【推荐1】Like any good mother,when Karen found out that another baby was on the way,she did what she could to help her 3-year-old son,Michael,prepare for a new baby.Day after day,night after night,Michael sang to his mommy’s tummy(肚子).

Finally,Michael’s little sister was born.But she was in serious condition.With sirens (警报) howling in the night,the ambulance rushed the baby to St.Mary’s Hospital.The days inched by.The little girl became worse.The pediatric(儿科的) specialist told the parents to prepare for the worst.

Michael kept begging about singing to his sister,but kids are not allowed in pediatric department at St.Mary’s Hospital.Karen made up her mind to take Michael to see his sister.She dressed him in an oversized suit and marched him into the hospital.He looked like a walking laundry basket,but the head nurse recognized him as a child and shouted,“Get that kid out of here now!”Karen rose up strong,and the usually mild-mannered lady glared steel-eyed into the head nurse’s face.“He is not leaving until he sings to his sister!”

Karen towed （拖行）Michael to his sister’s bedside.He gazed at the tiny baby losing the battle to live.And he began to sing.In the pure-hearted voice of a 3-year-old,Michael sang,“You are my sunshine,my only sunshine.You make me happy when skies are grey.”At once the baby girl responded.Her pulse(脉搏) rate became calm and steady.Herstrainedbreathing became smoother.

“Keep on singing,Michael.”“The other night,dear,as I lay sleeping,I dreamed I help you in my arms…”Michael’s little sister relaxed as healing rest seemed to sweep over her.“Keep on singin,Michael.”Tears conquered the face of the nurse.“You are my sunshine, my only sunshine.Please don’t take my sunshine away.”

The next day—the very next day—the little girl was well enough to go home!

【推荐2】Mr. and Mrs. Wormwood had a son called Michael and a daughter called Matilda ,who was so quick to learn that her ability should have been obvious even to the most stupid parents. But she was their daughter. To tell the truth, I doubt they had noticed she crawled into the house with a broken leg.

By the age of one and a half her speech was perfect and she knew as many words as most grown-ups. The parents, instead of praising her, called her a noisy chatterbox and told her sharply that small girls should be seen and not heard.

By the time she was three, Matilda had taught herself to read by studying newspapers and magazines that lay around the house. At the age of four, she could read fast and well and she naturally began seeking for books. The only book in the whole of this enlightened household was something called Easy Cooking belonging to her mother, and when she had read this from cover to cover, and had learnt all the recipes by heart, she decided she wanted something more interesting.

“Daddy,” she said, “do you think you could buy me a book?

“A book?” he said. “What do you want a book for?”

“To read, Daddy.”

“What's wrong with the telly? We've got a lovely telly with a twelve-inch screen and now you come asking for a book!”

Nearly every weekday afternoon Matilda was left alone in the house. Her brother went to school. Her father went to work and her mother went out playing bingo. On the afternoon of the day when her father had refused to buy her a book, Matilda set out all by herself to walk to the public library in the village. She asked Mrs. Phelps, the librarian, if she might sit a while and read a book. Mrs. Phelps, slightly surprised at the arrival of such a tiny girl unaccompanied by a parent, nevertheless told her she was very welcome.

“Where are the children's   books please!” Matilda asked.

“They’re over there on those lower shelves,” Mrs. Phelps told her. “Would you like me to help you find a nice one with lots of pictures in it?

“No, thank.you,” Matilda said. “I’m sure I can manage.”

From then on, every afternoon, as soon as her mother had left for bingo, Matilda would walk down to the library, where she spent two glorious hours sitting quietly by herself in a cosy comer devouring one book after another. When she had read every single children's book in the place, she started wandering around in search of something else.

Mrs. Phelps, who had been watching her with interest for the past few weeks, now got up from her desk and went over to her. “Can I help you, Matilda?” she asked.

“I’m wondering what to read next,” Matilda said. “I’ve finished all the children's books.”

“You mean you’ve looked at the pictures?”

“yes, but I’ve read the books as well. I thought some were very poor, but others were lovely. I like The Secret Garden best of all. It was full of mystery. The mystery of the room behind the closed door and the mystery of the garden behind the big wall”.

Mrs. Phelps was stunned.“Exactly how old are you, Matilda?”she asked.

“ Four years and three months,” Matilda said.“I would like a really good book that grown-ups read .A famous one.”

Mrs. Phelps looked along the shelves, taking her time.“Try this”, she said at last,“It’s very famous and very good If it’s too long for you, just let me know”.

“Great Expectations, ” Matilda read, “by Charles Dickens. I’d love to try it”

【推荐3】Nothing could stop Dad. After he was put on disability for a bad back, he bought a small farm in the country, just enough to grow food for the family. He planted vegetables, fruit trees and even kept bees for honey.

And every week he cleaned Old Man McColgin's chicken house in exchange for manure(肥料). The smell really burned the inside of your nose. When we complained about the terrible smell, Dad said the stronger the manure, the healthier the crops, and he was right. For example, just one of his cantaloupes filled the entire house with its sweet smell, and the taste was even sweeter.

As the vegetables started coming in, Dad threw himself into cooking. One day, armed with a basket of vegetables, he announced he was going to make stew(炖菜).Dad pulled out a pressure cooker and filled it up with cabbages, eggplants, potatoes, corns, onions and carrots. For about half an hour, the pressure built and the vegetables cooked. Finally, Dad turned off the stove, the pot began to cool and the pressure relief valve sprayed out a cloud of steam. If we thought Dad's pile of chicken manure was bad, this was 10 times worse. When Dad took off the lid, the smell nearly knocked us out.

Dad carried the pot out and we opened doors and windows to air out the house. Just how bad was it? The neighbors came out of their houses to see if we had a gas leak!

Determined, Dad filled our plates with steaming stew and passed them around. It didn’t look that bad, and after the first wave had shut down my ability to smell, it didn’t offend the nose so much, either. I took a taste. It would never win a prize in a cooking competition, but it was surprisingly edible, and we drank up every last drop of soup!