, for it wasn’t easy for a harsh man to change so quickly, "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, shall we Nicholas. You can deliver them on Christmas day in that fine sled of yours. Perhaps by then you might even like to stay and live with me next year," the old man added in such a soft voice it sounded like a plea.

      He grasped Nicholas’ arm almost roughly, then a peaceful expression crept into the lonely old face as the boy answered simply, "Yes, of course master. I’ll stay here with you just as long as you want me to."

      So every winter evening saw two heads bent over the work bench. A grey head with thick, shaggy hair, and the smooth yellow head of a boy. They worked feverishly during the weeks before Christmas and with the old man helping with the carving, Nicholas was able to add delicate little touches to the toys, which made them far more handsome than any he had made before. He painted the dolls’ faces so that their eyes were as blue and their cheeks and lips were as rosy as the little girls who would soon clasp them in their arms. The little chairs and tables were stained with the same soft colours that Marsden used on his own work; the little boys’ sleds and boats were shiny with bright new paints, red, yellow, blue and green

      Only two nights before Christmas, everything was finished. Although a toy for every child in the village was packed onto

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