Overholt looked at it with admiration, but said nothing.  It was the college town where he had lived so happily and hoped to live again.  It was distinctly recognisable, and many of the buildings were not only cleverly made, but were coloured very like the originals.  He was so much interested that he forgot to say anything.

“It’s a silly thing, anyway,” said Newton, disappointed by his silence.  “It’s like toys!”

Overholt looked up, and the boy saw his pleased face.

“It’s very far from silly,” he said.  “I believe you’re born to be a builder, boy!  It’s not only not silly, but it’s very well done indeed!”

“I’ll bet you can’t tell what the place is,” observed Newton, a secret joy stealing through him at his father’s words.

“Know it?  I should think I did, and I wish we were there now!  Here’s the College, and there’s our house in the street on the other side of the common.  The church is first-rate, it’s really like it—­and there’s the Roman Catholic Chapel and the Public Library in Main Street.”

“Why, you really do recognise the places!” cried Newton in delight.  “I didn’t think anybody’d know them!”

“One would have to be blind not to, if one knew the town,” said Overholt.  “And there’s the dear old lane!” He was absorbed in the model.  “And the three hickory trees, and even the little bench!”

“Why, do you remember that bench, father?”

Overholt looked up again, quickly and rather dreamily.

“Yes.  It was there that I asked your mother to marry me,” he said.

“Not really?  Then I’m glad I put it in!”

“So am I, for the dear old time’s sake and for her sake, and for yours, my boy.  Tell me when you made this, and how you can remember it all so well.”

The lad sat down on the high stool again before the lathe and looked through the dingy window at the scraggy trees outside, beyond the forlorn yard.

“Oh, I don’t know,” he said.  “I kind of remember it, I suppose, because I liked it better than this.  And when I first had the idea I was sitting out there in the yard looking at this board.  It belongs to a broken table that had been thrown out there.  And I carried it up to my room when you were out.  I thought you wouldn’t mind my taking it.  And I picked up scraps that might be useful, and got some gum, and old Barbara made me some flour paste.  It’s got green now, and it smells like thunder, but it’s good still.  That’s about all, I suppose.  Now I’ll take it away again.  I keep it in the dark closet behind my room, because that doesn’t leak when it rains.”

“Don’t take it away,” said Overholt suddenly.  “I’ll make room for it here, and you can work at it while I’m busy, and in the evenings I’ll try and help you, and we’ll finish it together.”

Newton was amazed.

“Why, father, it’s playing!  How can you go to work at play?  It would be so funny!  But, of course, if you really would help me a little—­you’ve got such lots of nice things!”