Once upon a time, best beloved, there was a little man, a quiet and meek little man, who lived in a small village in a kingdom far, far away.  He made clocks and repaired watches and sometimes, as Christmas approached, he would make toys for the children in his village.  He was not well-loved because he was so meek and mild.  Toymakers are supposed to be big and loud and jolly, and he was small and quiet.  Nonetheless, he had a wife and a son.  He loved them very much, and so he did not mind that the people of the village did not think the world of him.<br/><br/>Know this, best beloved: to be loved is wonderful, and to be happy is good, but neither lasts forever.  Nor is it a guard against the bad things that come to us as we trudge through this vale of tears.  So it was for the meek little toymaker.  While he was away on business in another village, a tiger from a circus escaped its cage and ate up his wife and his son...and because he was not well-loved, none of the villagers had a kind word for him when he returned to find all that he valued dead and gone.  What does that do to a person, do you think?<br/><br/>The toymaker was very sad for a very long time.  But then he learned that the tiger had not 'gotten' loose at all--some of the villagers had released it, thinking it good sport to scare the others.  The toymaker vowed that he would avenge his loving wife and son if it was the last thing he ever did.  He crafted a wonderful toy, and into it he built a trap with sharp ribbons of steel and poisoned spikes.  A horrible thing, to be sure, but so is letting a tiger loose.  As he worked, he found that he was less sad when he concentrated on the deadly toy.  He began to work longer and longer hours on his revenge.  He worked so hard, best beloved, that he forgot why he was so sad.  He forgot his wife.  He forgot his son.  And at the last, they say he even forgot himself.<br/><br/>Now if this were a happy story, best beloved, he would have finished his toy and used it to avenge himself on the fools who had turned the tiger on his family.  If the world worked the way we wish it to, the little toymaker would then have gone on and found another woman to love and had more children and become a better man for all of his suffering.  But this is not a happy story.  It is a warning.<br/><br/>The six fools vanished in a night of screams and shadows, while a storm rattled the roofs of the village and toppled trees.  No trace of them was ever found.  But the little toymaker was not gone.  They found him the next morning, sitting beside the ashes of his workshop in the cold, cold rain, clutching a photograph of his wife and child.  His mind and spirit had broken...and he died from a sickness not long after that.  Of the magical toy, he spoke not a word.  It had vanished, like a handful of dust thrown into a strong wind.  It may yet be out there, its secrets waiting for foolish hands and curious hearts to trigger it.<br/><br/>Beware of unexpected presents, best beloved.<br/><br/>