Marianne's fourth grade teacher walked with a limp. Some unfortunate accident took all of her toes on her left foot making walking difficult. Some students made fun of her behind her back and stared at her foot unmercifully. But she was a wonderful teacher and a kind person. Her only son was killed when barely out of his teens in the war and she mourned him every day. His few toys remained as they were in his room, untouched these many months. She knew that they just reminded her of her loss, but the thought of giving them up hurt even more.

All winter Marianne made the long trip from her school to her home, escorting her younger brother in Kindergarten. Her mother had to work and there was no other way for her brother Manfred and a neighbor's little girl to get home safely. To make it easier and fun for the children Marianne pulled them along in the deep snow in her old sled. The metal runners were wobbly in their sockets and the slats showed only traces of the blue paint they once wore. Missing pieces of the seat were carefully taped up by her uncle so the children wouldn't get scratched.

One day, after a heavy snow fall, Marianne arrived at the Kindergarten to collect her charges. They were all ready in their handmedown winter togs, their faces barely visible behind heavy wool scarves. But outside the door Marianne saw an empty trampled spot where her trusty sled was tied. Some nasty person had stolen her transportation. Now the children would have to walk twenty blocks in the deep snow. A black thought now came to Marianne as she visualized what her mother would say

to her losing the sled. A tongue lashing was not the worst that would happen to her. She began to sob, harder and harder, as she stumbled back into the school. Her teacher limped over to her, asking what was wrong. Haltingly, Marianne sobbed out the whole story, leaving out only the punishment she would get. The teacher hugged her fiercely and reassured the children that it would be all right, not to worry. Suddenly she threw on her coat and told the children to follow her. Out the back door and down the lane they trudged, following the quickly stepping teacher.

A little ways away they were ushered into a hallway where the teacher lived and were asked to wait there. Some bumping noises were followed by the teacher struggling down the steps with a large red sleigh in her arms. It had belonged to her dead son, keeping its place in his room all these months. Long enough for three children, the red painted seat still shone with carefully tended varnish. It boasted steering runners rising in graceful curves and raised sides for the little ones. A long manila rope was tied to the front, ready for pulling. Ready also was the bereaved teacher to give up part of her sad memories. Biting back tears, she gave the sleigh to Marianne. It was for a good cause and it was the right time.

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