It was a break time at the village school. The bell had rung, and the children had run out into the bright sunshine, wild with laughter and fun. They chased after each other and played heartily, with giggles lingering in the relaxing atmosphere.

All but poor Davy. He came out last and very slowly, but he did not laugh. He was in trouble, and the bright, golden sunlight did not make him glad.

He walked across the yard, and sat down on a stone behind the old maple. A little bird on the highest branch sang just to make him laugh.

But Davy did not notice it. He was thinking of the cruel words that had been said about his ragged clothes. The tears stole out of his eyes, and ran down his cheeks. He closed his eyes to hold back his tears and bit his lips tight.

Poor Davy had no father, and his mother had to work hard to keep him at school. The bell finally rang, indicating it’s time to come home.

At four o'clock that afternoon, he went home by the path that led across the fields and through the woods. He still felt sad. Davy did not wish to trouble his mother; so he wandered a while among the trees, and at last threw himself on the green moss (苔藓) under them.

Just then his teacher came along. She saw who it was, and stopped, saying kindly, “What is the matter, Davy?”

He drooped his head and did not utter a word, but the tears began again to well up.

“Won’t you tell me? Perhaps I can help you.”

Deeply encouraged by her warmth and sincerity, he poured out all his trouble he came across. When he ended, she was lost in deep thought and for a while she came up, gave Davy a consoling pat and said, cheerily, “I have a plan, Davy, that I think will help you.”

“Oh, what is it?” he said, sitting up with a look of hope, while a tear fell upon a blue violet (紫罗兰).

“Well, how would you like to be a little flower merchant?”

“And earn money?” said Davy.“But where shall I get my flowers?”

So, with the plan in mind, Davy hunted the woods for the prettiest flowers.

The eleven-year-old had just arrived in famous Carnegie Hall. He was to appear as a violin performer with the New York Symphony Orchestra. On his way from the stage entrance to the artists’ room, he saw a large fire ax (斧子) on a wall. “What’s that for?” he asked a guard.

“To cut the heads off the performers who don’t play well,” was the reply.

“And how many heads have you already cut off?”

“Oh, quite a few,” said the guard, with a friendly smile.

Some in the audience that night, especially the music critics, expected the boy’s head to roll. He was to play a difficult violin piece by Beethoven. Critics felt that this great piece should be attempted only by a mature artist. For a child, the complicated fingering would be impossible, they added.

It was November 25, 1927. That night Carnegie Hall was packed. All eyes in the audience watched for Yehudi Menuhin, the eleven-year-old violin performer, to appear on the stage. News of his talent had already excited the public imagination. There was an outburst of applause when he came out in his white silk shirt and black pants.

In a businesslike manner, Yehudi took his place near the conductor and handed his violin to the first violinist to be tuned. There was a breathless silence in the hall. When the kettledrum (定音鼓) announced the opening of the music, Yehudi stood calmly, so absorbed in the music that some people feared he would not come in on time. But, with only seconds to spare, he adjusted his violin and raised his bow. At the great singing tone that filled the hall, there was a slight excitement, and then a silence.

Listeners were impressed by his pure tone, expert fingering and wonderful skill.

Even the newspaper critics stayed on to applaud Yehudi.

I especially like a poem I learned in kindergarten. Although it has been more than 40 years, I still often recite it.

My Teacher Mr. Moore

There’s a teacher Mr. Moore.

Who is lovely and thirty-four.

Always encouraging us to try.

He leads us to a world of “why”.

We all admire him more and more.

The author of this poem is unknown, but it reminds me of the countless teachers who have taught me. Whenever I read this poem, I couldn’t help thinking of my math teacher, Mrs. Davies. I firmly believe that she was such a teacher described in the poem.

In high school, Mrs. Davies was my math. teacher, who took her job seriously and expected her students to put forth the same degree of commitment. Though she was 30, she looked very young for her age. And she was one of the most popular teachers in our school.

Compared with other teachers, Mrs. Davies paid more attention to her way of teaching. She tried various ways to make her classes lively and interesting.

Strict but fair, she held our attention with her time-proven approach. One of her classes was for students who were more advanced academically. I chose to take it and soon realized that the course was a bit over my head. I struggled with the complex problems that others seemed to learn without much effort.

One Friday we were tested on our ability to use a theorem(定理) that no one in the class thoroughly understood. The teacher should grade our papers based on our ability to progress through the problem. I was absolutely lost. Finally, I didn’t use the required theorem. Instead, I decided to use more familiar theorems to arrive at the answer. I knew I had failed because I hadn’t done the required assignment. I became resigned to my fate.

My cousin Mariana, who lives on the other side of the country, came to stay with my family in San Francisco for a week. She and I were just three years old the last time we’d met, so I was afraid we might not get along. Luckily, we hit it off right from the start. I thought it’s perfect timing, because my friend Shawn was having a pool party on Saturday, so I invited her to go with me. “Wow, that’s a really nice invitation.” said Mariana. “But I’m sorry. I, uh, didn’t bring my swimsuit.” I led her to my room, dumped a bunch of swimsuits onto my bed, and said, “Problem solved! Just take your pick.” Mariana stared at the pile without saying a word. After an awkward silence, I asked her to have a try. but she told me she would be comfortable only in swimsuits with very colorful patterns. “No way!” I said, pulling my favorite suit out of my swim bag. I explained that I didn’t show her that one because I thought it might be too wild. “If you like it, you are welcome to wear it!” I said. She suddenly paused.“But it looks too small.”I laughed and insisted she give it a try it since we had the same size. When she finally agreed to try on the swimsuit, it seemed as if it were made for her. And I couldn’t wait to take her to meet all my friends. “Yeah!” Mariana’s voice sounded a bit disappointed. “Let’s grab a snack.” she mentioned that she didn’t know why she got so hungry all of a sudden. After an apple, a cookie, and a handful of pistachio nuts, she finally smiled again.

The rest of the week was a blast. We went skateboarding and made up hilarious new basketball moves in the park. Even with my little sister and brother sticking to Mariana like glue, she said she was having a great time.

Paragraph 1 But then, “I’m really sorry,” she said at Friday dinner.

Paragraph 2 The Saturday turned out to be different and cool.

My family was poor so I was pleasantly surprised when my mother came up with the money to purchase my fourth-grade class picture. Twenty-two students lined up in three rows and faced the camera with smiles. My teacher, Mrs. Cornell, stood to the side. She kept strict rules, but I loved her. I held my one-and-only class picture like a new teddy bear. I wanted to be a person like her.

As the years passed, I’d run across that fourth-grade picture. It always reminded me that I’d wanted to become a teacher. Even after getting married, I would still long for the teaching career I never got to have.

Once my children were all in school, I had some time to myself. The eagerness to teach was still there, but I was now forty-two. I hadn’t been a student for over twenty years. Having only my husband’s income made money an issue as well.

Anyway, I managed to come up with enough money for my first term. With a step of faith, I moved forward. College proved to be a blessing and a challenge. I attended lessons and challenged myself to learn new things. My days and nights were spent on difficult textbooks. I would look at the picture when I was tired. Gradually, I found myself enjoying the classes.

One day, a professor mentioned a grant (补助金) was available to those going into education upon their graduation. Would they even consider giving the money to someone of my age? I had a few good years left in me, but I couldn’t compete with the youngsters who had a lifetime of teaching ahead of them. Feeling I had nothing to lose, I began the lengthy application process followed by an interview. All I could do was wait and hope.

Several weeks later, I received a call from my professor telling me I’d been selected as a candidate for the program. I’d have to invest some volunteer hours as required, but my college expenses would be covered. I hung up the phone with teary eyes. I couldn’t believe my dream of teaching was becoming a reality. I continued studying hard through the next three years.

The graduation day finally came.

For the next eighteen years, I taught fourth grade.