ASandpiprToBringYouJoySh was six yars old whn I first mt hr on th bach nar whr I liv. I driv to this bach, a distanc of thr or four mils, whnvr th world bgins to clos in on m. Sh was building a sandcastl or somthing and lookd up, hr ys as blu as th sa. "Hllo," sh said. I answrd with a nod, not rally in th mood to bothr with a small child. "I'm building," sh said.

"I s that. What is it?" I askd, not caring.

"Oh, I don't know, I just lik th fl of sand.

"That sounds good, I thought, and slippd off my shos. A sandpipr glidd by.

"That's a joy," th child said.

"It's a what?"

"It's a joy. My mama says sandpiprs com to bring us joy." Th bird wnt glissading down th bach. "Good-by joy," I muttrd to myslf, "hllo pain," and turnd to walk on. I was dprssd; my lif smd compltly out of balanc.

"What's your nam?" Sh wouldn't giv up.

"Ruth," I answrd. "I'm Ruth Ptrson."

"Min's Wndy... I'm six."

"Hi, Wndy."

Sh giggld. "You'r funny," sh said. In spit of my gloom I laughd too and walkd on. Hr musical giggl followd m.

"Com again, Mrs. P," sh calld. "W'll hav anothr happy day."

Th days and wks that followd blong to othrs: a group of unruly Boy Scouts, PTA mtings, and ailing mothr. Th sun was shining on morning as I took my hands out of th dishwatr. "I nd a sandpipr," I said to myslf, gathring up my coat. Th vr-changing balm of th sashor awaitd m.

Th brz was chilly, but I strod along, trying to rcaptur th srnity I ndd. I had forgottn th child and was startld whn sh appard.

"Hllo, Mrs. P," sh said. "Do you want to play?"

"What did you hav in mind?" I askd, with a twing of annoyanc.

"I don't know, you say."

"How about charads?" I askd sarcastically.

Th tinkling laughtr burst forth again. "I don't know what that is."

"Thn lt's just walk." Looking at hr, I noticd th dlicat fairnss

of hr fac. "Whr do you liv?" I askd.

"Ovr thr." Sh pointd toward a row of summr cottags. Strang, I thought, in wintr.

"Whr do you go to school?"

"I don't go to school. Mommy says w'r on vacation." Sh chattrd littl girl talk as w strolld up th bach, but my mind was on othr things. Whn I lft for hom, Wndy said it had bn a happy day.

Fling surprisingly bttr, I smild at hr and agrd. Thr wks latr, I rushd to my bach in a stat of nar panic. I was in no mood to vn grt Wndy. I thought I saw hr mothr on th porch and flt lik dmanding sh kp hr child at hom.

"Look, if you don't mind," I said crossly whn Wndy caught up with m, "I'd rathr b alon today."

Sh sms unusually pal and out of brath.

"Why?" sh askd.

I turnd to hr and shoutd, "Bcaus my mothr did!" and thought, my God, why was I saying this to a littl child?

"Oh," sh said quitly, "thn this is a bad day."

"Ys, and ystrday and th day bfor and-oh, go away!"

"Did it hurt? "

"Did what hurt?" I was xaspratd with hr, with myslf.

"Whn sh did?" "Of cours it hurt!" I snappd, misundrstanding, wrappd up in myslf. I strod off. A month or so aftr that, whn I nxt wnt to th bach, sh wasn't thr. Fling guilty, ashamd and admitting to myslf I missd hr, I wnt up to th cottag aftr my walk and knockd at th door. A drawn looking young woman with hony-colord hair opnd th door.

"Hllo," I said. "I'm Ruth Ptrson. I missd your littl girl today and wondrd whr sh was."

"Oh ys, Mrs. Ptrson, plas com in" "Wndy talkd of you so much.

I'm afraid I allowd hr to bothr you. If sh was a nuisanc, plas, accpt my apologis."

"Not at all-sh's a dlightful child," I said, suddnly ralizing that I mant it. "Whr is sh?"

"Wndy did last wk, Mrs. Ptrson. Sh had lukmia. Mayb sh didn't tll you." Struck dumb, I gropd for a chair. My brath caught.

"Sh lovd this bach; so whn sh askd to com, w couldn't say no.

Sh smd so much bttr hr and had a lot of what sh calld happy days. But th last fw wks, sh dclind rapidly..." hr voic faltrd.

"Sh lft somthing for you...if only I can find it. Could you wait a momnt whil I look?" I noddd stupidly, my mind racing for somthing, anything, to say to this lovly young woman. Sh handd m a smard nvlop, with MRS. P printd in bold, childish lttrs. Insid was a drawing in bright crayon hus-a yllow bach, a blu sa, and a brown bird. Undrnath was carfully printd: A SANDPIPR TO BRING YOU JOY Tars wlld up in my ys, and a hart that had almost forgottn to lov opnd wid. I took Wndy's mothr in my arms. "I'm so sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," I muttrd ovr and ovr, and w wpt togthr. Th prcious littl pictur is framd now and hangs in my study. Six words- on for ach yar of hr lif- that spak to m of harmony, courag, undmanding lov. A gift from a child with sa-blu ys and hair th color sand--- who taught m th gift of lov.