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Writer's pictureLinda Odhner, with photos by Liz Kufs
2 days ago0 min read

Excerpted Inspirations #161


[A neighbor, Aunt Mattie Farnham, is visiting the Knapps to see how Lester is managing the household in a wheelchair. Five-year-old Stephen is playing in his sandpile on the porch. Aunt Mattie joins Stephen in his imaginative play.] “Oh, Stevie’s all right,” said Lester carelessly; “he’s coming along like a house afire.” He wheeled himself to the door, opened it and rolled his chair out on the porch. A blue-denimed little figure rose up from the other end and showed a tousled head, bright dark eyes and a round dirty face with a calm expression. “I got my tunnel fixed,” he announced. “Did you?” asked Lester, with interest. “That can business did work?” To Mattie he explained, “Stephen is fixing up a railway system, and the sand kept falling in on his tunnel. We finally thought of taking the bottom out of an old baking-powder can. That leaves it open at both ends.” “It works dandy,” said Stephen. He now added of his own accord, with a casual look at Mrs. Farnham, “Hello, Aunt Mattie.” It was the first time she could remember that she had ever had a friendly greeting from Stephen. [...] “I should think you’d find it hard to keep the porch clean,” she said to Lester. “We don’t,” he said bafflingly. “Why not have it out in the yard?” “Some of the playthings would get spoiled by the rain.” He advanced this as conclusive. Stephen had squatted down again to his sand. She went cautiously toward the wide plank to see what he was doing, prepared to have him snarl out one of his hateful catch-words: “Go ’way! Go ’way!” or the one he had acquired lately, “Who’s doing this anyhow?” 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 tomorrow, over in that corner, as soon’s I get the track fixed. Mother is going to bring me some 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 ‘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. Dorothy Canfield, The Home-Maker (1924), pp. 201-204

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