One day, as I was walking along the street, an old beggar stopped me. His eyes were clouded with tears, his lips were blue, and his clothes were in rags. Oh, how terribly poverty had worn him down!

He held out his reddened, swollen hand. He was asking for alms. I searched all my pockets… I had neither a wallet nor any money, not even a handkerchief. And the beggar waited, his outstretched hand trembling faintly.

Confused and embarrassed, I firmly clasped the dirty hand he had held out to me.

“Do not be angry, my brother. I have nothing with me.”

The beggar looked at me with his dim eyes. His lips formed a faint smile, and he clasped my hand in return.

“It does not matter, my brother,” he murmured. “This, too, is a gift.”

Then I understood that I, too, had received alms from my brother.