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　　I was cleaning out an old bos when an old card caught my eye: Queen City Casket Company．“What is it?”I wondered．I turned it over．There, in faded ink, was a hand-written address．Immediately my mind traveled many years back．

　　I was nine years old, walking down the cold and v．ot streets of Springfield, with a bag of magazines on my shoulder．That day, I came to the company finally, whose owner, Mr Rader, had always taken me there to ask his workers if they wanted any magazines．

　　Shaking off the rain like a wet dog, I went into Mr Rader's office．After a quick look he took me over to the fireplace．Noticing the hole in the top of my shoe, he said,“Come with me!”pulling me into his car．We stopped in front of a shoe store．Inside, a salesman fitted me with the finest pair of shoes I had ever seen．I felt about 10 feet tall when I got up in them．“We'd like a pair of new socks, too．”Mr Rader said．

　　Back in his office, Mr Rader took out a card, wrote something on it and handed it to me．With tearful eyes, I read,“Do to others as you would have them do to you．”He said kindly,“Jimmy, I want you to know I love you．”

　　I said good-bye, and for the first time I sensed a piece of hope that tilings would be better．With people like Mr Rader in the world, there was hope, kindness and love, and that would always make a difference．

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