网址：http://m.1010jiajiao.com/timu_id_1691711[举报]
It was eleven o'clock, and Mr. Sims had just asked the class to pay attention for the fiftieth time
while he explained a math problem. Carson Webster was sitting over by the window trying to listen to
the teacher, but his mind was not on the problem Mr. Sims was discussing. Carson's mind was on a
little mouse named Millie that was busily moving around in his pocket. Millie was not very happy. At
breakfast, she had climbed into Carson's pocket and gone to sleep while Carson ate two pieces of
bread and read the newspaper. Carson had forgotten Millie was there until he was halfway in class.
Now that M
illie's morning sleep was over, she was ready to exercise. Luckily for Carson, Millie was
in a pocket with a button, or he might be in serious trouble.
"Carson?" Mr. Sims, who was usually rather strict with his students, was suddenly looking at Carson
with his eyes wide open, rolling his stick in his hand. Carson had to pay attention.
"Could you please repeat the question?" said Carson, feeling his pocket.
"I asked if you would agree with the statement," said Mr. Sims pleasantly.
"Well, I'm not really attentive at the moment," said Carson. "I think I would need to give it more
consideration." Carson did not have the slightest idea as to what Mr. Sims was talking about.
"I see, "said M
r. Sims seriously, "Then I guess you're uncertain about whether the product of
zero by any other number is always zero?"
"Oh, I know that," said Carson, who could feel himself turning red as a couple of kids including Bob
began to laugh. He knew his punishment would come soon. To his surprise, however, the teacher
didn't seem angry.
"I'm so glad, "said Mr. Sims, turning back to the blackboard. "Oh, and by the way, Carson,"he
continued, "I think a cage would be a healthier place for your little friend. Would you agree with that
statement?" Just at that time, Millie let out a weak but clear cry and stuck her head out of Carson's
pocket.
"Yes," Carson said with a smile, "I would totally agree with that statement!"
B. Sims.
C. Millie.
D. Bob
B. The little mouse escaped from Carson’s pocket in class.
C. Mr. Sims was too anxious to satisfy his students in class.
D. When Carson was in class, Millie was fast asleep in his pocket.
B. He was a teacher who was not only strict but also humorous.
C. He liked to ask his students to repeat what he said in class.
D. He was a teacher who was always kind to his students.
was taken seriously back then. Outside, Father and Mr Patrick next door were busy chopping firewood.
Inside their own houses, Mother and Mrs. Patrick were engaged in spring cleaning.
Somehow the boys had slipped away to the back lot with their kites.Now, even at the risk of having
Brother caught to beat carpets, they had sent him to the kitchen for more string(线). It seemed there
was no limit to
the heights to which kites would fly today.My mother looked at the sitting room, its furniture disordered for a thorough sweeping. Again she
cast a look toward the window. "Come on, girls! Let's take string to the boys and watch them fly the
kites a minute."
On the way we met Mrs. Patrick, laughing guiltily as if she were doing something wrong, together
with her girls.
There never was such a day for flying kites! We played all our fresh string into the boys' kites and
they went up higher and higher. We could hardly distinguish the orangecolored spots of the kites. Now
and then we slowly pulled one kite back, watching it dancing up and down in the wind, and finally
bringing it down to earth, just for the joy of sending it up again.
Even our fathers dropped their tools and joined us. Our mothers took their turn, laughing like
schoolgirls. I think we were all beside ourselves. Parents forgot their duty and their dignity; children
forgot their everyday fights and little jealousies. "Perhaps it's like this in the kingdom of heaven," I
thought confusedly.
It was growing dark before we all walked sleepily back to the houses. I suppose we had some sort
of supper. I suppose there must have been a surface tidyingup, for the house on Sunday looked clean
and orderly enough. The strange thing was, we didn't mention that day afterward. I felt a little
embarrassed. Surely none of the others had been as excited as I. I locked the memory up in that
deepest part of me where we keep "the things that cannot be and yet they are".
The years went on, then one day I was hurrying about my kitchen in a city apartment, trying to get
some work out of the way while my threeyearold insistently cried her desire to "go park, see duck."
"I can't go!" I said. "I have this and this to do, and when I'm through I'll be too tired to walk that far."
My mother, who was visiting us, looked up from the peas she was shelling."It's a wonderful day,"she
offered, "really warm, yet there's a fine breeze. Do you remember that day we flew kites?"
I stopped in my dash between stove and sink. The locked door flew open and with it a rush of
memories. "Come on," I told my little girl. "You're right, it's too good a day to miss."
Another decade passed. We were in the aftermath (余波)of a great war. All evening we had been
asking our returned soldier, the youngest Patrick Boy, about his experiences as a prisoner of war. He
had talked freely, but now for a long time he had been silent. What was he think
ing of-what dark and horrible things?
"Say!" A smile slipped out from his lips."Do you remember -no, of course you wouldn't. It probably
didn't make the impression on you as it did on me."
I hardly dared speak."Remember what?"
"I used to think of that day a lot in POW camp (战俘营), when t
hings weren't too good. Do you remember the day we flew the kites?"
B. her husband would make fun of her
C. she should have been doing her housewor
k thenD. her girls weren't supposed to play the boy's game
B. went wild with joy
C. looked on
D. forgot their fights
B. They should have finished their work before playing.
C. Her parents should spend more time with them.
D. All the others must have forgotten that day.
B. She was reminded of the day they flew kites.
C. She had finished her work in the kitchen.
D. She thought it was a great day to play outside.
seriously back then. Outside, Father and Mr. Patrick next door were busy chopping firewood. Inside their own
houses, Mother and Mrs. Patrick were engaged in spring cleaning.
Somehow the boys had slipped away to the back lot with their kites. Now, even at the risk of having Brother
caught to beat carpets, they had sent him to the kitchen for more string (线). It seemed there was no limit to
the heights to which kites would fly today.
My mother looked at the sitting room, its furniture disordered for a thorough sweeping. Again she cast a
look toward the window. "Come on, girls! Let's take string to the boys and watch them fly the kites a minute."
On the way we met Mrs. Patric, laughing guiltily as if she were doing something wrong, together with her
girls.
There never was such a day for flying kites! We played all our fresh string into the boys' kites and they
went up higher and higher. We could hardly distinguish the orange-colored spots of the kites. Now and then
we slowly pulled one kite back, watching it dancing up and down in the wind, and finally bringing it down to
earth, just for the joy of sending it up again.
Even our fathers dropped their tools and joined us. Our mothers took their turn, laughing like schoolgirls.
I think we were all beside ourselves. Parents forgot their duty and their dignity; children forgot their everyday
fights and little jealousies. "Perhaps it's like this in the kingdom of heaven," I thought confusedly.
It was growing dark before we all walked sleepily back to the housed. I suppose we had some sort of
supper. I suppose there must have been surface tidying-up, for the house on Sunday looked clean and orderly
enough. The strange thing was, we didn't mention that day afterward. I felt a little embarrassed. Surely none
of the others had been as excited as I. I locked the memory up in that deepest part of me where we keep "the
things that cannot be and yet they are."
The years went on, then one day I was hurrying about my kitchen in a city apartment, trying to get some
work out of the way while my three-year-old insistently cried her desire to "go park, see duck."
"I can't go!" I said. "I have this and this to do, and when I'm through I'll be too tired to walk that far."
My mother, who was visiting us, looked up from the peas she was shelling. "It's a wonderful day," she
offered,"really warm, yet there's a fine breeze. Do you remember that day we flew kites?"
I stopped in my dash between stove and sink. The locked door flew open and with it a rush of memories.
"Come on," I told my little girl. "You're right, it's too good a day to miss."
Another decade passed. We were in the aftermath (余波) of a great war. All evening we had been asking
our returned soldier, the youngest Patrick Boy, about his experiences as a prisoner of war. He had talked freely,
but now for a long time he had been silent. What was he thinking of-what dark and horrible things?
"Say!" A smile sipped out from his lips. "Do you remember-no, of course you wouldn't. It probably didn't
make the impression on you as it did on me."
I hardly dared speak. "Remember what?"
"I used to think of that day a lot in POW camp (战俘营), when things weren't too good. Do you remember
the day we flew the kites?"
B. her husband would make fun of her
C. she should have been doing her how
D. supposed to the don't game
B. went wild with joy
C. looked on
D. forgot their fights
B. They should have finished their work before playing.
C. Her parents should spend more time with them.
D. All the others must have forgotten that day.
B. She was reminded of the day they flew kites.
C. She had finished her work in the kitchen.
D. She thought it was a great day to play outside.
B. his experience in POW camp threw a shadow over his life
C. childhood friendship means so much to the writer
D. people like him really changed a lot after the war
| |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||