Fulton Oursler tells of his old nurse, who was born a slave on the eastern shore of Maryland and who attended the birth of his mother and his own birth. She taught him the greatest lesson in giving thanks and finding contentment. "I remember her as she sat at the kitchen table in our house; the hard, old, brown hands folded across her starched apron, the glistening eyes, and the husky old whispering voice, saying, 'Much obliged, Lord, for my vittles.' 'Anna,' I asked, 'what's a vittle?' 'It's what I've got to eat and drink, that's vittles.' 'But you'd get your vittles whether you thanked the Lord or not.' 'Sure, but it makes everything taste better to be thankful."'