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?

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