"Ting--ting--ting--ting--ting--ting--ting!"

"End--that--tale--to--mor--row--night."

So says the Little Clock. He must be obeyed. So good-bye for a little
while.




TWELFTH NIGHT

ABOUT DUCKIE THE STEPCHILD AND THE LITTLE SHIP


In the door of the workshop stood the three happy children, watching the
Toyman.

It was one of the very nicest places on the whole farm. Tools of all sorts,
bright and sharp, lay on the table. Lumber of every kind lay piled against
the walls. The shelves were filled with cans of paint. All the colours of
the rainbow were in those cans. The children could tell that by the pretty
splashes of the paint dripping down their sides.

Back and forth, back and forth swung the arms of the Toyman. He was very
busy over something--something very important it must be, for he never
talked, only worked and whistled away.

"Oh dear! I wish I knew what it was," sighed Marmaduke. Anyway he knew it