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“Tobias—I will see you in seven years. Remember the prohibitions of our bargain—no bathing or change of attire; cutting your hair, beard, or nails; prayer or entering holy structure; and no disclosing these terms to another. If you need money, reach into the left pocket of my greatcoat, and you will always find it there. If you hunger or thirst, reach into the right, and it will succor your needs. I bid you adieu until we meet again.”
    Toby bit his lip and reached into the left pocket. He pulled out a handful of gold. Whistling through his teeth, he dropped it back into the coat and reached into the other pocket.
    A biscuit warmed his hand, and when he bit into it, it was as light and flaky as any his sainted mother had made him when he was a child. There was also tender jerky, and his canteen was full of water as sweet as wine.
    “What do you know about that, Chester? I reckon your belly can be used for other things then, can't it?” His thoughts went to turning over what that might be. A bit of wire, a gear or two . . . he might be able to cobble together some sort of fire contrivance, a way to cook on the road wherever he might be, or keep warm when there was no opportunity for a fire pit. Parts shouldn't be that hard to come by with good gold in hand. Something to consider though—a good cook fire required different coals than a heat source.
    Heart full of song, he gathered his belongings and started off again on his adventures. He was young, strong, and optimistic. Chester was the only companion he required—someone to pass the time with, to chatter his impressions of the road. Sure, sometimes he might wish Chester could answer back, but he was content enough. With money at his fingertips and a whole world to explore, he was sure seven years would pass in the blink of an eye.

    By the time he had walked from the French forest where he met the Toymaker into the mountains of Switzerland, he was not so sure. The forest had been fairly simple walking, the undergrowth very easy to navigate. As he entered the mountains, though, the travel became more difficult. There were stony grades beneath his feet instead of soft pine needles, and his boots were soon worn through, but he could not replace them. It made the stones even harder to traverse.
    His hair was shaggy about his shoulders, and a beard itched upon his chin where he had been fastidiously clean-shaven all his life. The looks he got from people and the shopkeepers who refused him entrance were wearing upon his sunny disposition.
    After a few cuffs about the head and angry snarls, he began to avoid townsfolk as much as possible and to look distrustfully on those he did meet.
    Still, the countryside was breathtaking. The Alps reminded him of home, though their soaring peaks were much taller and more rugged than his own Great Smokies. Nevertheless, the air was clear and sweet and made his heart sing as his innate good nature reasserted itself. The goatherds were happy to share their fires, not as judging as the townsfolk. He paid liberally for his milk and cheese, and that made him welcome to the mountain men. Here he was more accepted. It lifted his spirits partway back, but not completely.
    His first winter of the bargain was spent with an old man and his granddaughter on a peak near a prosperous village. The old man was practically a hermit, so Toby found his prohibitions easily maintained.
    He learned to carve beautiful figurines from the soft pine wood that grew in abundance on the mountaintop and entertained the little girl for hours with the tiny dancer spinning insidethe box the Toymaker had given him.
    Watching young Heidi bill and coo over the dancer gave him an idea, and he went down to the village and found the best clockmaker in town. “I would like to commission a special item from you,” he told the clockmaker.“A dancing clockwork, this tall.” He held his hands just over two feet apart.
    The man looked down his nose over the tops of his