The old man dipped his paintbrush in the white paint. Upon the dark hull of his fishing boat, he began forming letters.

His granddaughter watched, saying the letters as they were painted. “A-L-L. I-S. N-O-T. L-O-S-T. What does that mean, Grandpa? 'All Is Not Lost?'”

He put down his paintbrush. “It was your grandmother's saying. It reminds us of the times when we did not have enough. No matter how bad things got, we still had life and we still had hope. She would shrug her shoulders and say 'All is not lost!' and then buckle down and get back to work.”

“You miss her, don't you, Grandpa?” the girl asked.

Tears formed in the old man's eyes. “Every minute of every day,” he replied. “I wish you had got to know her. She would have loved your questions and wisdom.”

“But she is here! Her spirit is always here, Grandpa,” the girl protested.

“I just wish I could hold her again.”

“But you have me to hold now,”the girl replied hugging her grandfather tightly.

“Indeed, she was right.” He looked at the boat, his eyes glistening with moisture. “All is not lost!”