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Te Ao Hou, December 1959, Page 10

two bags of sultana buns on the counter in front of him, while a woman filled yet another bag. “Having a party tonight?” I said, and he visibly started at finding it was I who had entered. I made my purchase, however, and went out. Later he came along to me with no less than four packets containing four dozen sultana buns. “Look Mum,” he said, “That lady's mad; I asked her for four buns, and she gave me four dozen!” Rather a rude awakening for a young fellow out to spend his first pay. One day long ago I became conscious of a very heated argument going on in the bedroom between two of our youngsters. “It is not T.A.B.” shouted one, “its O.B.E.!” “It is not O.B.E. you fool! That's when they give you a medal for giving money to the poor!” said the other. “Well, it's something like that anyway, and you ask Mum.” “Cause I know, its O.B. standing for over dirty, so there!” I loved to think back on those little things that are the bright spots in a sometimes wearying business of raising a family, and I know that they will be recalled many times after the children have al grown and gone from the nest. Early every morning, about 4 a.m. I would hear the sound of bright whistling coming from a huge Concrete Works next to the Nursing Home. I wondered how anyone could be so bright in such bitter cold conditions, and I found myself building a picture around this unknown man—somebody's husband and father—whose job called him forth, when others were still deep in sleep. Yet he could be so cheery. I could not help but think how little we know of what effect our everyday actions have on those with whom we come in contact. My new friend, for instance,—I was amazed at how cheerful she could be; and I thought of how vital and loving she was, always telling me about her family and husband till I felt I knew them already. How little things gave her happiness and it was a tonic just to listen to her, and I always showed interest because I knew that it gave her pleasure to be talking about her family when she was so far away from them all. Just after breakfast one morning, Nurse came into our ward with a visitor for me, or rather a lady florist, who had come to deliver some flowers for me, and Nurse had asked her to bring them in to me. How my heart warmed as I received that lovely bowl of sweet blossom—a single orchid in the centre—and many kinds of blossom and leaves set around it to make a most pleasing little bowl, needing very little attention. I enquired her name and in our little talk we discovered that some of our children had attended secondary school together—and I had another acquaintance. Several baby cards came, all sweet with ribbons, and flowers and tiny booties, and my heart was filled with happy feelings of love and contentment and warm gratitude to those kind and thoughtful ones who helped to make my stay in Nursing Home so pleasant and so altogether happy.