Sadly Nicholas could not learn to get used to the dreadful loneliness of the cottage, and longed for the days when he had been in friendlier ones sur-rounded by laughing children. Over the months, so as not to make it obvious to Marsden, Nicholas gradually cleaned and brightened the cottage to make his enforced home bearable. One night as Marsden sat in front of the fire, silently smoking his long curved pipe, he noticed that Nicholas was still bent over the workbench engrossed in some task. “Here lad,” he said almost kindly, in his gruff voice. “I’m not such a hard master that I would have you work night as well as day. What’s that you’re doing? Why don’t you go to your bed?
“It’s only a small piece of wood you threw away,” said Nicholas quickly, “I’m trying to make a copy of that chair you finished today, but this is a little one- a toy,” he ended fearfully, for he well knew that the word “toy” would mean children to old Marsden, and for some strange reason just to mention a child in his presence sent him into a terrible rage. Tonight however, he contented himself with merely a black look, and said, “Let me see it. Hmm, not bad, but you have the scroll on the back larger on one side than the other. Here, pass me that small knife.” Nicholas hastened to give him the small tool and watched admiringly as the old craftsman deftly corrected the mistake
“There,” Marsden said finally, holding the work away from him so that he could study it, “that’s the way it should be done.”
Then, instead of handing the little chair to Nicholas, who was waiting expectantly, he continued holding it in his hands whilst a sad expression came into the fierce old eyes as he remembered the toys he had made for his own two sons many, many years ago. Slowly a smile grew on the tired old face, Nicholas blinked and looked again. Yes a real smile was tugging at the corners of that stern mouth which had been turned down for so many years. 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.