A Saturday morning outing took an icy turn, when I took advantage of a break in the weather to walk my ancient hound, only to have the skies turn dark and hail pelt down. Drenched and cold to the bone, we were trudging back up the hill when a kind stranger passed by, and drove back, and handed me his umbrella. “I live at number 30,” he said, pointing down the road. After drying out in front of the fire, I dropped off his umbrella, and a chocolate, with a heart filled with gratitude.