During my stay at an orphanage at the age of 9, a gentleman came and taught us how to do woodworking projects.
I remember my first project — a small table. I was so 1 of it that I looked upon it as if I had created a(an) 2. It was absolutely beautiful and it had taken me six weeks to 3 it. I could hardly wait to give it to Mother Winters as a 4. She was the head mistress of our orphanage, who was always kind but 5 with us.
As the tables were not dry from the clear coating, the man told us to wait a few days before taking them to our dormitories. But I was just so 6 and happy that I couldn't wait. I dashed out like a 7, carrying my table, smiling from ear to ear.
When I reached the dormitory I placed the little table beside my bed. I was 8 it when Mother Winters entered. She walked over to the table. Running her hand 9 it, she noticed that it was still wet.
"Were you 10 to bring this home?" she asked.
"No, ma'am," I 11 with my head down.
She ordered me to throw the table out and so I did. After she left, I immediately opened the door to get it back. There was 12 stuck all over. I brushed and cried, but the dirt would not come off.
I hid the table in my closer and never13 it. However, a year later during a cleaning-up, it was discovered. Painfully, I had to give the table to Mother Henderson, my houseparent, thinking that she would 14 it away.
Thirty years later at a reunion, I 15 that Mother Henderson was living nearby, so I drove up to see her. We talked cheerfully for long. As I was about to leave, she asked me to come down to her 16 to get something important. I followed her 17 into a dark corner. She picked something up. 18 she turned around, I could see that she was holding a little table.
Mother Henderson kept the little table that I had given up for lost so long ago.
Today, I look at that table with bittersweet memories but full of 19 to Mother Henderson, who kept the table for a young orphan who 20 it so much.
