But Dallys were poor, so poor that all they had in the living room of their farmhouse was an old flattened couch, dark green with padding sticking out each arm.

This was not a humorous situation. For years, the Dally family had been on the list of troubled parents in the school district, and almost every teacher had been warned that Dally children might be trouble. But they weren't. The Dally children got perfect grades, never caused a commotion and often helped to clean the classroom.

Yes, they loved their classrooms slick and clean. And if the other children created a mess with their muddy boots, the Dally children would run for a mop and have the cloakroom dirt-free in a matter of moments. The teachers would often talk about the children of this poor family and wonder aloud why they did not cause problems or get bad grades.

Truthfully, the Dally family was rather unique. I doubt that any of the townspeople could remember a time when the Dallys were unhappy or frowning. Every weekday, Stub and Gloria would rattle into town in their old pickup, stop at the post office and then at the local coffee shop.

They would sit on one of the stools and talk to anyone in the place. They seldom drank coffee, unless the owner poured free cups. Finally, they would drive past the Lutheran church just to see if anything important was going on and then home for a bite to eat by high noon.

This became such a ritual that teachers and Mr. Elfey, the school superintendent, would often speculate about the five Dally children.

"Listen," Elfey would say, his head beginning to bob, glasses falling to the tip of his nose. "The fact is, none of those children has ever graduated. We just don't know what we can expect. The oldest, she started school at 6 years and 5 months. That's why she's doing so well," he would say.

Diatribes like that were repeated often, the Dally children being such a mystery to all the teachers.

But the children of Stub and Gloria Dally continued to be the academic stars. I was there. I taught them. I watched them grow in stature and wisdom through the years.

Then one Christmas, the word circulated around school that the members of the Dally family had their hearts set on a sectional couch. Every teacher began to speculate on how this would happen. "They'll back that old pickup to a furniture store and just carry it out," someone said.

But the Dally family would never do anything illegal, nor would they stiff an honest store owner.

So one evening, as the children did their homework around the kitchen table, Stub and Gloria went into the living room and sawed the old green couch in half. Then they wrapped it in newspapers, draped some red ribbon on it and pushed it into the corner, where it sat until Christmas Eve.

When all the students returned to school, I asked my fifth-grade class about their Christmas experience, and Wayne Dally, a 10-year-old, was first with his hand in the air.

"We got a sectional couch," he said with the widest of eyes. "And we got a Monopoly game and a pair of mittens."

That's all he said. The children of the class accepted the news gladly.

There are no secrets in this story. The five children of the Dally family all went on to great things. Stub and Gloria lived into their 70s and died quietly as good Christian people.

Finally, the notion spread in that small town that the most important thing was to be with your children, to listen to them and help them and enjoy their sometimes bizarre ideas.

That's what Stub and Gloria did.

Clark D. Morphew