The village would have preferred that he make proper tools or other useful items. But instead, he made tiny ones, ranging from the size of mouse for the oxen yolk down to a spider sized set of axes and shovels and such.
When travellers bought some for their children, he would spin a yarn about his daughter wanting tools for her dolls, and ever since she succumbed to the illness, he'd continued making them for other children.
The truth was that he was just no good at making proper tools. But what he was good at doing was selling things.
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