When my mother read Kenneth Grahame’s “Wind in the Willows,” to me, the description of “The Wild Wood” was for me Mrs.Grace’s garden. As I...looked at her garden, I became aware of the tall figure of Mrs.Grace looking down at me from the other side of the gate. I stared up at her towering above me like all adults seem to when you are little. The black hair and dark eyes were scary, but she smiled and said, “You’re Richard, aren’t you?” I think I said something like, “Yeth.” “Does your mother know. "You must be Jimmy," I said, hoping to put him at ease."Uh huh," was the solitary answer."I'm Will," I said, extending my hand toward him.He looked at it and approached carefully before accepting it. We shook equally carefully, mindful not to squeeze too firmly.In a moment that I would have taken back if it hadn't been too late, I said, "I'm taking your mom to the theatre tonight. I hope that's okay with you?"He looked at me carefully, then his mother, then back to me."I guess so. Is it just. More

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