Despite coming from a wealthy family, Adam and Cody were kind and helpful. Everybody intown knew their parents, but they preferred to keep a low profile(低调).

One day, Adam and Cody sat on a bench in a park. They held up a sign that read, “Please help.” They also set up a table with some items which they had put on sale. A homeless man usually sat on the bench they were on, but he was nowhere to be found. People gathered around them to see what happened.

A woman went up to them and asked, “Are you two okay? Why are you out here asking for help?”Adam admitted that they were there to help their friend who was currently in hospital.

Concerned, she secretly took a photo of them and sent it to their father, Peter. When he received the picture, he immediately left his meeting to pick up his children. However, when he arrived at the park, he was shocked by what he saw. Dozens of people had lined up to put money in a box and purchase items from the two teenagers.

He approached them immediately. “Adam, Cody, what is going on here?” he asked.

Cody was frightened, but he answered, “Sorry, Dad. We didn’t want you to see this, but we had to do what we could. A few weeks ago, we were walking home from school when we saw a homeless man named Carl sitting on this exact bench. We want to help him.”

“We have been bringing him tea and sandwiches every day, and he’s been so grateful. We’ve also been spending a couple of minutes with him every day exchanging stories. He is such a kind man, Dad. Yesterday, we had food to bring him but he was not on the bench. We walked to the abandoned shack(简陋的小屋)he lives in, and found he was so ill.” he explained.

Deeply touched by his sons, Peter joined the line.

The next morning, Peter went to the hospital with Adam and Cody.

When I was in middle school, my social studies teacher asked me to enter a writing contest. I said no without thinking. I did not love writing. My family came from Brazil, so English was only my second language. Writing was so difficult and painful for me that my teacher had allowed me to present my paper on the sinking of the Titanic by acting out a play, where I played all the parts. No one laughed harder than he did.

So, why did he suddenly force me to do something at which I was sure to fail? His reply: “Because I love your stories. If you’re willing to apply yourself, I think you have a good shot at this.” Encouraged by his words, I agreed to give it a try.

I chose Paul Revere’s horse as my subject. Paul Revere was a silversmith (银匠) in Boston who rode a horse at night on April 18, 1775 to Lexington to warn people that British soldiers were coming. My story would come straight from the horse’s mouth. Not a brilliant idea, but funny; and unlikely to be anyone else’s choice.

What did the horse think, as he sped through the night? Did he get tired? Have doubts? Did he want to quit? I sympathized immediately. I got tired. I had doubts. I wanted to quit. But, like Revere’s horse, I kept going. I worked hard. I checked my spelling. I asked my older sister to correct my grammar. I checked out a half dozen books on Paul Revere from the library. I even read a few of them.

When I handed in the essay to my teacher, he read it, laughed out loud, and said, “Great. Now, write it again.” I wrote it again, and again and again. When I finally finished it, the thought of winning had given way to the enjoyment of writing. If I didn’t win, I wouldn’t care.

A few weeks later, when I almost forgot the contest, there came the news.

I went to my teacher’s office after the award presentation.

Dude

The first time my husband Bart told me about his horse, Dude, I knew their bond had been something special.

Growing up on a family farm, Bart loved all animals. But Dude, a birthday gift Bart received when he turned nine, became his favorite. Years later when Bart’s father sold Dude, Bart grieved (悲痛) in secret.

One evening, as we took a walk, Bart suddenly asked, “Did I ever tell you Dude won the World Racking Horse Championship?”

“Rocking?” asked I.

“Racking, it’s a kind of dancing horses do.” Bart corrected, smiling gently. “Dude was the greatest and most intelligent racking horse ever. Whenever I whistled (吹口哨), he would run at me and dance.”

“Then why’d you let your dad sell him?” I asked.

Bart explained, “When I found a job away from home, Dad figured I wouldn’t be riding anymore, so he sold Dude without even asking me. Running a horse farm means you buy and sell horses all the time.”

“I’ve always wondered if that horse missed me as much as I’ve missed him. I’ve never had the heart to try to find him. I couldn’t stand knowing if something bad. . . .” Bart’s voice trailed off (减弱).

My heart ached for him. I didn’t know what to do. Then one day while walking through the pasture (牧场), a strange thought came to me — finding Dude for Bart. How absurd! I thought. I knew nothing about Dude, certainly not how to find him. The harder I tried to dismiss the thought, the stronger it grew.

One morning after that first “find Dude” thought, I met with our new neighbor, Mr. Parker, and started a friendly conversation. When he mentioned he’d once bought a horse from Bart’s dad, I interrupted. “You remember the horse’s name?” I asked.

“Sure do.” Mr. Parker said. “Dude. Paid twenty-five hundred dollars for him.”

I went wild with joy, barely catching my breath. “Do you know what happened to him?”

“I sold him for a good profit years ago.”

“Would you be willing to try to help me find him?” I asked. And then I explained the situation.

Mr. Parker agreed to join the search, promising not to say anything to Bart.

Getting out of the car, I asked Bart to whistle as he used to do to Dude.