"look, if you don't mind," i said crossly when wendy caught up with me, "i'd rather be alone today."

　　she seems unusually pale and out of breath.

　　"why?" she asked.

　　i turned to her and shouted, "because my mother died!" and thought, my god, why was i saying this to a little child?

　　"oh," she said quietly, "then this is a bad day."

　　"yes, and yesterday and the day before and-oh, go away!"

　　"did it hurt? "

　　"did what hurt?" i was exasperated with her, with myself.

　　"when she died?" "of course it hurt!" i snapped, misunderstanding, wrapped up in myself. i strode off.

　　a month or so after that, when i next went to the beach, she wasn't there. feeling guilty, ashamed and admitting to myself i missed her, i went up to the cottage after my walk and knocked at the door. a drawn looking young woman with honey-colored hair opened the door.

　　"hello," i said. "i'm ruth peterson. i missed your little girl today and wondered where she was."

　　"oh yes, mrs. peterson, please come in" "wendy talked of you so much.

　　i'm afraid i allowed her to bother you. if she was a nuisance, please, accept my apologies."

　　"not at all-she's a delightful child," i said, suddenly realizing that i meant it. "where is she?"

　　"wendy died last week, mrs. peterson. she had leukemia. maybe she didn't tell you." struck dumb, i groped for a chair. my breath caught.

　　"she loved this beach; so when she asked to come, we couldn't say no.

　　she seemed so much better here and had a lot of what she called happy days. but the last few weeks, she declined rapidly..." her voice faltered.

　　"she left something for you...if only i can find it. could you wait a moment while i look?"

　　i nodded stupidly, my mind racing for something, anything, to say to this lovely young woman. she handed me a smeared envelope, with mrs. p printed in bold, childish letters. inside was a drawing in bright crayon hues-a yellow beach, a blue sea, and a brown bird. underneath was carefully printed: a sandpiper to bring you joy

　　tears welled up in my eyes, and a heart that had almost forgotten to love opened wide. i took wendy's mother in my arms. "i'm so sorry, i'm sorry, i'm so sorry," i muttered over and over, and we wept together.

　　the precious little picture is framed now and hangs in my study. six words- one for each year of her life- that speak to me of harmony, courage, undemanding love. a gift from a child with sea-blue eyes and hair the color sand--- who taught me the gift of love.