could recognize what it was meant for. The wheels were wobbly and no two of the same size, the windows zigzagged in uneven lines and were of varied shapes. The cow-catcher looked as if it could toss anything it might pick up high enough to join the cow that jumped over the moon. But it was unmistakably a train, and the long line of smoke pouring back over it from the tipsy smoke-stack showed that it was going at the top of its speed. Despite the straggling, scratchy lines, any art critic must acknowledge that it had in it that intangible quality known as life and “go.”
It puzzled Will’m at first to know how to introduce himself into the picture so as to show that he was the one wanting a ride. Finally, on top of one of the cars he drew a figure supposed to represent a boy, and, after long thought, drew one just like it, except that the second figure wore a skirt. He did n’t want to take the ride alone. He ‘d be almost afraid to go without Libby, and he knew very well that she ‘d like ta go, She ’d often played “s’posen” they were riding away off to the other side of the world on one of those trains which they watched nightly pass the sitting-room window,
He wished he could spell his name and hers. He knew only the letters with which each began, and he was n’t sure of either unless he could see the picture on the other side of the building block on which it was printed. The box of blocks was in the sitting-room closet. He brought it out, emptied it on the rug, and searched until he found the block bearing the picture of a lion. That was the king of beasts, and the L on the other side which stood for lion, stood also for Libby. Very slowly and painstakingly he copied the letter on his drawing, placing it directly across the girl’s skirt so that there could be no mistake. Then he pawed over the blocks till he found the one with the picture of a whale. That was the king of fishes, and the W on the other side which stood for whale, stood also for William, He tried putting the W across the boy, but as each leg was represented by one straight line only, bent at right angles at the bottom to make a foot, the result was confusing, He rubbed out the legs, made them anew, and put the W over the boy’s head, drawing a thin line from the end of the W to the crossed scratches representing fingers, That plainly showed that the boy and the W were one and the same, although it gave to the unenlightened the idea that the picture had something to do with flying a kite. Then he rubbed out the L on Libby’s skirt and placed it over her head, likewise connecting her letter with her fingers,
The rubbing-out proccss gave a smudgy effect. Will’m was not satisfied with the result, and, like a true artist who counts all labor as naught which helps him toward that perfection which is his ideal, he laid aside the drawing as unworthy, and began another.
The second was better. He accomplished it with a more certain touch and with no smudges, and, filled with the joy of a creator, sat and looked at it a few minutes before starting it on its flight up the flue toward the sky road.
The great moment was aver, He had just drawn back from watching it start when Libby came in, She came primly and quietly this time. She had waited to leave her overshoes on the porch, her lunch basket in the kitchen, her wraps in the entry, The white ruffled apron which she had worn all day was scarcely mussed. The bows on her narrow braids stuck out stiffly and properly, Her shoes were tied and the laces tucked in, She walked on tiptoe, and every movement showed that she was keeping up the reputation she had earned of being “so good that nobody could be any better, no matter how hard he tried,” She had been that good for over a week.
Will’m ran to get the orange which had been given him that morning. Le had been saving it for this moment of division. He had already opened the pop-corn box and found the prize, a little china cup no larger than a thimble, and had used it at lunch, dipping a sip at a time from his glass of milk.
The interest with which she listened to his account of finding the locket and being taken aboard the train made him feel like a hero. He hastened to increase her respect.
“Nen the man said that T was about the nicest little boy he ever saw, and he would tell Santa Claus so. An’ I knew everything was all right, so I ’ve just sended a letter up to tell him to please give me a ride on the Pullman train.”
Libby smiled in an amused, big-sister sort of way, asking how Will’m supposed anybody could read his letters. He could n’t write anything but scratches.
“But it was a picture letter!” Will’m explained triumphantly. “Anybody can read picture letters.” Then he proceeded to tell what he had made and how he had marked it with the initials of the lion and the whale.
To his intense surprise, Libby looked first startled, then troubled, then despairing. His heart seemed to drop down into his shoes when she exclaimed in a tragic tone:
“Well, Will’m Branfield! If you have n’t gone and done it! I don’t know whatever is going to happen to us now!”
Then she explained, She had already written