Denzil wasn't a very clever donkey. He always did some silly things because he didn't think. "Look out," the other donkeys said. "Here comes Denzil—everybody runs away!"

    One day, Denzil carried two heavy bags of salt, one on each side of his back. When he was crossing a big river, he fell into the water. The salt began to melt. When he tried his best to stand up, all the salt was gone. "Hey, that's really great," thought Denzil. "I must remember that. Next time I can do it again when I'm crossing a river."

    The next time he carried two bags of cotton(棉花). "Watch this, everybody," said Denzil when he and his friends got to the middle of the river. He went into the water and was gone! Nobody told him that cotton could get heavier in water. The other donkeys pulled him out at once and luckily he was still alive.

    Jim, a young farmer, was once put into prison (监狱).

    One day, he got a letter from his mother. "I'm so worried about our farm," she wrote. "It's time to plant potatoes. I can't dig(挖) all the fields by myself. "

    Jim read the letter and became sad. "What can I do?" he thought. Then he had a good idea. He wrote to his mother, "Don't dig the fields. There's a pot of money in the earth. Don't plant potatoes until I come home."

    Some days later, Jim got another letter from his mother. It said, "Two days ago, about ten men came to our farm and dug all our fields. I can't understand it. It looks as if they were looking for something. What shall I do?"

    Jim smiled when he read his mother's letter. He wrote a letter to his mother at once. It was very short. Guess what it would say?

    My name is Bess Curle, but this is not my story. It is the story of my lady Mary, Queen of Scots. She wrote the story, and then she gave it to me. I am going to give it to her son.

    She began the story a week ago. It was January 1587, and we sat here in our cold room in Fotheringhay Castle, in the north of England. We couldn't see much from the window. One or two houses, a river, some trees, some horses, and a road. That's all.

    The road goes to London, the home of Queen Elizabeth of England. Mary sat with her little dog in her hands and watched it, all day long.

    No one came along the road. Nothing happened. I watched Mary, unhappily.

    "Please, Your Majesty, come away from that window," I said. "It doesn't help. No one is going to come. Queen Elizabeth can't do it-Queens don't kill Queens."

    "Don't they, Bess?" Mary said. "Then why are we here, in this prison? Why am I not free?"

    "Why, Your Majesty(陛下)? Because Queen Elizabeth is afraid of you."

    "That's right," Mary said. "She's afraid of me, and she hates me too. She hates me because I am beautiful, and she is not; because I had three husbands, and she never married. And because many people-good Catholic(天主教的)people in England France, Scotland, Spain-say that I, Mary, am the true Queen of England, not Elizabeth. And E}zabeth has no children, so, when she is dead, my son James..."

    She came away from the window and stood in front of me. "James," she said quietly, "my son, does he think about me sometimes? He was only ten months old when I last saw him. It is nearly twenty years..."

    Studies have shown it takes a doctor about 18 seconds to stop a patient after he begins talking.

    It was Sunday. I had one last patient to see. I came close to her room in a hurry and stood at the doorway. She was an older woman, sitting at the edge of the bed, trying to put socks on her swollen feet. I spoke quickly to the nurse, saw her chart saying she was in stable condition. I was almost in the clear.

    She asked if I could help put on her socks. Instead, I began a long speech that went something like this: "How are you feeling? Your blood sugar and blood pressure were high but they're better today. The nurse said you can't wait to see your son who's visiting you today. It's nice to have family visit from far away. I'm sure you really look forward to seeing him."

    She stopped me with a serious voice. "Sit down, doctor. This is my story, not your story."

    I was surprised and ashamed. I sat down. I helped her with the socks. She began to tell me that her only son lived around the corner from her, but she had not seen him in five years. She believed that the pressure of this caused greatly to her health problems. After hearing her story and putting on her socks, I asked if there was anything else I could do for her. She shook her head and smiled. All she wanted me to do was to listen.

    Listening to someone's story costs less than expensive diagnostic testing but is key to healing. I often thought of what that woman taught me—the importance of stopping, sitting down and truly listening. And, not long after, unexpectedly, I became the patient, with a diagnosis of sclerosis at age 31. Now, 20 years later, I sit all the time—in a wheelchair.

    For as long as I could, I continued to see patients from my chair, but I had to give up my job when my hands were influenced. I still teach medical students and other health care professionals, but now from the view of doctor and patient.

    I tell them I believe in the power of listening. I tell them I know firsthand that huge healing takes place within me when someone stops, sits down and listens to my story.