During the last years of Don Bosco's life numerous schools, churches, festive oratories, and missions were established in various parts of the world: Italy, France, South America. Don Bosco's financial obli-gations were many and his search for funds seemed never-ending. But he frequently went on record to state that donations and financial support for his many works came mainly from "the little people." Shop keepers, housewives, merchants, people of modest means, the working poor were numbered among his most reliable and consistent support-ers. Though their offerings amounted often to a widow's mite, the faith that produced them was overwhelming. And many of them truly gave from their want--as the following incident illustrates:

One spring morning in l872, Don Bosco answered a knock on the door. Facing him was a shabbily dressed man, covered with dust, and clutching what appeared to be a large soiled handkerchief.

"I am here to see Don Bosco," he announced. "I have an offering to give him for his church of the Madonna."

"I am Don Bosco," the priest responded. "How can I help you?"

The stranger's story was brief and to the point. He had been critically ill for many months. The doctor's bills had eaten up most of his savings, and he was no longer able to work at his trade as a day laborer. He had been reduced to near penury. Moreover, his doctor had given up any hope for his recovery. In fact, his last prescription had been a sobering one: settle your affairs and prepare yourself for death. But the stranger's faith overcame such a bleak diagnosis. His last recourse was a desperate and fervent prayer to Our Lady. He promised that, if cured, he would give as an offering for her church in Valdocco whatever remained of his possessions. A few days and many prayers later, the man affirmed that he had indeed been "miracu-lously cured by Our Lady." And now he had come to fulfill his part of the bargain.

Don Bosco's heart went out to the stranger. But seeing him reduced to such poverty, he wondered what he could still possibly possess that would serve as a gift offering.

"I am here," the stranger continued, "to make good my promise to Our Lady. I want to give you as a gift for her church every last cent I have in this world."

With that he began carefully to loosen the large knotted handkerchief that he had been holding so tenaciously. Then for a moment he held in the palm of his hand a solitary lira for Don Bosco to see. That single lira--the coin of the realm--was worth in those days about one day's pay for a common laborer.

"Here," he said to Don Bosco, "take it. It is my offering to Our Lady." And he placed it reverently in the priest's outstretched hand.

"Now I must leave for Alba. I have a long way to go." But Don Bosco stopped him.

"My friend, Alba is almost 40 miles from here. You are exhausted. Have you eaten anything today?"

"No, father. But I did eat some bread before midnight because I wanted to receive Holy Communion this morning."