© James Pyles
Little Danny Harris had turned four years old a few months ago, but his Uncle Ethan and Aunt Abby couldn’t travel to California for the birthday party. So when his Mom and Dad took Danny to Dad’s Uncle’s farm in Idaho, the older couple doted on him.
“Here’s ya go, Danny. A brand new yo-yo.”
“Ethan,” the Dad interjected, don’t you think he’s a little young for a…”
“Excuse me, Uncle Ethan.” Both men were a surprised that the little boy interrupted. “My name is Daniel.”
“Sure it is, Danny”. Ethan tousled the child’s hair. “Sure it is.”
© James Pyles
Wichita Township wasn’t very big and it didn’t take Daniel long to find the main street. It was still raining, night was falling, and very few people (or whatever) were out. That was good, since he wasn’t anxious to attract attention, but he still needed to find some place to stay.
If the person who was supposed to meet him at the end of his train ride lived here, the ten year old had no idea how to find him, her, or it.
The shops looked quaint, the kind you’d expect to find in a small town in the late 19th century. There were clothing shops, taverns, inns, bakeries, and…and…a toy shop. Actually the letters painted on the display window said “Matty’s Toy Shoppe”. Unfortunately, the sign in the window said “Closed.”
Something compelled Daniel to look in the window anyway. Rag dolls, cloth puppets, marionettes on strings, a yo yo or two, toy drums, toy horns, there was even a small xylophone.