A whole week had passed, but there was still no sign of the paintbrush.
Nisse searched all across Elf Land for it. Surely it couldn’t be so lost that it could never be found again.
On the second morning of the new week, Nisse woke to a hard frost outside. He ate his breakfast very slowly. He was so worried about the missing brush that even eating felt difficult. He was still tired from all the searching he had done the day before.
As he sat at the table, an idea suddenly came to him.
I should talk to the Snow Cat again.
The Snow Cat was like the forest’s secret eyes and secret ears. If anyone knew where the brush was, it would be her.
Nisse wrapped himself in warm clothes, pulled his hat down over his ears, and set off to find the Snow Cat.
He had barely taken a few steps from his little elf house when the Snow Cat appeared beside him.
“Good morning, Elf Nisse,” said the Snow Cat. “Why do you look so gloomy?”
“Oh, Snow Cat, you nearly scared me stiff!” Nisse muttered. “I was just coming to look for you. My golden paintbrush is missing, and I can’t decorate presents anymore. Have you seen it anywhere by chance?”
“Hmmm,” said the Snow Cat thoughtfully. “When the sun rose this morning, our white snow did seem unusually golden. But I haven’t seen any paintbrush. Does it have to be the golden one? You can decorate presents with other brushes, can’t you?”
“I can,” Nisse agreed. “But when I use an ordinary brush, something is missing. The decoration is just a picture. It doesn’t have that sparkling spirit inside. And if I write words with another brush, they still come from my heart, but they don’t shine the way they do with the golden one.”
As they chatted, they reached a great spruce tree whose branches hung low under the weight of the snow. The Snow Cat slowed her pace and squeezed through the snowy branches.
“Nisse,” she whispered. “Come here. Something is glimmering.”
Nisse did not want to get covered in snow, but his curiosity was stronger. He followed the Snow Cat through the branches.
At once, he noticed a golden sparkle on the snow.
It looked like the stroke of a paintbrush.
“My golden brush!” gasped Nisse. “How could it have gotten here?”
He spun around and searched carefully, but he could find no other tracks in the snow, only the golden brushstroke.
“How is it possible that my golden paintbrush climbed out of its closed box and wandered into the forest to paint?” Nisse wondered aloud. “I put it in its box with my own hands last night so it could rest. And now it has been here beneath this thick spruce tree and painted a single stroke.”
“Maybe there are more tracks,” said the Snow Cat. “Let’s keep looking.”
“Yes, let’s!” Nisse agreed at once.
They walked slowly through the deep snow, searching beneath one tree after another.
But they found nothing more.
As time passed, Nisse grew sadder and sadder. He longed to find more traces of the golden brush, something that might help him bring it home.
They searched under every branch they could find, but not a single golden mark appeared.
At last, they came to a small clearing.
The untouched snow sparkled in the evening light.
“Nisse, do you see it too?” asked the Snow Cat.
“I do,” whispered Nisse. “But how can it be?”
Drawn across the snowy blanket was a golden snowflake made of the finest, most delicate lines.
It was so faint that it was almost invisible.
Nisse sank down into the snow.
The Snow Cat curled around him, wrapping him in a warm embrace.
“You know, Nisse,” she said softly, “I have a feeling your golden brush has quite a story to tell. It climbed out of its box all by itself and is decorating our Elf Land.”
Nisse lowered his head.
A few tears rolled down his cheeks and froze there like tiny crystals.
“Let’s go home,” he sniffled, wiping away the icy tears. “I still have presents to decorate. I’ll use my other brushes. The children are waiting.”
“I agree,” said the Snow Cat.
Together they hurried toward home. In December, night arrives very quickly.
When they reached the spruce tree with the golden brushstroke beneath it, the Snow Cat stopped.
She gave Nisse a gentle hug and said,
“I’ll stay here and keep watch. Perhaps I’ll meet your golden paintbrush. Good night, Nisse.”
“Thank you for helping me search,” said Nisse. “Good night, Snow Cat.”
He hugged her tightly and continued home.
Back in his little house, he lit the stove and brewed himself a large mug of reindeer moss tea. Many people thought it tasted bitter, but Nisse loved it.
He drank every last drop.
Then he took an ordinary pencil from a box and sharpened it to a very fine point. A pencil like that was perfect for drawing tiny pictures on tiny presents.
He placed a gift on the table and began to draw.
The picture needed to be small.
He leaned close to the paper and made a few careful lines.
Then, quite suddenly, his eyes drifted shut.
With a soft little bump, he fell asleep with his forehead resting on the present.
At that very moment, deep in the forest, the golden paintbrush floated between the spruce trees, sprinkling fine golden dust onto the snowy treetops.
The brush was happy.
This way, it could decorate all of Elf Land before Christmas.
And when it peered through a window and saw that Nisse had fallen asleep, it quietly slipped into the elf’s dream to help decorate the presents there.
Good night.
And perhaps, if you dream tonight, you may see the golden brush’s tracks too.