Now I was in tears. My small wages in St. John's on which I had skimped to buy them were wasted, to say nothing of how bad I looked with four front teeth gone. I shone the old flashlight until the battery died. Then I got the lamp from the kitchen. G. lit the old faithful lantern, got a hammer, and took up the board to see if they slipped down through. Still no sign. I was heartbroken – so was G. We hoped that it wouldn't snow that night, so I might find them in the morning.

I called off the concert. I couldn't go with a mouth like that. I wouldn't have the heart. I got John his supper, fish cakes I had fried earlier. He said I had no right to be carrying on.

Poor G. left to run home, around the shore, a couple of houses away. He was heartbroken and blamed himself. John was sitting down to his supper and I was trying to mumble down a bit too.

The old porch door came open, and then the kitchen door with a bang, and in ran G., beaming, his fist clenched up, and shouting, "I got 'em, Dolly, I got 'em."

When he opened his hand, still full of myrrh, there were the teeth – hooks gleaming. I said, "Where? Where, G.?"

He said when he was taking off his bib overalls to wash and have supper, they were hooked in his sweater and were well anchored.

Many a gift has been put in my hands that I have been thankful for – even my diplomas – but never one that meant so much as the teeth at that time of no money.

We are both senior citizens now, and he has lived his life in St. John's with a lovely wife and family. They visit us in Grand Falls, where I married, and we still sing and play. When we go to their home in Manuels, we love to talk over our young days and that story is always told. I have had a lot of dental work done since then, but I still have, with many other treasures, the little teeth that nearly broke our hearts and almost made me miss the concert.

I always say now to Mr. G., "God Bless the bib overalls and the fluffy homespun sweaters."

And like little Tim, "God Bless us all."