In the quiet village of Elmwood, there lived a man named Jack. Jack was known for his rugged appearance and calloused hands, the result of years spent working in the fields and fixing broken machinery. Despite his outward roughness, Jack had a heart of gold, always ready to help anyone in need.

Every morning, Jack would wake up before dawn, his hands already stained with grease and dirt from the previous day's labor. He would wash them as best as he could, but the stains never fully disappeared. They were a testament to his hard work and dedication. As the sun rose, Jack would head to the village center to check on the old tractor that seemed to break down every other week. He loved the feeling of fixing things, of making something broken work again.

       One chilly autumn day, a young woman named Emily arrived in Elmwood. She was a city girl, unused to the roughness of village life. Emily had inherited her grandmother's cottage and had come to see it for herself. The villagers were kind but distant, their own hands full with the tasks of daily life. Emily felt out of place and overwhelmed by the sheer amount of work needed to make the old cottage livable again.

Jack noticed Emily struggling to carry a heavy box into her new home. Without a second thought, he walked over and offered his help. "Need a hand?" he asked, his voice gentle but firm. Emily hesitated, taking in his appearance. His clothes were worn, and his hands were covered in dirt and grease. But his eyes were kind, and she could see a genuine offer of assistance.

"Yes, please," she replied, grateful for the help.

Over the next few weeks, Jack became a regular presence at Emily's cottage. He fixed the leaky roof, repaired the broken windows, and even helped her plant a small garden. Emily was amazed by his skill and generosity. She learned that Jack had always been this way, helping others without expecting anything in return.

One evening, as they sat on the porch watching the sunset, Emily turned to Jack and asked, "Why do you do all this? Helping everyone, I mean."

      Jack looked at his hands, stained as usual. "These hands may be dirty," he said, "but my heart is clean. My father always told me that it's not what you look like or what you have that matters, but what you do with what you've got. Helping others is just what I do."