A touching story from long ago tells of a young boy who lived in the distant reaches of the vast Canadian prairies. His family was impoverished, and parents and children alike had to labor day and night to prove their homestead claim. There was little time for anything beyond work, little money for anything beyond the barest essentials. They lived a harsh, rugged, hand-to-mouth existence.
A day came when that boy’s father dispatched him to town to fetch supplies, so he dutifully saddled up a pony and made the long journey toward the newly-founded settlement and the railway depot that stood at its center. It was there, alongside the fresh tracks that stretched from horizon to horizon, that he had a chance encounter with a businessman who was traveling from east to west and who came bearing a few exotic gifts—oranges he had brought from far in the southern climes.
When the businessman saw that poor dusty boy in his ragged clothes, he felt pity, and in an act of generosity offered him a piece of his fruit. The boy tasted that orange and his eyes immediately brightened, his face immediately lit up, for he was certain
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