Gospel Story Finder

A young missionary in Italy recounted that one morning a poor, crippled boy in ragged clothes and badly worn shoes came to a busy street corner and went from person to person, begging for a few lira [coins] without success. A man observing the boy from a distance finally went over and picked up this little lad, held him tightly and loved him, and then cared for him.
The missionary’s heart was touched, and he was helped to understand the power of love.

At length the final September arrived. The boy had become a man, almost twenty-two now. With both fear and joy Joseph climbed the familiar hill where the plates were buried—fear that he might fail the Lord, joy in the miracle that had come to him.
Joseph was not aware of the gold cover of leaves on the ground as he descended the hill. He thought only of the golden plates he carried in his arms and the heavenly messenger’s final warning as he delivered them up to him. It rang in his ears. He, Joseph, was now responsible for the plates and must guard them with his life if need be, for the angel Moroni had told him that wicked men would use every evil scheme possible to steal them.
The last part of Moroni’s instruction comforted Joseph—that if he were faithful to his trust the plates would be safe. But fearful that someone might have seen him, Joseph searched the woods for a temporary hiding place. He found it in a fallen birch log. Joseph cut out part of its decayed interior and hid the plates inside, covering the opening with bark and leaves.
Supposing that the plates were safe for the time being, the next day Joseph went to work in a neighboring town. But that very day Father Smith overheard some men plotting to steal the plates. Alarmed, he hurried home to tell Lucy and Emma.
Concealing her own fear, Emma was reassuring: “If Joseph is to keep the record, he will and no one can stop him.”
“Yes,” Father Smith answered solemnly, “he will, if he is watchful and obedient; but remember that for a small thing, Esau lost his birthright and his blessing. It may be so with Joseph.”
Emma went for her shawl and bonnet, her dark eyes flashing. “There’s no time to be lost. I’ll ride immediately and warn Joseph!”
By afternoon Joseph had retraced his way through the woods to the fallen log. Shadowy light filtered through the branches overhead and a lone birdcall accentuated the stillness as he took the plates from their hiding place. Carefully he wrapped them in his linen frock.
For a time he traveled the open road, but then thinking there might be danger, he returned to the woods. His pounding heart seemed to thunder from tree to tree.
And, indeed, as he hurried through the woods with his precious burden, his fears were realized. Three times Joseph was attacked on his way home. But each time, clutching the record tightly to him, he gathered all his strength and with powerful muscles threw off his enemies. He wasn’t even aware he had broken his thumb in the struggles until he sank down, panting and utterly exhausted, in his own front yard. But the plates were safe.
Joseph had been called to translate the plates, to establish the gospel of Jesus Christ once again on the earth. He was to be a prophet. And Joseph knew, with a mighty surge of exultation, that no obstacle, no temptation, no persecution could keep him from his appointed destiny.

As a child I struggled and felt shame for years before deciding to tell someone that I had been abused. When I was 13, I felt an impression that it was time to talk about it. After a service activity at Mutual, I went to a trusted leader, who spoke with me tenderly and took me to see the bishop the same evening. I was relieved by the bishop’s warm countenance as he invited me into his office. I remember feeling the weight of years of secrets lift as my bishop listened. I recall his pure tears as he heard my story. I felt the love of Heavenly Father, and I felt reassured that the abuse was not my fault and that I was still pure and virtuous. This was the beginning of my path to healing, a path that would continue for many years.

A week later, the two of us were lying on the grass of the football field staring into the deep blue expanse above. We were the only people left after track practice.
“Can I ask you a question?” she said.
“Go for it,” I encouraged, not expecting to hear what came next.
“Does your church make you happy?”
I stared at her in surprise, my heart immediately leaping into my throat.
“Yes,” I croaked nervously. In our two-and-a-half-year friendship, she had never asked me anything about the Church. It was always me offering pieces of information hopefully, never getting much of a response.
“Why?” Annemarie ventured timidly. Before I could even take a breath, she rushed on. “Is it because you have friends in your church? Ever since I’ve decided not to party with my friends, it’s been harder than I thought it would be. Thank goodness I have you.”
I sensed her loneliness. I had watched her. She wasn’t teased or even shunned, but something was definitely different between her and her old friends. A sense of camaraderie had vanished.
“It must be nice to have lots of friends who don’t resent you for your morals,” she concluded wistfully.
“Annemarie,” I began carefully, “I have made wonderful friends through church. They’d all love to get to know you better too. You’re not as alone as you think. However, the Church does not make me happy because of my friends.” Gulping, I tried to keep my voice from wavering. “The Church brings joy because it’s true.” Suddenly I was overcome with warm confidence and satisfaction at bearing such blunt testimony.
Unfortunately, her reaction was not one of tears or even strong interest. Annemarie merely smirked. “That’s what my church says too. But it has not changed my life much.” She pulled herself off the grass and onto her feet, stretching toward the sky. “We’ve been here for almost an hour!” she exclaimed. “Race you to the locker room.”

The world is grappling with an invisible enemy which has led so many countries to lock down and regular life seems to have ground to a halt. Ghana is no exception, as I found myself in one of the lockdown areas with school activities suspended.
Amidst all this turmoil, it is very astonishing to see how leaders and members of the Church are doing all they can to keep to their covenants and to continually trust in the Lord. Friday evenings happen to be when we meet as young single adults for the eternal marriage class. Due to the threat posed by COVID-19, and the directive to stay at home, our gathering as a class seemed impossible in this difficult time. With the continual inspirations from the Lord, the instructors resorted to the use of online platforms like Zoom and WhatsApp for us to continually study and interact with each other.
In one of our classes, we discussed the topic of money and marriage. A lot of insights and experiences were shared on the platform to help us continue to know what the Lord wanted us to do. I felt this great peace of mind and I realized in a very subtle feeling that indeed God loves us and will continue to direct us towards the right paths no matter what the challenges may be. The discussion that evening was the only thing that ran through my mind that day until I went to sleep.
I realized from this experience that regardless of the circumstances we find ourselves in, we can continually do what we know to be right, share our testimonies to the people we can reach out to, and be a light that signals hope in the lives of people.
The world may be in despair, lives may be at a standstill, our faith may be challenged and pushed to the core, but one thing I know and believe in is that the redeeming and merciful alms of the Lord are not far from us and He will succor us in this time as He did for those in times past.

Most of the time Ben liked to share. He liked to share Daddy’s toast and Mom’s cookie. He liked to share Mike’s football and Anne’s book. He liked to share Max’s wagon.
But Ben did not like to share his cool cars, not even with Max. “Mine!” Ben said.
Ben filled his hands and pockets with cool cars. He hid them in the corner and under the couch pillows. If Max wanted to play with him, Ben felt angry. “My cool cars!”
One day Mom pulled Ben onto her lap. She gave him a hug and a kiss. “Does Daddy share his toast with you?” Mom asked.
“Yes,” Ben said.
“Does Mommy share her cookie with you?”
“Yes.”
“Does Anne share her book and does Mike share his football with you?”
“Yes.”
“When you play with Max, does he share his wagon?”
“Yes.”
“When we share with you, we feel happy. You feel happy too,” Mom said. “If you share your cool cars with Max, you will feel happy, and Max will feel happy. You can play together, and you won’t feel angry anymore.”
Ben stayed on Mom’s lap for a minute. Then he got down and took two of his cars out of his pocket. He gave one to Max. Ben smiled, and Max smiled. Ben didn’t feel angry anymore. Sharing made him feel happy.

In the run up to New Zealand I had a lot of dreams about going there. I can remember this one dream in particular. I was standing on this stage with loads of people watching so when I actually got to New Zealand I had a lot of déjà vu moments. I felt like I’d been there before. It was a kind of realisation that I was on the right path, like I was meant to be there and to experience what I had experienced. I’m really grateful that Heavenly Father was helping and guiding me in the direction I had to go and preparing me, so when I got there I didn’t feel overwhelmed, I didn’t feel stressed, I didn’t feel worried. I felt quite at home, which I had not expected.

When our two oldest daughters, Mackenzie and Emma, were little, one of their favorite stories was The Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe. We all fell in love with the lion, Aslan. One of our most memorable nights reading the book was when the great lion gave his life for Edmund. Memorable because parents and daughters shed tears as the lion’s life was taken on the Stone Table by the Witch. Memorable because hope persisted, despite the tragedy, until the spectacular happened. Squeals of joy resounded in that little bedroom when Aslan was resurrected and said, “If [the Witch knew the true meaning of sacrifice], … she would [know] that [if] a willing victim who had committed no treachery [died] in a traitor’s stead, the [Stone] Table would crack and Death itself would [begin to unwind].”

It is Friday, at the end of the semester. All of the work for family relations and my other classes is done. Mom and Carianne were a brilliant team. Their presentation was terrific.
Pete LaFete and I were less than genius. “I’ve found in my experience,” Peter lectured during our presentation, “that a proper way of saying good night on a fourth or fifth date is to kiss a girl lightly on her forehead. Girls remember it.”
I bet they do, Pete.
Anyway, I’m just getting home and pushing my way through the back door. Something smells great in the kitchen. Mom is at the stove.
“Hello, dear.”
“Hi, Mom. Where’s Jan?”
“In the dining room with your dad. She registered at the community college today. Maybe she’s finally turning the corner. By the way, I invited some company over for dinner tonight. Hope you don’t mind.”
“No big deal, Mom,” I answered, since we often throw an extra plate on the table for guests. I peek into the dining room, and there, with her back toward me, chatting away with my dad and sister, is Carianne Meacham.
My mom smiles serenely.
“I got an A in family relations, remember? And I saw her name in your notebook the other night when we were studying. Now try to say something besides, ‘How ya’ doin’?’ Carianne is an intelligent girl, and I don’t think that will impress her at all.”
And that’s the way I got to know Carianne Meacham.

Janaina is a convert. She first went to church with a friend and then with her Aunt Isabel, a member. Elder Nacimento and Elder Hill taught her family, and even when everyone else stopped taking the discussions, she continued and was baptized. Her parents later joined the Church too.
She remembers, “When I listened to the discussions and started going to church, I felt something good happening in my soul. Before, I was rebellious and argued with my parents, but now I started obeying my parents and trying to honor them. When I learned that Jesus was my Savior and that there were prophets on the earth to guide me, I felt great joy. The missionaries taught me to pray, and when I prayed, something that was bad inside me left, and a good spirit took its place and is with me still. I’m a different person than I was, and there’s a lot more love and happiness in our home.”

One example of the challenges related to this financial crisis was experienced by Elder Parley P. Pratt, one of the great leaders of the Restoration. He was an original member of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles. In the early part of 1837, his dear wife, Thankful, died after delivering their first child. Parley and Thankful had been married almost 10 years, and her death devastated him.

A few months later, Elder Pratt found himself in one of the most difficult times the Church has experienced. In the midst of the national crisis, local economic issues—including land speculation and the struggles of a financial institution founded by Joseph Smith and other Church members—created discord and contention in Kirtland. Church leaders did not always make wise temporal decisions in their own lives. Parley suffered significant financial losses and for a time became disaffected with the Prophet Joseph.10 He wrote a stinging criticism to Joseph and spoke in opposition of him from the pulpit. At the same time, Parley said he continued to believe in the Book of Mormon and the Doctrine and Covenants.11

Elder Pratt had lost his wife, his land, and his home. Parley, without telling Joseph, left for Missouri. On the road there, he unexpectedly met fellow Apostles Thomas B. Marsh and David Patten returning to Kirtland. They felt a great need to have harmony restored to the Quorum and persuaded Parley to return with them. He realized that no one had lost more than Joseph Smith and his family.

Parley sought out the Prophet, wept, and confessed that what he had done was wrong. In the months after his wife, Thankful’s, death, Parley had been “under a dark cloud” and had been overcome by fears and frustrations.12 Joseph, knowing what it was like to struggle against opposition and temptation, “frankly forgave” Parley, praying for him and blessing him.13 Parley and others who remained faithful benefited from the Kirtland challenges. They increased in wisdom and became more noble and virtuous. The experience became part of their foundations of faith.

Four-year old Olivia Karadjov and her mother, Claire, saw an opportunity for missionary work, as they prepared for their Primary presentation in the Worcester Ward, Cheltenham Stake.
Claire writes, “Olivia’s best friend at school is Ivy Rose. We had met up out of school a few times for the girls to play. I asked Ivy’s mother if she would like to come to Church and Olivia asked if she would bring Ivy to watch the Primary presentation. Ivy’s mum knew we were members; we had spoken about it from the start of our friendship, but I hadn’t had a reason to invite her to come and see before the week of the presentation. Ivy Rose’s grandmother also came to watch.”
Olivia described her part in the presentation: “For the presentation I brought a photo of my great grandma holding me when I was a baby and stuck it to a picture of the temple to show that I am sealed to her because of the temple. I showed my polar-bear toy which my great grandma gave me; it’s still one of my favourite toys. Then I sang ‘I love to See the Temple’.
“My favourite song in the Primary presentation was ‘I Am like a Star’.”
Ivy Rose and her family told Olivia and Claire that they loved the presentation. Claire expands on this, “They were amazed at how confident the children were at speaking in front of a large congregation and also at how reverent they were.”
They found it a very positive experience with everyone being friendly to them. Claire and Ivy were able to introduce them to a few friends at church, including the sister missionaries.
It can sometimes be daunting to invite our friends to Church activities. But Olivia’s courage, at just four years old, shines as an example of how to reach out with Christlike love.

At times the performance of duty, the response to a divine call, or the reaction to a spiritual prompting are not overwhelming. On occasion, however, the duty to respond is downright overpowering. I experienced such a situation prior to the general conference of April 1966. That’s 35 years ago, but I remember it vividly.
I had received my assignment to speak at one of the conference sessions and had prepared and committed to memory a message entitled “Meeting Your Goliath.” This was based on the account of the famous battle waged by David and Goliath of olden times.
Then I received a telephone call from President David O. McKay. The conversation went about like this: “Brother Monson, this is President McKay calling. How are you?”
I took a deep breath and answered, “Oh, I’m fine, President, and looking forward to conference.”
“That’s why I’m calling, Brother Monson. The Saturday morning session will be rebroadcast on Sunday as our Easter message to the world. I will be speaking to an Easter theme and would like you to join me and speak during that important session to that type of theme.”
“Of course, President. I will be happy to do so.”
That’s when the extent of this brief conversation really dawned on me. All of a sudden “Meeting Your Goliath” didn’t quite measure up to an Easter message. I knew I must begin to prepare all over again. There was so little time. Indeed, my “Goliath” stood before me.
That night I cleared the kitchen table and placed my typewriter on the tabletop along with a ream of bond paper, with a trusty wastepaper basket by my side to hold all the false starts that accompany such an assignment of preparation. I began at about 7:00 P.M. and had not written a satisfactory line by 1:00 A.M. The wastebasket was filled, but my mind certainly was not. What was I to do? The clock was running—indeed, it was racing. I paused to pray.
Soon thereafter there came to my mind the sadness of my neighbors Mark and Wilma Shumway in the recent loss of their youngest child. I thought to myself, Perhaps I could speak directly to them and peripherally to all others, for who hasn’t lost a dear one and had occasion to grieve? My fingers raced over the typewriter keyboard but could barely keep up with my thoughts.
As the first dim light of morning peered through our kitchen window, I had finished the message. The task remained to learn it and then deliver it to the world. Rarely have I struggled so hard to fill a prophetic assignment. However, Heavenly Father had heard my prayer. I shall never forget the experience.

Illustration by Kathleen Petersen
My mother and I had just finished our nightly prayer. We hugged each other and said, “I love you.” Then I walked to my bedroom. As I reached for my door handle, a strong impression came into my mind that the next day my mom would die.
My brain and heart tried to fight the thought. There was no way that something was going to happen to my mom. Everything would be fine with her.
Once in my room, I knelt in prayer and told Heavenly Father that the impression about my mom could not be true. I asked Him to please take the thought away, but it didn’t leave. I returned to my parents’ room and told my mom I wanted one more hug and kiss before I went to bed. We again said, “I love you,” and I returned to my room. It took me a while to fall asleep that night.
When I woke up the next morning, I was nervous. Thankfully, there was my mom, happy and well. But in the back of my mind, I still had that nagging feeling that something wasn’t right. At fast and testimony meeting that day, Mom stood up and bore a beautiful testimony.
After sacrament meeting she went to teach her Primary class, and I went to Sunday School. I had another distinct impression, this time to get up and leave Sunday School. I didn’t want to draw attention to myself, but something pulled me out of my seat and out of the door. Within a few minutes, I found myself sitting in my mom’s Primary class listening to her teach. I didn’t know why I was there, but I knew that was where I needed to be.
Later that afternoon at my brother’s house, my mom stared straight into my eyes for the last time as she collapsed and passed away from a pulmonary embolism. For His reasons and in His mercy, Heavenly Father had sent the Holy Ghost to prepare me. Those promptings gave me extra time with my mom that I wouldn’t have enjoyed had I ignored the still, small voice.
The love of my Heavenly Father had never been so evident to me until the events that took place around my mom’s passing. How blessed we are to have a Father in Heaven who loves us enough to give us the special gift of the Holy Ghost.

I was having a hard time breathing through my nose, and I always had a cold. Mommy took me to a doctor. He said that I needed to have my adenoids and tonsils taken out. I was excited because I would get to eat lots of Popsicles. I was scared, too. I asked Daddy to give me a blessing. On the morning of my operation, I sat on Daddy’s bed, and he gave me a priesthood blessing. He blessed me to be calm and blessed the doctor so that everything would go well in my operation.
After the operation, the doctor told Mommy that everything went very well. When I woke up, I didn’t cry, even though my tummy and throat hurt. Some other children came into the same room after their operations and screamed pretty loud.
I asked Daddy for another blessing later in the week because my throat hurt and I couldn’t stop crying. The blessing helped me calm down. Now my throat doesn’t hurt at all, and I can breathe through my nose. I’m thankful Daddy has the priesthood. I know that Heavenly Father loves me and helped me get better.
Christian Moody, age 3Bristow, Virginia

One day during an institute class, the teacher presented a video portraying a person much like myself—one who was not sure of his testimony. He sought counsel from his bishop, and the bishop explained that our Father in Heaven looks for moments to answer our prayers, but we must be attentive and receptive to the Holy Ghost. The bishop in the video also said that learning to recognize the voice of the Holy Spirit requires time and a humble heart.

These words touched me deeply. I recognized that I had never listened to the voice of the Spirit regarding the Church because I had been unwilling to do so. From the time I began praying for a testimony of the Church, the answers had come to me quietly, little by little, but I had refused to hear.

During that institute lesson I felt a change in my heart that I could not understand, and the heavy burden of doubt I had carried for nine years left me. I now accepted what I had previously doubted.

But even then I was tempted to fight against the Spirit. I told myself that what I was feeling was just a passing impression, an emotional response to the film. This war continued inside me as I left the classroom, so I found a place to be alone. And there the presence of the Holy Spirit came to me more clearly and finally liberated me from my doubts. I was filled with incomparable joy. A weight was lifted from my shoulders.

Now I can say with full conviction that The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is the only true Church, restored in these last days by Jesus Christ through the Prophet Joseph Smith. This testimony is precious to me. With it, I feel spiritually prepared to receive the greater light and knowledge the Lord and His Church have to offer.

One day during school, my friend and I were talking about religion. I began to talk about the things I believe as a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. It was a long conversation, and I had the privilege to explain about the power of God here on the earth, the organization of the Church, and most important, the Restoration of the gospel. I would have liked for him to meet with the missionaries and be baptized, but realistically that doesn’t always happen. I’m just grateful I had the opportunity to share truth. I felt strengthened by the Spirit and saw the importance of studying so that I can always be prepared to teach the gospel.
Luis H., São Paulo, Brazil

Taylor’s 18-year-old sister, Kirsten, says that living the gospel makes people curious about you.

“At the beginning of the year I decided to read my Book of Mormon during study hall,” she explains. “Pretty soon people were asking questions and borrowing the book to look at it. Some days the whole study hall would be talking about Mormons and what we believe. I gave a couple of people their own copy, and I think it helped them understand where I got my testimony.”

Now speaking of the Prophet Joseph Smith, I want to give you a little testimony. A few years ago when Brother John A. Widtsoe was alive, he gave a series of lectures on the Doctrine and Covenants in the Barrett Hall, and Sister Richards and I attended those lectures. He had Sister Inez Witbeck there—she could read beautifully—and he would say, “Sister Witbeck, read section so-and-so,” and then request certain verses from another section. Then he would stand up and say: “Now you college students, you college professors, could you write anything like that?” Then he would add: “I wish I could.” And he had been president of two universities and written textbooks that had been used all over the land. This church has produced many great leaders in finance, industry, and education, but none of them have attempted to contribute what the Prophet Joseph gave although he had scarcely seen the inside of a schoolroom.

Larry scuffed at the dirt with his worn sneaker. His hands were pushed deep into his jeans pockets as he considered the deepening hole that he had unconsciously dug.
“Well, c’mon then, let’s go,” Steve said impatiently. “We won’t get caught,” he added. “I’ve done it lots of times.”
“How far is it?” Larry asked.
“It’s not far. C’mon, let’s go.”
Larry kept his head down as he dug out the sloped sides of the hole with his toe. Now the walls were almost straight. Perfect, he thought, for a game of pots. Since he’d left the prairies, he hadn’t played marbles. They just aren’t big on marbles out here, he had decided.
“Ahh, forget it. You’re just afraid of getting caught,” Steve said, turning to walk away.
“No, I’m not,” Larry mumbled, but he knew that he was. He had just moved to the West Coast with his family, and he knew that his parents would be unhappy with him if he got into trouble with the first friend that he made. On the other hand, Steve had seemed like a decent guy to have as a friend, and now Steve was going to show him where a real cherry tree was!
“OK, OK, I’m coming,” Larry called, “but I have to be home for supper.”
“No problem,” Steve called back, gesturing for Larry to catch up.
“I hope there aren’t any dogs,” Larry added as he trotted up beside Steve.
“Don’t worry. There’s just an old lady who lives by herself.”
“Those cherries better be as good as you say they are.”
“They’re the best cherries around. Hey, haven’t you ever gone raiding before?” Steve asked.
“I swiped some tomatoes once,” Larry answered, embarrassed. “But I knew I shouldn’t have done it.”
“Tomatoes!”
“They don’t have cherry trees on the prairies, where I came from.”
“There’s the yard,” Steve whispered.
A two-story house, surrounded by a tall wooden fence, was at the intersection of two quiet streets. In the middle of the backyard, reaching as high as the house itself, was the cherry tree. Larry could make out the tempting clusters of ripe cherries. He told himself that they couldn’t possibly taste as good as the ones in the store—the ones that his mother usually said were too expensive to buy.
“This way,” Steve said as he quickly cut into the lane that ran behind the house.
Peering through a crack in the fence, Larry could see beautifully manicured bushes and rows of brightly colored flowers that lined the fence and the carpetlike lawn. It’s just like a picture, Larry thought. Then he spied a woman meticulously weeding a bed of flowers at the back of the house.
“Rats!” Steve growled. “We’ll have to call it off for today.”
“Why?” Larry asked.
Steve drew his cheeks in and puckered his lips as if he had just bitten into a lemon. “Why! Man, are you crazy? The old lady is right there. How are we supposed to get to the tree without her seeing us?”
“I have an idea,” Larry said. “Follow me.”
“What are you going to do?”
Larry was pretty sure that Steve wouldn’t think much of his idea, so he didn’t answer. Instead, he strode along next to the fence until he came to a gate that was next to the back of the house. He felt a little strange, knocking on a gate, but he did it anyway.
“What are you doing?” Steve hissed again, just as a small, pleasant voice called out from inside the yard, “Yes?”
“Uh, my name’s Larry. I was wondering if my friend and I could pick your cherries for you.”
“I don’t believe it,” Steve muttered. “I’m getting out of here.” He turned to go, but Larry grabbed him by the arm.
The gate opened with a click, and a tiny, smiling face with glasses peeked out. “Hello,” the old lady said. “I couldn’t quite hear you before. What did you say?”
Steve folded his arms and looked up at the sky.
“I noticed that you hadn’t picked your cherries yet, and well, I was just wondering if we could pick them for you … and maybe keep some for ourselves too,” Larry stammered. He scuffed his toe in the dirt next to the cement walk, unconsciously digging another marble pot.
The orange ball of a sun began to dip into the west horizon, and a light, cool wind rustled through the leaves of the sturdy cherry tree. Larry grabbed a clump of four dark red cherries dangling in front of him. He put three into the plastic pail and popped one into his mouth. He couldn’t believe how sweet the cherry was, better than any he had had from any store.
“I don’t believe it,” Steve said, spitting out a cherry pit. “We get to keep half of what we pick. How did you know she’d go for it?”
“I guess when you want something bad enough, you’ll even ask for it,” Larry told him.
“My folks will sure be happy to have some of these,” Steve said, holding up a pail loaded with ripe cherries ready to be divided.
“Mine, too,” Larry agreed, looking at his own pail.
“I was just thinking,” Steve said as he climbed down from the tree. “I know where there’s a great plum tree just a few blocks from here.”