The dirty, homeless man sat on the pavement, staring
at the stones. He thought back more than twenty years to when he was a boy
living in a small red brick house on this very street. He recalled the flower
garden, the swing his dad made, and the bike he had saved up for months to buy.
The man shrugged impatiently, for the brightness of those pictures hurt
him, and his memory traveled on another ten years. He had a job by then, plenty
of friends and started to come home less. He did not really want to remember
those years, nor the day when, because of debts, he had gone home planning to
ask for money. He felt embarrassed, but he knew exactly where his dad kept the
money. When his parents stepped out of the room, he took what he wanted and
left.
That was the last time he had seen them. Ashamed, he
went abroad, and his parents knew nothing about the years of wandering or time
in prison. But locked in his cell he often thought of home. Once free, he would
love to see his parents again, if they were still alive, and still wanted to
see him.
When his prison time was up, he found a job, but
couldn’t settle. Something was drawing him home. He did not want to arrive
penniless, so he hitchhiked most of the long journey back. But less than a mile
from his destination he started to feel sick with doubt. Could they ever accept
this man who had so bitterly disappointed them?
He spent most of that day sitting under a tree. That
evening he posted a letter which, although short, had taken him hours to write.
It ended with:
I know it is unreasonable of me to suppose you want to
see me ... so it’s up to you. I’ll come early Thursday morning. If you want me
home, hang a white handkerchief in the window of my old bedroom. If it’s there,
I’ll come in; if not, I’ll wave good-bye and go.
And now it was Thursday morning and he was sitting on
the pavement at the end of the street. Finally he got up and walked slowly
toward the old house. He drew a long breath and looked.
His parents were taking no risks.
________________________________________
The man threw his head back, gave a cry of relief and
ran straight through the open front door.
1.Why did the man shrug impatiently (paragraph 2)
while he was thinking of his childhood?
A. The thoughts made him angry.
B. He felt he had wasted time.
C. He was anxious to go home.
D. The sweet memory caused him much pain.
2.Why did it take him hours to write the letter?
A. He doubted if his parents still lived in that
house.
B. He had much news to tell his parents.
C. He felt ashamed to ask for forgiveness.
D. He was longing to return home and felt excited.
3.In what order did the following events take place?
a. He took the money from his parents.
b. He bought a bicycle with his savings.
c. He was sentenced to prison.
d. He wrote the letter home.
e. He sat on the pavement.
f. He hitchhiked back home.
A. b, a, c, d, e, f B.
b, a, c, f, d, e
C. a, c, b, d, f, a D.
a, d, b, c, e, f
4.Which
of the following best fits into paragraph 8?
A. Every inch of the house was covered in white. Sheets, pillowcases and table clothes had
been placed on every window and door, making it look like a snow house.
B. The house before him was just as he remembered: the
red bricks, the brown door and nothing else.
C. A colorful blanket was over the front door. On it,
in large letters, was written, “Welcome home, son”.
D. A police car was parked in the drive way, and two
officers stood at the front door.
5.The best title of the passage is _______.
A. Sweet Memory B.
White Handkerchief
C. Abandoned Son D.
Leaving Home