Boy and Turtle with Wagon #T

David walked into the back porch, stomping his little feet which were encased in four-buckle galoshes. The snow fell onto the mat and he flailed his arms to get the stuff off his jacket. An eight-block walk home from school through the cold, the joy of release heightened by the newly falling snow. The new coating atop the ice patches gave the exactly correct surface for shoe, or in this case, galoshes skating. A little run and sw-o-o-o-osh across several feet of the glossy surface.

The highlight of the day so far was arriving home, because from the time he had been rousted from bed and scooted out the door, he had been suffering all the indignities that a seven-year old could be expected to endure. School was designed specifically to make him suffer. This was his second year at Jefferson School, and the little guy could not think of one good thing about it. Except that 2:20 always came, and he could go home!

This year an evangelist from Kentucky was preaching a "revival meeting" at Daddy's church. Mama was the hostess for his stay, and he had been here almost a week now. He would be leaving after this coming Sunday. But it had been fun to have him around, for he seemed to truly enjoy the boy's company. Most evenings after supper they would sit together at the kitchen table while the portly preacher regaled the boy with tales of the wild world from which he came, Kentucky. In turn he elicited from the boy his thoughts and dreams, the likes of which only a seven-year old could ideate.

The good reverend was quite perceptive, and sympathetic to the plight of the youngster. One evening he took the boy's tablet in hand and drew a cartoon. And that pretty much sealed the bond between the elderly gentleman and the child.

(The above is a reproduction by a less talented cartoonist, drawn from memory by the boy nearly seventy years after the fact. Color added just because he had a red pen and a yellow highlighter.)