John Johnson got his first note from Elsie Dawe some 10 years ago. Johnson had sent a check - not much, maybe $10 - to Buffalo's Children's Hospital. Dawe, who takes care of the hospital's donations, sent back a handwritten note. Something about how his generosity makes a difference.

So it went. He sent a check once or twice a year. She wrote a note. Like she does to all donors.

"We appreciate the people who give thousands," said Dawe. "But the thousands who give small are our bread and butter."

Johnson felt connected to Children's. As a boy, his appendix flared up. He was rushed from his home, a farm on the Southern Tier, to Children's. The doctors there saved his life. He never forgot.

One year the check came with a request. Johnson wanted to remember the hospital in his will. Would Dawe come see him, to talk about it?

Elsie Dawe drove to a tiny town called Castile, where John Johnson lived with his wife, Mildred. The couple, in their 70s, lived simply in a five-room farmhouse. The place was drafty, the furniture simple. Lamps from Sears, basic stuff. Instead of a washing machine, they had the old crank-turned wringer. No dishwasher.

"It wasn't a place most people would live in," said Dawe. "But they seemed very happy."

Dawe had a pleasant time. The Johnsons gave her a tour of nearby Letchworth State Park. Before she left, they signed up as charter members of the hospital's bequest society. In the space of one afternoon, they went from names on a check to friends.

"I just liked them," said Dawe. "They were very kind, decent people."

Dawe promised to come back.

She did. Once, maybe twice, every year.

"I'd bring bagels," she said. "We talked about the hospital, other things. Elderly people tend to get lonely, especially when there are no children around."

Johnson no longer worked the apple orchard on the farm but leased out the 50 acres. He also had worked for the Post Office for a while. Mildred grew up on the farm across the way. They had few extravagances, aside from the theater. They'd often take the train to New York City, or drive to Toronto, for the theater.

Dawe visited, at first, out of friendship. And the rolling hills were a nice break from the office. Later on, there was a bit of concern. The couple lived alone. No kids. Mildred had diabetes. Their only other family was her sister in Florida.

"I'd go down there to see," said Dawe, "how they were doing."

Mrs. Johnson died a couple of years ago. Her husband forged on. He finally bought a washing machine, so the home care aides helping him wouldn't have to use the wringer.

His health didn't hold up. Six months ago, he passed on.

Elsie Dawe was at the funeral.

After the service was over, an elderly man named Harold Parker approached her. He was the Johnsons' attorney and lifelong friend. He said Johnson had remembered Children's in his will. He asked Dawe if she had any idea how much money the couple left to the hospital.

Dawe didn't. She never asks people who bequest what they have in mind.

Parker said that, once the estate was settled, there would be at least $5 million for Children's.

Dawe nearly fell over.

"I couldn't say anything," she said. "What do you say? I had no idea."

There was something the Johnsons had never told her.

John Johnson always hated using carbon paper to make copies when he filled out his taxes or got farm records together. Years ago, a company named Haloid came out with a machine that made copies. Johnson thought it was a great idea. He invested in the company.

Haloid later changed its name to Xerox. Johnson was in on the ground floor.

His estate was worth $11 million. He willed $5 million to Children's, $5 million to a cancer hospital in Memphis, Tenn. He stipulated the money for Children's go mainly to intensive care and the nursery.

The first installment of Johnson's gift, $1 million, arrives at Children's Hospital this week. It is the largest single bequest the hospital ever received.

It started with a $10 donation. And a thank-you note.