Saved by an Angel by Doreen Virtue, calibre (0.6.0b7) [http://calibre.kovidgoyal.net]

monthly pack meeting. The boys from eight different dens would move from table to table making the ornaments, then deliver them to various nursing homes in December. It was also our den’s turn to create a crafty neckerchief-slide project for the month of November for our pack’s 88 Cub Scouts.
    The inspiration came early one morning in a dream. I clearly saw the project laid out before me—a little ear of Indian corn, popcorn kernels glued to a corn-shaped piece of cardboard with straw poking out the top. It was adorable! I jumped out of bed and headed straight to the kitchen to duplicate the project from my dream.
    I spent the entire day experimenting with food coloring to get the exact shades for Indian corn. It took hours to mix the colors, blend the kernels, and measure them into tiny plastic bathroom cups, one for each boy in our Cub Scout pack. My hands cramped as I painstakingly cut out 88 cardboard cornstalks and glued the straw on top. I then placed each one into a cup of popcorn kernels so that every boy would have a ready-to-make kit. Then he could glue on the kernels and complete a slide for his uniform’s neckerchief.
    I was proud as my family helped me carry the projects into the school gym and lay them out. Our long table was immediately surrounded by whooping boys from all the different Cub Scout dens, drawn to our neckerchief-slide project.
    “Look at these neat little corns,” I heard them saying.
    Tiny hands reached for the boxes in front of me, plastic cups tipping over and spilling. “I have just enough for each boy in our own pack,” I said, my mind flooding with frustration. What seemed so orderly in my house was now chaotic. Finally, the pack leader saved me by announcing that each boy must rotate from table to table. Our table remained the most crowded, with boys gathering around to make the little Indian corns.
    As my husband and daughter guided the boys through the ornament project, I struggled to make sure we had enough supplies. “Honey, you only need one cup of popcorn,” I said to one of the boys. “Try not to spill your cup; that’s all I have,” I told another. I was definitely feeling stressed.
    During this confusion, a little boy danced over to me. Dressed in a long-sleeved plaid shirt, instead of the bright blue-and-gold Cub Scout uniform, the child appeared either Indian or Hispanic. “I want to make the little corn,” he said, his brown eyes like full moons.
    “Honey, you will make a project with your pack.”
    “Please, I want to make the little corn,” he pleaded.
    I felt overwhelmed with so much chatter, plus parents and other adults vying for my attention. Losing my patience, I asked, “Where is your Cub Scout den?”
    He stared me right in the eye and said, “I don’t have a den.” The answer was vacant, confused. Kneeling down in front of him, I firmly told him that I only had enough corn projects for the Cub Scouts, but that if he could bring me his den leader, he could do the project. With that, he danced away, twirling around and around. I was relieved that his leader would deal with him.
    That’s when it happened. Inside my head, louder than the lively din echoing off the cement walls, I heard Jewel singing the lyrics about kindness being the only thing that matters. My heart suddenly swelled with love and remorse. As little boys tugged on my sleeve, impatient for me to demonstrate the corn project, I rose from my seat, my eyes brimming with tears. “Excuse me, I need to do something.”
    I quickly made my way through the crowd, searching for the dancing boy with the heavenly brown eyes. I wanted to find him and invite him to make a corn slide, just as he’d asked in his simple, sincere request to me. I thought that surely with his plaid shirt, the little boy would stand out among the sea of blue and gold.
    But he was nowhere to be seen. I walked from table to table, my eyes searching each face. I started to quake as I scanned the length of each table in