Early in the term, I started pestering my mother to put an extra apple or peach in my lunch. I never quite worked up the courage to say it was for my teacher, as I never quite worked up the courage to hand my offering to Miss Benson directly. Each day the delicacy found its way unobserved to the corner of her desk. And each day the response was the same.

Miss Benson was the kindest, sweetest, most beautiful creature that ever walked the earth. She was my second-grade teacher, and I was going to marry her when I grew up -- if she would wait. I would sit squirming in my seat for the entire morning to keep from raising my hand. I could not bear to miss one precious moment of her presence by leaving the room.

My hand was always the first to be raised, however, when Miss Benson called for volunteers to clean the blackboards or to gather papers and bring them to her desk. That was the best chore of all. It made possible getting near enough to her to close out the others in the classroom. I would arrange and rearrange the papers. They had to be in perfect order before I would make my reluctant way back to my seat.

Miss Benson would come in and sit down. "Good morning, children."

I would feel the red rising in my face. I was certain that everyone was looking at me, and I would sigh with when Miss Benson put the fruit away and started the lesson.

"Why, how nice!" She would pick up the offering of the day, then look around the room. "What thoughtful little boy or girl brought me this?"

"Can it be that I have a secret admirer?" she would ask.

"Good morning, Miss Benson." in unison.

No one claimed the honor, least of all me. I kept my head down, looking at my desk.

One fall morning, the class was abuzz with excitement. Someone had discovered that the next day, Friday, was Miss Benson's birthday. Everyone wanted to get her a present. My heart gave a leap, at last I could give her something openly. That afternoon was spent combing the fields for wild flowers. Not many were in bloom at that time of year, but I found several kinds of bright berries on shrubs, some dry thistle heads. And finally I came upon a patch of gorgeous crimson leaves…

In the morning I hung back as others presented their gifts. Finally I went to the desk and gave the bouquet to Miss Benson. She exclaimed with pleasure as she took it, and held it to her cheek for a moment. My reward was a smile and a pat on the head.

The next Monday, Miss Benson was not in class. About the middle of the morning, I was asked to go to the principal's office. When I arrived, I was surprised to see my mother. On a table was my bouquet.

"No, sir," I answered.

"Miss Benson," he said, slowly and clearly. "is in the hospital, and you sent her there!"

"Do you know where Miss Benson is today?" the principal asked.

I sat, stricken, in my chair.

"'Those pretty red leaves' are poison ivy, young man." (Poison ivy is a kind of sumac which can cause a severe skin rash if touched) His voice was filling with anger. "How did you protect yourself when you picked them? Gloves?"

"Do you know what you gave her?" he continued.

I shook my head. "Honest, I didn't know they were poison ivy." I started to cry.

I nodded. "Berries, thistles and pretty red leaves." I listed.

"All those apples were from you, weren't they?" Again I nodded.

Miss Benson's one eye studied me. "You wanted to give me something special, didn't you Paul?" I nodded.

"And I'll tell you a great big secret, too, Paul," she continued. "When I am married, if I have a son, I would like him to grow up just like you."

When I went back, Mother was sitting in her rocker, she held out her arms, and I sat in her lap while she rocked me for a new minutes. "Let's have a party!" she exclaimed finally. "What would you like to do the very most?"

I was filled with happiness. She was not mad at me.

I wasn't certain that I saw a tear in her eye as Mother led me out of the room.

"When I get these bandages off," she said, "I am going to give you a great a big hug."

"I didn't know they were poison ivy," I blurted out. "I didn't mean to make you sick. I only wanted to give you something…" I stopped talking and swallowed hard.

The principal stood up. "Paul, I am suspending you for ten days. What happens after that depends upon your behavior when you return."

"I'd like to go see Miss Benson." I replied.

Miss Benson was sitting up in bed when we arrived. Her face was covered with bandages. Only one eye was showing. Both of her hands were swathed as well.