But what she saw was so astonishing to her that before she could stop to think, she burst out in an impulsive exclamation of admiration, “Why, Stephen Knapp, did you do all that yourself?”
Beyond the board lay a tiny fairy-world of small, tree-lined, pebble-paved roads, moss-covered hills, small looking-glass lakes, white pasteboard farmhouses with green blinds, surrounded by neat white tooth-pick fences, broad meadows with red-and-white paper cows and a tiny farm wagon with minute, plumped-out sacks, driving to the railroad.
A large area of her own simple consciousness was still sunny with child-heartedness, and it was with the utmost sincerity of accent that she cried out, “Why, I’d love to play with that myself!”
Stephen looked proudly up at her and lovingly down at his creation. “You can if you want to.” He conceded the privilege with lordly generosity.
She got stiffly down on her middle-aged knees, to be nearer the little world, and clasped her hands in ecstasy over the “sweet little barn” and the “darling locomotive.” Why, she remembered now that she herself had given that toy train to Stephen. The last time she had noticed it was when, unsurprised, she had seen Stephen kicking it down the stairs. Lucky it was made of steel.
“It fits in just great,” said Stephen, also remembering who had given it. “I never had any way to play with it before. See, it carries the corn from this farm to the city. I’m going to start in on the city to-morrow, over there in that corner, as soon’s I get the track fixed. Mother is going to bring me some little houses from the ten-cent store. Mother brought me the little wagon and horses. She brings me something ’most every night. Those bags are filled with real corn-meal.”
“Oh, see the real grade-crossing with the little ‘Look out for the engine’ sign,” cried Mrs. Farnham rapturously.
They had both entirely forgotten Lester. He smiled to himself and wheeled his chair back into the house. Mattie was a fat old darling, that’s what she was.
He went on darning the little stocking and murmuring to himself,
“She wars not with the mystery