Finally spring burst into glorious green and Reuben' s spirits erupted. The time had come!He ran into the barn, climbed to the hayloft and uncovered the tin can. He poured the coins out and began to count.
Then he counted again. He needed 20 cents more. Could there be any sacks left any where in town? He had to find four and sell them before the day ended.
Reuben ran down Water Street.
The shadows were lengthening when Reuben arrived at the factory. The sack buyer was about to lock up.
"Mister!Please don' t close up yet." The man turned and saw Reuben, dirty and sweat stained.
"Come back tomorrow, boy."
"Please, Mister. I have to sell the sacks now—please." The man heard a tremor in Reuben' s voice and could tell he was close to tears.
"Why do you need this money so badly?"
"It' s a secret."
The man took the sacks, reached into his pocket and put four coins in Reuben' s hand. Reuben murmured a thank you and ran home.
Then, clutching the tin can, he headed for the shop.
"I have the money!" he solemnly told the owner.
The man went to the window and retrieved Reuben' s treasure.
He wiped the dust off and gently wrapped it in brown paper. Then he placed the parcel in Reuben' s hands.
Racing home, Reuben burst through the front door. His mother was scrubbing the kitchen stove. "Here, Mum! Here!" Reuben exclaimed as he ran to her side. He placed a small box in her work-roughened hand.
She unwrapped it carefully, to save the paper. A blue-velvet jewel box appeared. Dora lifted the lid, tears beginning to blur her vision.
In gold lettering on a small, almond-shaped brooch was the word Mother.
It was Mother' s Day, 1946. Dora had never received such a gift; she had no finery except her wedding ring. Speechless, she smiled radiantly and gathered her son into her arms.
1945年，12岁的鲁本·厄尔在一家商店橱窗里看到一件令他怦然心动的东西，但是——5美元——鲁本的口袋里可没这么多钱。他们家一周的食物也不到5美元。
鲁本又无法张口向父亲要钱。父亲马克·厄尔在加拿大纽芬兰的罗伯茨湾捕鱼，一家人就靠着他的这点微薄收入生活。他的母亲多，为了保证五个孩子的温饱，勤俭节约，恨不得将一个钱掰成两半花。
尽管如此，鲁本还是推开商店那扇破旧不堪的门，走了进去。他笔直地站在那里，身穿面粉袋改做的衬衫和洗得褪了色的裤子，却丝毫没有困窘之意。他告诉了店主他想要的东西，又补充说道：“但是我现在还没钱买它，您帮我预留一段时间好吗？”
“我会尽力的，”店主笑道，“这儿的人一般都没有太多的钱来买这种东西，一时半会儿还卖不出去。”
鲁本礼节性地摸了一下他的旧帽檐儿，然后径自走出店门。阳光下的罗伯茨湾海水在清新的微风吹拂下，泛着阵阵涟漪。鲁本大步流星地走着，他下定决心：一定要自己凑齐那5美元，不让任何人知道。
远处铁锤的重击声传到了鲁本的耳畔，他有了主意。
他声跑到了一处建筑工地。罗伯茨湾的人喜欢用从本地一家工厂买来的钉子自己建造房屋，这些钉子都用麻袋来装。有时人们实在太忙，就会把麻袋随手丢弃，而鲁本知道，他可以以5分钱一条的价格把麻袋再卖回工厂。
那天，他去了凌乱的木材厂，把找来的两条麻袋卖给了那里装钉子的人。
男孩手里紧紧攥着卖麻袋得来的两个5分硬币，一路小跑奔回了家。那可是两公里的路程啊！
他家附近有座旧谷仓，是用来圈养山羊和鸡的。鲁本在那里找到一个锈迹斑斑的苏打铁罐，把两枚硬币扔了进去。然后，他爬上谷仓的阁楼，把铁罐藏在一堆散发着甜香味的干草下面。
鲁本回到家时已是晚饭时分。此时，父亲正坐在大餐桌旁摆弄着渔网，母亲在灶台边忙着准备晚饭。鲁本在桌旁坐了下来。
他望着母亲，笑了。夕阳的余晖透过窗子照进来，把母亲棕褐色的披肩发染成了金黄色。苗条、美丽的母亲是这个家的中心，她像胶水一样，把这个家紧紧地黏结在一起。
母亲有永远也干不完的家务活。她要用老式的“胜家”缝纫机为一家人缝缝补补，要做饭，烤面包，打理菜园，挤羊奶，还要用搓衣板洗衣服。可母亲是快乐的，在她看来，全家人的安康才是最重要的。
每天放学后做完家务，鲁本就在镇上搜寻装钉子的麻袋。只有两间教室的学校放暑假的那天，鲁本比任何人都高兴。现在，他有更多时间去完成他的使命了。
整个夏季，鲁本除了做家务——给菜园锄草、浇水以及砍柴、打水外，一直进行着他的秘密活动。
转眼间，菜园收获的季节到了。蔬菜被腌制装罐后储藏起来，此时，学校也开学了。不久，秋叶飘落，阵阵寒风从海湾吹来。鲁本在街头闲逛，努力寻找着他的宝贝麻袋。
他常常会饿着肚子，又冷又累，但是一想到商店橱窗里的那样东西，他又劲头十足起来。妈妈偶尔会问：“鲁本，你去哪儿啦？我们都等你吃饭呢！”
“我出去玩啦，妈妈。对不起。”
每到这时，多总会看着他，无可奈何地摇摇头，心想：终究是男孩啊。
春天到了，万物复苏，鲁本的精神也随之振奋。时候到了？他跑进谷仓里，爬上草垛取出铁罐，倒出硬币数起来。
他数了一遍又一遍，还差20美分。镇上哪儿还会有废弃的麻袋呢？他必须在天黑之前再找四条卖掉。
鲁本向沃特街跑去。
当鲁本赶到工厂时，太阳快落山了。收购麻袋的人正要锁门。
“先生！请先别锁门。”
那人转过身打量了一下鲁本，他脏兮兮的，满头大汗。
“明天再来吧，孩子。”
“求求您了，先生，我必须现在就把这几条麻袋卖掉——求您啦。”那人听出鲁本的声音在颤抖，他快哭了。
“你为何这么急着要这点儿钱呢？”
“这是个秘密。”
那人接过麻袋，从衣袋里掏出四枚硬币放到鲁本手中。鲁本轻声说了句“谢谢”，就转身跑回家去。
然后，他取出铁罐紧紧地抱着它，直奔那家商店。
“我有钱啦！”他郑重地对店主说。
店主向橱窗走去，拿出了鲁本想要的那样“宝贝”。
他掸去上面的灰尘，小心地用牛皮纸把它包好，放到鲁本手中。
鲁本跑回家，冲进房门。妈妈正在厨房擦灶台。“看呀，妈妈！看这个！”鲁本边跑边叫着冲到妈妈跟前。他把一个小盒子放到妈妈那双因劳动而变得粗糙的手上。
妈妈生怕把包装纸弄坏了，小心翼翼地将它拆开。一个蓝色天鹅绒首饰盒展现在她面前。多打开盒盖，瞬间，泪水模糊了她的双眼。
一枚小巧的心形胸针上刻着两个金字：母亲。
那天刚好是1946年的母亲节。
多从没收到过这样的礼物；除了结婚戒指外，她没有别的饰物。她激动得说不出话来，一把搂住儿子，露出了欣慰的笑容。
对待感激的新态度
A New Attitude to Gratitude
费斯·安德鲁·贝得福特 / Faith Andrews Bedford
One of the nice things about having grown children is that I no longer have to bug them about writing thank-you notes. When they were little, all three would dictate thank-yous that I would include with drawings they' d made of their presents. By the time Eleanor, Sarah and Drew were old enough to write own thank-you notes, however, they would do so only with much prodding.
"Have you written to thank Grandy for the book yet?" I' d ask. "What did you say to Aunt Dorothy about that sweater?" Invariably, I' d be met with mumbles and shrugs.
One year, in the days following Christmas, I' d grown weary of nagging. The children had become mother-deaf. Frustrated, I declared that no one would be allowed to play with a new toy or wear a new outfit until the appropriate thank-you notes had been mailed. Still they procrastinated and grumbled.
Something snapped. "Everyone into the car." I said.
"Where are we going ?" Sarah asked, bewildered.
"To buy a Christmas present."
"But it' s after Christmas." she protested, putting on her coat.
"No arguing," I said in a tone that meant exactly that.
The kids piled into the car. "You' re going to see just how much time those who care about you spend when they give you a present." I told them.
Handing Drew a pad of paper and a pencil, I said, "Please mark down the time we left home."
When we reached the village, Drew noted our arrival time. The children helped me select presents for my sisters at a local shop. Then we turned around and drove home.
Bursting free from the confines of the car, the children headed for their sleds. "Not so fast, " I said. "We' ve got to wrap the presents." The kids slouched inside.
"Drew, " I asked, "did you note the time we got home?" He nodded. "Okay, please time the girls while they wrap the presents."
