🍂 The Last Leaf
In a small area of New York City called Greenwich Village, there was a little street where many artists lived. Two young women, Sue and Johnsy, shared a small apartment at the top of a three-story building. Sue was from Maine. Johnsy was from California. They met at a restaurant and became friends. They loved art and flowers, and they were happy together.
In November, a cold sickness called pneumonia came to the city. Johnsy became very ill. The doctor came to see her. Outside, he spoke to Sue. "She has one chance in ten," he said. "She will only survive if she wants to live. Does she have something to live for?"
Sue went into the room. Johnsy was lying in bed, looking out the window. "How many leaves are left on that old ivy vine?" she asked.
Sue looked outside. There was an old brick wall across the street. An old ivy vine was growing on the wall. The wind was blowing, and the leaves were falling. "Six," said Sue.
"They are falling faster now," said Johnsy. "When the last leaf falls, I will die. I have known that for three days."
"Don't say such things!" said Sue. "The doctor said you will get better."
But Johnsy just watched the leaves. "When the last leaf falls, I will go too," she whispered.
Sue was very worried. She went downstairs to see their neighbor, Mr. Behrman. He was an old painter who lived on the ground floor. He was over sixty years old. He had always wanted to paint a masterpiece, but he had never started it. He made a little money by painting signs and pictures for other artists. He was a kind man, but he had a difficult temper.
Sue told Mr. Behrman about Johnsy and her strange idea about the ivy leaves. The old man was angry. "What kind of foolishness is this?" he cried. "She cannot think that she will die when the last leaf falls! We must help her."
That night, the wind blew hard, and rain fell. In the morning, Johnsy asked Sue to open the curtain. Sue opened it slowly, afraid of what she would see. But there, on the brick wall, was one ivy leaf. It was still green. It was still hanging from the vine.
"It is the last one," said Johnsy. "It will fall today. I know it will. Then I will die."
But the leaf did not fall. All day it hung there. That night, the wind blew again. In the morning, the leaf was still there. It was dark green against the brick wall.
Johnsy looked at the leaf for a long time. "I have been a bad girl," she said. "That leaf stayed there to show me how wrong I was. It is a sin to want to die. Give me some soup, and then I will paint again."
She got better quickly. The doctor said she was out of danger.
That afternoon, Sue came into the room. "I have something to tell you," she said. "Mr. Behrman died today. He was found lying in his bed. His clothes were wet and cold. People found a lantern and a ladder outside. There were paints and brushes on the ground."
Johnsy looked at Sue. "And there was a leaf," Sue continued. "It was painted on the wall. It was Behrman's masterpiece. He painted it the night the last leaf fell."
Johnsy understood. The old artist had gone out in the cold and rain. He had painted a leaf on the wall so she would have hope. He had given his life so that she could live.
Moral of the story: Hope and sacrifice can save lives. Sometimes the greatest masterpieces are not paintings on canvas, but acts of love and selflessness.