Upstairs Sunny Boy found his toys exactly as he had left them. The Teddy Bear sat on the kiddie car, his forepaws resting patiently on the steering bar. The drum was hanging on its nail, and the train of cars was still jumbled together from the last glorious wreck.
“See, here’s where you mended the drum,” said Sunny Boy, showing Mother the neatly pasted tear. “I’d like to see if it is all right. Would you mind if I drummed ve-ry softly, Mother?”
Mrs. Horton was willing.
“Rub-a-dub, dub!” went the drum-sticks merrily. “Rub-a-dub, dub!” the drummer stopped suddenly.
“Nelson has a new game, Mother,” announced Sunny Boy. “He stands up paper soldiers—no, I guess they’re pasteboard soldiers——and has a little gun that shoots marbles at them. The drum made me think of the soldiers.”
“Did you play the game with Nelson, Sunny?”
“No’m, not yet. He said I might, though. But I’d like a soldier game of my own. How can I shoot at my soldiers, Mother?”
“That’s easy,” said Daddy from the doorway. He had come in and no one had heard him. “Stand your soldiers up in a row, Sunny Boy, and roll marbles at them. Olive, will you come down and help me find that old fishing tackle?”
Left alone, Sunny Boy got all his paper soldiers out and stood them up in two long rows.
“Nelson gives the enemy the first shot,” he said to himself. “He thinks that’s polite. So I’ll let the enemy roll first.”