A Little World for Little People

Sun (Auckland), Volume IV, Issue 956, 26 April 1930, Page 33

A Little World for Little People

FRIENDSHIP IS A STEADY LIGHT SHINING IN DARK PLACES

WINKLEMAN—THOUGHT MANUFACTURER

THE smallest Pixie Postman has written a story!” cried the Little Thought, breathlessly, alighting in the midst of a group where the Dawn Lady, the Doorkeeper and the Joyshop man were holding a conference under the Happiness Tree. “It was too late to write one about that little girl with the umbrella, so he has written one about a little girl without an umbrella. It is called ‘Winkleman—Thought Manufacturer,’ specially written for a sick Sunbeam, and here it is:— “Once there was a little girl called Heather. She had no brothers or sisters, and she lived miles away from anywhere, so she had to make her own play. Sometimes she would gather wild flowers in a big stretch of ground at the back of her home, and one day while playing there she noticed a thistle twisting this way and that. There was no wind and, greatly puzzled, she bent down to examine it. Tied by his waist to the thistle was a tiny man, wrinkled and old, his face red with indignation and his bushy brows creased in a ferocious frown. ‘You poor little thing,’ said Heather. ‘No, no, you mustn’t bite. See, lam trying to free you.’ And with her little pocket scissors she snipped the cords that, secured him. ‘Thank you, madam,’ said the little man. ‘A mischievous pixie tied me to this thistle yesterday, and but for your help there would be 310 new thoughts in the world. Luckily I made a good supply last week— ’ “What do you mean?’ asked Heather. “Allow me to introduce myself,’ said the little creature. ‘I am Winkleman—Thought Manufacturer. Just step this way.’ "At the edge of the field there -was a wall of rock on ■which the little man rapped three times with his tiny knuckles. A door swung open, and Heather followed her escort into a curious room, round which dragon-flies flitted, illuminating it with a soft light. The walls were lined with shelves on which stood scores of little bowls. At once Winkleman commenced work. Into a large bowl he poured a little of the contents of several smaller bowls, mixing busily and singing a strange chant, until all at once, little winged creatures began swarming out of the bowl. They were of all shapes and sizes, and they circled round Winkleman waiting for their names. ‘Where did I put it?’ he said to a bewild-ered-looking one. ‘What’s for dinner?’ he remarked, chucking a very plump one under the chin. ‘Plot of a story,’ he observed to another, and so on until they were all named. Then he opened the door and let them escape into the world. ‘Now, that’s how its done,’ he said to Heather, ‘and as a reward for releasing me I am going to make you the happiest thoughts you could possibly imagine. They live in these three bowls. Come back every day for a week, at the end of which time you will be the most fortunate child on earth.’ “Heather is grown-up now. She has a smile for everyone, and Winkleman is still making thoughts. He has just made a very particular one for a little n friend of mine.” , xQ\ _/ c*_JaX “Good work,” said the KJ Doorkeeper, his eyes spark- —' * ling with admiration. V.. —*