Back in the innocent days when an ice cream sundaes tasted far better and cost far less, a haggard little boy entered a cafe, and, spotting a seat at the counter, made his way through the bustling crowd. A tied-up and tired waitress put a glass of water in front of him and asked what he'd like.

‘How much is an ice cream sundae?', he inquired with curious eyes.

50 cents, replied the waitress.

The boy pulled a handful of change out of his pocket and studied his small collection of coins.

‘How much is a dish of plain ice cream?', he asked, this time a bit sheepishly.

Noticing that her other tipping customers were now waiting to be served the waitress grew impatient.

35 cents, she said in an abrupt, lightly exasperated tone.

The boy again counted his coins, then said, ‘I'll have the plain ice cream please.' The waitress brought the ice cream, slid his bill on the counter, and went on to serve the ones who paid her bills.

The boy, grateful for his treat, finished his ice cream, paid the cashier, and departed penniless.

When the waitress came back, she started wiping down the counter, and then began to cry at what she saw.

There, placed neatly beside the empty dish, was 15 cents – the difference between a sundae and plain ice cream – her tip.

That busy day that poor boy taught her a lesson both in kindness and compassion that she took with her everywhere she went until the day she died.