Mr. Smith works in an office . He's very busy and has no time to have a good rest . Every evening , when he comes back from his office , he's always tired and wants to go to bed early . But his wife often has a lot of interesting things to tell him after dinner . She doesn't stop talking before she goes to sleep .

    One day the man felt terrible and couldn't go to work . He decided to go to see a doctor . And Mrs. Smith went to the hospital with him . Before her husband asked the doctor what was wrong with him , the woman told the doctor all and the doctor understood why . He wrote out a prescription（处方）. And when Mrs. Smith brought the medicine（药物）to the doctor , the doctor said to her , “ The bottle of medicine is for your husband and the sleeping pills（药片）are for you . ” “ For me ? ” the woman said in surprise “ I'm fine . I don't need any medicine ! ” “ I don't think so , madam ” , said the doctor . “ They are sleeping pills . Your husband will soon be all right if you take them . ”

    Most musicians agree that the best violins were first made in Cremona, Italy, about 200 years ago. These violins sound better than any other violin. They even sound better than the violins made today. Violin makers and scientists try to make instruments like the Italian violins. But they aren't the same. Musicians still prefer the old ones.

    Some people think it is the age of the violins. But not all the old violins sound wonderful. Only the old violins from Cremona are special. So age cannot be the correct answer.

    Other people think the secret to those violins is wood. The wood must be from certain kinds of trees. But the kind of wood may not be so important. It may be more important to cut the wood in a special way. Wood for a violin must be cut very carefully. It has to be the right size and shape. The smallest difference will change the sound of the violin.  Musicians sometimes think that it is the secret of the Italians. Possibly they understood more than us about how to cut the wood.

    Size and shape may not be the answer either. Scientists can make new ones which are exactly the same size and shape. But the new violins still do not sound as good as the old ones. Some scientists think the secret may be the varnish (清漆). Varnish is what covers the wood of the violin. It makes the wood look shiny. It also helps the sound of the instrument. But no one knows what the Italian violin makers used in their varnish.

   Zhang Hai is my friend. He is from Shanghai. He likes1.Heis in their school rock band. He often2theguitar on Sundays. He plays it very well. You can see lots of3inhis bedroom. In them you can see all kinds of guitars. Now their school rock band4two good musicians. Can you play the piano, the drums or the violin?Then you can join their band. You can also write to him. His5iszhangHai2008@126.com.

I was ten years old when my mother died. Ten years old on that very day, my mother organized a party for me at the hospital. She made sure everyone there brought me presents. 

Nurse Ms. Louise gave me a fountain pen. "Now you can write beautiful stories, Katie," She said. Then the twins in the same room gave me a pink diary. A little too cute for me. I mean, I read Stephen King, the novelist and wanted to write like him. There was one box they held out till the end. It was a large box, carefully wrapped (包裹) with exquisite paper and ribbons. "Who's it from?" I asked. 

"It's you," Mama mouthed, hard breathing, but she smiled a very small smile at me. I read her lips. She meant it was a present for me. 

"Of course, it is," I said happily. 

I took off the paper carefully. It was a beautiful box made of heavy cardboard. Then I opened it slowly and...

"It's empty," I said. "Is this a joke?" I turned to ask Mama, but she was gone, no breath. 

"Mama!" I cried. I screamed. 

I cried steadily for a week at night, and for about a year, I stopped writing and reading. I felt empty and angry. 

One night, I woke up remembering how she had said, "It's you." Not, "It's for you," just "It's you." Mama had been a writer herself. She didn't use words carelessly. But, why? 

I took the box out and opened it. It was as empty as the day I had put it away. 

 "It's you," I whispered to the box. Suddenly I knew. 

I was the box, solid and strong, maybe even beautiful on the outside. But I had to fill up the box to make it all it could be. I had to fill me up as well. 

Then ____. The first thing I put on paper was about that birthday. I kept it in the box, and pretty soon that box was overflowing with stories. And poems. And memories. 

And so was I.

One day, when I was doing the dishes, my mom walked up to me and said, "I'm sorry, dear. Dinner is 1 again. I'm afraid (恐怕) we will have it in 20 more minutes. "

I was surprised. "No, it was great. I loved it. "

"Really?" she said. "You always ate 2 , saying nothing, so I thought you disliked it. " "No, I really enjoyed it. You're the best cook. "I said. 

"Then you should 3 me about that. " she said. "When someone does something nice for you, you should thank him. If you don't, he might think you are not 4 and stop doing those nice things. "

 From then on, I 5 said "thank you" to others. It soon became a habit and something magic(神奇的)6 happening. In my first year of high school, during the final week, I came home and 7 some snacks (点心) on the table. "Thanks, Mom. "I said. "They aren't from me. " Mom said. "They're from your bus driver. " Guess what? He has driven that bus for years. I was the first per- son to ever thank him as we 8 . The two words made such a big 9 that he went out of his way and gave me the present. 

That's the power of appreciation (感激 ). When you 10 it, all is right in the world. Anytime taking two seconds to say "thank you" is the best. 

One summer evening, Sylvie hurried the cow through the forest, following a path to her grandmother's home.

Suddenly she heard a loud whistle(哨子声).

"Hello," a young man carrying a gun called out cheerfully, "I've been hunting for birds." he explained,"but I've lost my way." Sylvie led the stranger through the forest.When they reached her house, the stranger explained his problem to Sylvie's grandmother and was invited to stay there for the night.

After dinner, the young man said he was a scientist, who collected birds."Do you put them in a cage?" Sylvie asked."No," he answered,"I shoot birds and put something special into them to preserve them.I have over 100 different kinds of birds at home.Their feathers(羽毛) look as bright as before."

"Sylvie knows a lot about birds too," her grandmother said proudly.

"Maybe she can help me," the young man said."I saw a white heron(鹭) not far from here two days ago.I've been looking for it ever since.It's a tall, strange bird with white wings.Have you seen it?" he asked Sylvie.Sylvie didn't answer.Her heart began to beat fast.She had seen that bird! The young man added."I would give $10 to the person who showed me where the bird is."

That night Sylvie thought about the wonderful things she and her grandmother could buy with ten dollars.She also wanted to be the young man's friend, because she had never seen anyone so handsome.

When the sun began to rise, Sylvie quietly left her house and hurried to a huge tree.She wanted to climb to the top of the tree where she could see the whole forest.

Sylvie's face was pale when, at last, she reached the top.Suddenly, a bird with big white wings flew past her and landed on a branch below her.The other white heron was sitting on the ne st in a nearby tree.Now Sylvie knew the bird's secret! An hour later, Sylvie returned to the house.The young man would give them the money they needed.Besides, Sylvie wanted to make him happy.But Sylvie was silent.She remembered how the white heron flew through the air and how they watched the sun rise together from the top of the forest.Sylvie could not speak.Finally, she decided to keep the secret of the white heron.

The young man went away later that day and never returned.