It was in the afternoon before the end of the Second World War that Antonio Black, who was twelve, caught sight of a beautiful brooch (胸针) in a shop window. The brooch is so beautiful that he was unwilling to leave the store until he had purchased it. But it was too expensive — $5. His family was very poor and his parents struggled to make ends meet. Five dollars would buy almost a week’s food for his family.

Antonio couldn’t ask his father for the money. Everything his father made through fishing went to his mother, Susan. Slim and beautiful, his mother was the center of the home and the glue that held it together. The housework was never-ending, and she struggled to feed and clothe their five children, but she was happy as her family and their well-being were all she cared about.

Nevertheless, he opened the shop’s door and went inside. Standing proudly and straight in his flour-sack (面粉袋改做的) shirt and washed-out trousers, he told the shopkeeper what he wanted, adding, “But I don’t have the money right now. Can you please hold it for me for some time?”

“I’ll try,” the shopkeeper smiled. “People around here don’t usually have that kind of money to spend on things. It should keep for a while.”

Antonio respectfully touched his worn cap and walked out. He would raise the money and not tell anybody, for he thought Mum would be surprised when she saw that brooch. On hearing the sound of hammering (锤打) from a side street, Antonio suddenly had an idea that he could raise money by selling the used nail bags. People built their own homes in Bay Roberts, using nails bought in bags from a local factory. Sometimes the used bags were thrown away at the construction site, and Antonio knew he could sell them back to the factory for five cents a piece. That day he sold two nail bags and hid the money in a rusty soda tin.

Every day after school, Antonio started his plan.

The day finally came!

Jenny was the only child in her family. She had a quarrel with her mother that afternoon and she ran out of the house angrily. She couldn’t help weeping sorrowfully when she thought of the scolding from her mother. Having wandered aimlessly in the street for hours, she felt a little hungry and wished for something to eat. She stood beside a stand for a while, watching the middle-aged seller busy doing his business. However, with no money in hand, she gave a sigh and had to leave. The seller behind the stand noticed the young girl and asked, “Hey, girl, you want to have the noodles?” “Oh, yes, but I don’t have money on me.” she replied.

“That’s nothing. I’ll treat you today,” said the man “Come in.” The seller brought her a bowl of noodles, whose smell was so attractive. As she was eating, Jenny cried silently. “What is it?” asked the man kindly. “Nothing. Actually, I was just touched by your kindness!” said Jenny as she wiped her tears. “Even a stranger on the street will give me a bowl of noodles, while my mother drove me out of the house. She showed no care for me. She is so merciless compared to a stranger!” Hearing the words, the seller smiled, “Girl, do you really think so? I only gave you a bowl of noodles and you thanked me a lot. But it is your mother who has raised you since you were a baby. Can you number the times she cooked for you? Have you expressed your gratitude to her?” Jenny sat there, speechless and numb with shock: she remembered her mother’s familiar face and weathered hands. “Why didn’t I think of that? A bowl of noodles from a stranger made me feel indebted. Why haven’t I thanked my mum for what she has done for me?” On the way home. Jenny made up her mind to make an apology to her mother for her rudeness as soon as she arrived home.

Nearing the doorway. Jenny took a deep breath.

A gentle touch on her hair called her mind back.

When I was little, I lived in a house with a beautiful garden full of all kinds of Bowers. There was nothing I enjoyed more than sitting in the garden with my mother reading stories to me. When I was old enough to read, I enjoyed reading stories aloud to her.

I would never forget one day when I was in the third grade. I bad been picked to be the princess in the school play, and for weeks my mother had rehearsed (排练) my lines so hard with me. But however easily I acted at home, the moment I stepped on stage, every word disappeared from my head. Finally, my teacher took me aside, explaining that she had written a narrator’s (解说员) part to the play, and asked me to change roles. Her word, kindly expressed, still hurt, especially when I saw my part go to another girl.

I didn’t tell my mother what had happened when I went home after school that day. But she sensed my pain. Instead of suggesting we practice my lines, she asked if I wanted to take a walk in the garden.

It was May and roses were blossoming and, under the trees, we could also see yellow dandelions (蒲公英) in the grass, as if a painter had painted our garden with red, yellow and green. I watched my mother casually bend down by one dandelion. ”I think I’m going to dig up all these weeds,” she said, pulling it up by its roots. ”From now on, we’ll have only roses in this garden. ”

“But I like dandelions,” I protested, “All flowers are beautiful-even dandelions.” “Yes, every flower is beautiful in its own way, isn’t it?” she asked thoughtfully. I nodded, pleased that I had won her over. “And that is true of people too,” she added. “Not everyone can be a princess, but there is no shame in that.” Relieved that she had guessed my pain, I started to cry as I told her what had happened. She listened and smiled to me gently.

Para 1: “But you will be a beautiful narrator,” she said.

Para 2: After the play, I took home the flower.

Mary frowned as she helped her mother and father set out the cooking supplies in the shiny steel kitchen. Her family had just moved here from New York, having bought a small restaurant, which was set to open in the next few days.

“Moving here was a stupid idea. I have lost all my friends in New York. What should I do now?” Mary grumbled (抱怨), mostly to herself.

“What’s that?” Her mother asked, opening a box and lifting out several pots. “Nothing,” Mary mumbled (嘟哝). The girl had been complaining about the move, but her parents had made the decision and were then too busy to listen to her complaints.

The first few days at her new school hadn’t been easy, either. She found it hard to talk to people she didn’t know, and it seemed that the students hadn’t even noticed her. Mary sighed and got back to wash dishes.

On the day of the grand opening, Mary’s parents were busy the whole day, welcoming customers into the restaurant, which was brightly decorated in gold and red. Even Mary was in a good mood as she rushed around, seating guests, handing out menus, and pouring glasses of water. This was a big day for her family.

At one of the tables sat a family with two daughters who were about Mary’s age. As she filled their glasses, Mary realized the twins were in her class. Mary ducked her head down. Her long hair covered her face, and she turned away from the table.

A few minutes later, Mary’s mother found her in the kitchen. “Honey, what are you doing back here? We need you out front with the customers.”

It was somewhere between spring and summer, and my mom and I were driving through the countryside. Back then, I was 13 years old, and always felt unhappy with Mom. But I didn’t know that this trip was going to be a special one.

A pot of flowers sat in the back seat, whose heavenly fragrance(香味)filled the car. Suddenly, in the middle of nowhere, my mom stopped the car. “What are you doing?” I shouted, fearing that the car had broken down and we’d be trapped there, so far from home. But that wasn’t the case. My mom jumped out of the car, grabbing(抓)the flowers from the back seat. “It’ll just be a minute,” she called back through the open windows.

I impatiently looked at the side of the road before finding a little sign showing that it was a nursing home. I looked back to the building, a little annoyed, as my mom reappeared ——empty- handed.

Before she started the car, curiosity drove me to ask, “Do you know someone there?” She shook her head. “Then what did you do with the flowers?” She smiled slightly, “I gave them to the receptionist (前台接待员).” “What?” She laughed at my confusion. “I told the receptionist to give the flowers to whoever needed them, especially those who haven’t gotten any in a while.”

I kept silent for a moment. Not long after we continued our driving, I spoke again, “Did you leave your name?” To this, she answered instantly, “No. Leaving flowers there for someone who will appreciate them makes me feel good, which is enough of a thank for me.”

Suddenly, still thinking about Mom’s deeds, I heard something burst loudly. It was our car that broke down! Nothing could be worse, because neither my mom nor I understood how to repair it, and we didn’t know where the garage was. It also seemed impossible to wait for any passer-by, since we had seen so few people along the way.

We were worrying about what could be done.

As we drove along, a flower shop came into sight on the road.

I was in my room, unwilling to head to the community theatre with “my brother” Henry. He was just adopted by my parents recently. I was not in the mood for being onstage with him.

“Kristie, come here,” my mom called. Following her voice, I found her outside the bathroom, holding a wet book. She gave the book a shake. “Henry’s book was in the bathtub. Did you put it there?” She glared at me—something she never did before Henry came to our home. I didn’t wet his book on purpose. Tears of hurt clouded my eyes. Worse still, she promised to buy him a new copy. My heart ached. Henry was stealing my mother’s love. He was ruining my life.

Meanwhile, Henry was just nearby, absorbed in working on a complicated rope knot (绳结) as usual. Why did a boy like him do the girly work? Far from manly!

Soon, it was time to have to set off for the community theatre. As Henry walked ahead of us to the car, my mom took me aside and said in a low voice, “It’s the first time for Henry to be onstage. Be kind to him, Honey.” I nodded but sighed. Being kind didn’t use to be hard. But after Henry moved in, everything felt different. The theatre used to be a special place for my parents and me. With Henry involved, it didn’t seem so special any more.

Finally, it was our stage time. My heart beat wildly. I forgot my annoyance at Henry for a while. As we kids lined up, ready to act out our short play, I realized how loosely I had tied the drawstring (束带) on my skirt. Sure enough, my skirt began to drop. Laughter from the audience could be heard, and even though I was wearing shorts under my skirt, I could feel my face burst into flames. However, my hands were full. If only someone could help me out!

Right then, Henry sensed my embarrassment.

After the performance, I found Henry and tapped him on the arm gratefully.

Alex was very excited because the New Year Eve’s party was coming and as usual it was going to be held in his Uncle Peter’s home. Suddenly, he saw his grandfather sitting alone looking very unhappy.

Alex went to him and asked, “Grandpa, why are you sitting alone? Is there anything wrong with you?”

His grandfather replied, “No, I am fine. I just feel like sitting alone.”

“Grandpa, you know the New Year party is near, so are you preparing for it?” asked Alex excitedly.

“No dear, I am not. With the passage of time, the world has completely changed and I don’t see any point in celebrating the world I see today,” answered his grandpa disappointedly.

“I know something is wrong with you and you are not telling me. Please tell me what the problem is.” Alex said.

“I feel I am a stranger in the world I am living in. It is not the same as I have known. Now everyone is busy with their own work. Your father is busy with business, your brother is busy on the computer, your sisters are busy watching dramas and your mum is busy with housework. I don’t know how to pass my days,” said his grandfather sadly.

“Grandpa, you have me!”said Alex.

His grandfather smiled and said, “Yeah, you are here, but what about others? In our days, we had a fixed (固定的) time each day when the whole family sat together and talked, shared problems and laughed together.”

That night Alex thought about what his grandfather had said and an idea flashed his mind. He decided to have a surprise. New Year party at his own home and make everyone come together that day. As New Year’s Eve got nearer, Alex got busy preparing for the party. He kept it a secret from his grandfather and asked everyone not to let him know about it in order to surprise him.

It was December 31 and everyone was busy with their own work.

Alex saw his grandfather looking very happy while talking with the family members.

I grew up in a small town where the primary school was a ten-minute walk from my house. When the noon bell rang, I would race breathlessly home. My mother would be standing at the top of the stairs, smiling down at me.

One lunchtime when I was in the third grade will stay with me always. I had been picked to be the princess in the school play, and for weeks my mother had rehearsed (排练) my lines so hard with me. But no matter how easily I acted at home, as soon as I stepped onstage, every word disappeared from my head. Finally, my teacher took me aside. She explained that she had written a narrator’s (旁白的) part to the play, and asked me to change roles. Her words, kindly expressed, still hurt, especially when I saw my part go to another girl.

I didn’t tell my mother what had happened when I went home for lunch that day. But she sensed my pain. Instead of suggesting we practice my lines, she asked if I wanted to walk in the yard.

It was a lovely spring day and the rose vine (藤蔓) was turning green. Under the huge trees, we could see yellow dandelions (蒲公英) in the grass in bunch, as if a painter had touched our landscape with gold. I watched my mother casually bend down by one dandelion. “I think I’m going to dig up all these weeds,” she said, pulling it up by its roots. “From now on, we’ll have only roses in this garden.”

“But I like dandelions,” I protested. “All flowers are beautiful-even dandelions.”

My mother looked at me seriously. “Yes, every flower gives pleasure in its own way, doesn’t it?” She asked thoughtfully. I nodded, pleased that I had won her over. “And that is true of people too,” she added. “Not everyone can be a princess, but there is no shame in that.” Relieved that she had guessed my pain, I started to cry as I told her what had happened. She listened and smiled.

“But you will be a beautiful narrator,” she said, encouraging and comforting me as usual.       

After the play, I took home the flower.