2 . Michael and his wife, new residents in a San Francisco apartment, learned about their neighbor Jeff Dunan’s volunteer work for Bangladesh Relief, an organization that provides food, clothing and essential supplies for disadvantaged people in northern Bangladesh. Inspired, Michael donated $150 to Dunan’s GoFundMe campaign. However, a credit card notification alerted him to an unintended $15,041 charge.

When he saw the five-figure number, he was confused. Soon, it all made sense. Michael’s credit card number started with four and one. Clearly, he accidentally began typing his credit card information while his cursor (光标) was still in the donation box.

Michael planned to call Dunan to explain, but before he had the chance to do that, he started receiving Facebook messages from Shohag Chandra, the charity’s Bangladesh-based program manager, thanking him for his generous donation. After he looked through the photos of people holding thank-you signs that read his name, Michael’s heart sank. He felt terrible that he had to withdraw his handsome donation. Once his original contribution was refunded, he decided to donate $1,500.

Although Michael had told his family and friends about the tale, he decided to share it publicly on social media, after Dunan told him the organization was desperately in need of funds. “The least I could do was take the time to post this story online and see if I could inspire other people to donate to the cause,” Michael said.

Little did he know, though, that the story would be seen far and wide, ending up raising more than $120,000 for Bangladesh Relief in the span of only a few weeks—about eight times Michael’s mistaken donation. According to Dunan, more than 3,700 people have contributed because of Michael’s post. Michael has been stunned (震惊) by the ongoing outpouring of support. “Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine this reaction,” he said. “People can be amazing when they come together for something like this.”

4 . In a world where acts of kindness often go unnoticed, a good story that has been discovered reminds us of the power of care and the effect it can have on someone’s life.

It all started with a “Kindness Week Challenge” given to Brennan by his 8th-grade teacher, Ms. Watkins. Little did he know that this challenge would lead to a wonderful friendship with 84-year-old Ms. Ann.

Brennan’s promise to send his little attractive things every day for a week developed a habit of checking up on Ms. Ann and sending gifts regularly(定期地), long after the challenge was over.

Their friendship has now lasted for over five years, and Brennan still visits Ms. Ann every month with flowers, cakes, chocolates, cards and more.

They talk about everything from his high school life to his college goals. The pair has found that they share a common love of chocolates. Ms. Ann always hopes to hear about what he’s doing and loves to share her own stories from a different time. They have become the best friends, with Brennan treating her as his great-grandmother.

Brennan’s mom, Traci, takes pride in her son. She said, “The best thing a teenager can do is to take care of the elderly. I’m so glad my son has added more sunshine to Ms. Ann’s life. I hope he always remembers the joy he’s brought her, and his fun talks with her, keeps his kind heart, and thinks of others.”

Ms. Ann’s daughter Emma, with her husband Gould, has a 2-year-old son. They are thankful for Brennan’s friendship as they cannot always be with Ms. Ann. Brennan’s kind heart has brought more sunshine into Ms. Ann’s life, and her encouraging words have helped to inspire(启发)him in return.

7 . It was 1963 in the Toronto suburb. I was eight years old and hockey (冰球) -crazy. My next-to-zero skills had not stopped my passion for the game. The players of the great hockey club Toronto Maple Leafs were of course my heroes, and their posters and photos covered the walls of my room.

There is always some price to pay for maintaining a love. I raised funds in an old-fashioned way, selling something the public could actually sink their teeth into. I joined the local annual event — Margaret’s Doughnuts (甜甜圈) to sell doughnuts, which offered choices of honey-glazed or chocolate-glazed.

Door-to-door I went, notebook in hand to record. I sold dozens of dozens; hardly a soul turned me down. My notebook was almost full, and my stomach was almost empty when I went up the last house on the south side.

I rang the doorbell and went over my speech while staring at the screen door. Suddenly, the door opened. My unforgettable memory was looking up from a large pair of fuzzy slippers, way up, to the face staring down. I stood there speechless for what seemed 10 years, opening and closing my mouth like a fish out of water. Collecting my calmness, but still unable to go into doughnut-promoting overdrive, I told him something he seemed have already known and he replied with a nod and a smile.

I have an unclear memory of murmuring through my speech “Please-buy-some-doughnuts”, and then a vivid memory of him taking the notebook from my hand. I followed with new information — that we shared our given name. With pride from our first-name-basis farewells, I flew home holding the notebook tightly to my chest.

The next morning before the school bell, I cautiously showed off the precious paper. It is surely mine alone to claim: I sold a dozen doughnuts to Tim Horton, one of my most respected players who lived a mere three blocks away!

9 . After their three children grew up and left home, Margaret Thompson and her husband, Kenneth, stretched their legs together on walking holidays in Switzerland. In Interlaken, year after year, they would head up the mountain and watch the paragliders (空中滑翔) launch themselves into the sky. Back in town, in a large park, they watched them return to earth. “Some day I’d love to do that,” Thompson told Kenneth.

But there was always so much to do in Interlaken. So she continued to watch the gliders take flight and land. Kenneth died in 2005. Eleven years later, and three decades after those walking holidays, Thompson finally took to the skies herself, in a paraglider with an instructor. Thompson was 80.

Recently, Thompson heard from an instructor that grown men, when airborne, sometimes cry and beg to be brought down. But what she remembers is “feeling free. You feel weightless. It’s quite windy. It blows you around. You sail along and look around you, and see all the toy houses down below. You feel like you are up in heaven somewhere there, watching everyone down below.”

Thirty years seems a long time to hold on to a dream. “It was,” she says. Why did it take so long? “I wanted to do it, but I felt somebody should benefit from it.” She did not think of just enjoying the experience? “I don’t think so. There had to be a cause at the end of it all,” she says. With her first paraglide, she raised ￡1,500 for Moorfields eye hospital in London, most of it with the aid of social clubs run by the Presbyterian church she regularly attends.

Is she scared of getting older? “Fear? No. People say: ‘Isn’t getting old awful?’ I say: ‘No. You are free to do more things that you want to do.”

Thompson felt no fear paragliding. “I mean, you sort of say to yourself: Well, if anything happens to me now, I’m OK. People might worry about falling, it being the end of them. But that didn’t bother me at all. When it’s your time, it’s your time. No matter where you are.”

10 . Françoise Malby-Anthony, a city girl, a Parisian through and through, could tell the quickest way to the Eiffel Tower but knew nothing about animals. Yet somewhere deep inside, she always felt she would end up in a foreign country.

It was her husband Lawrence Anthony, a South African, who brought out the wanderlust in her. They met in London in 1987, and a year later they moved to South Africa, where they were drawn by nature and eventually bought Thula Thula — a game reserve of river and 1,500 hectares of rolling hills. They were soon working to save an abundance of wild animals, especially elephants and rhinos, from the poachers and hunters who roamed for fun and profit. They also employed some locals, and taught them about office work, dealing with guests and cooking French dishes.

Last March, however, Lawrence died of a sudden heart attack. And there Francoise was, alone, burying her husband, and didn’t know where to begin.

She soon faced her first baptism (洗礼) by fire. A few days later, she received a call. Thabo, a three-year-old male rhino, had taken a bullet. It was the poachers. How could the poachers break into the fence in broad daylight? At that point, a rumor suggested it was an inside job. Maybe someone was trying to frighten her into leaving?

Lawrence was gone. A rhino in trouble and security men she couldn’t rely on. Since booking after booking had been canceled due to Lawrence’s passing away, Françoise finally had an empty bank account. But how could she leave the dream that Lawrence and she had fought so hard for?

Françoise slowly found her feet. Eventually Thabo recovered from the trauma. She set up meetings with the staff to go over reserve and animal issues and to agree on priorities. She even launched her own rhino fund. The desperate days have helped redefine the purpose of life without Lawrence, and she understands that the mission of protecting Thula Thula’s wildlife has become hers, and hers alone.