In films, spies(间谍) are lucky people. They are smart and adventurous. But a real spy's life is not that exciting. They must live a life of lies. Their work is dangerous and they may have to pay for it with their lives. American spy Nathan Hale (1755-1776) was one of these people.

    Why does someone want to be a spy? Some do it for their country. Some for money. Some just love it. Nathan Hale became a spy for the first reason. He lived during the American Revolution (革命). He and his people fought the British army.

    In 1774, Hale joined the American army. Before that, he was a school teacher. Two years later, he chose to be a spy. He had to get information from the British army. He went to the city where the British army was staying. He told them that he was a school teacher and wanted to find a new job. As a young spy, Hale didn't have enough experience. He had told his secret to somebody else. But that person sold him out to the British army. He tried to get information for the American army. Hale finally got something important and decided to go back. He hid some papers in his boots. He went to the river bank and waited for a boat to pick him up. However, British soldiers caught Hale at the river bank and found the papers in his boots.

    Hale died on Sept 22, 1776. His final words were: "I only regret(后悔) I have but one life to lose for my country." He died at the age of 21.

    People say that one person can't really make a difference, but I don't believe that. If all of us just do "one" thing like the following three heroes, we will make a difference.

Super Girl

    When she was 7, Brooklyn Wright wrote The Adventures of the Earth Saver Girl. In the book, a girl learns she has the power to make the Earth free from rubbish. She calls her Super Girl and tries her best to save the Earth. Brooklyn Wright has visited more than100 schools to teach students about pollution. Last year, she received a Gloria Barron Prize for Young Heroes for her work.

A Voice for Elephants

    Many elephants are being killed for their ivory. After learning the facts, China's Celia Ho, 14, decided to take action. By making posters and writing letters to newspapers, she hopes more people will learn about the problem.

Turning Cooking Oil into Fuel

    Jane Lin didn't start out "to be green" .At first, she was worried about her neighbor who couldn't afford heat in winter. At a science expo, she saw someone turning old cooking oil into fuel. Suddenly, she came up with a plan to collect old cooking oil for the poor family. So far she has collected about 21, 000 gallons of fuel for 210 families. At the same time, she helps reduce the emission（排放） of CO₂  and other greenhouse gases.

    I live in Mentone, a quiet, simple, restful place, where the rich never come. I met Theophile Magnan, a retired, rich, old man from Lyons yesterday. In the Hotel des Anglais. Theophile looked sad and dreamy, and didn't talk with anybody else. Which brought me back to the past.

A long time ago, Francois Millet. Claude, Carl and I were young artists — very young artists — in fact.

    Yes, Francois Millet. The great French artist, was my friend.

Millet wasn't any greater than we were at that time. He didn't have any fame, even in his own village.

    We were all poor though we had stacks and stacks of as good pictures as anybody in Europe painted. Once a person ever offered four francs for Millet's "Angelus", which he intended to sell for eight.

    It was a fact in human history that a great artist would never be acknowledged* until after he was starved and dead. His pictures climbed to high prices after his death.

    Then we made a decision that one of us must die, to save the others and himself.

    Millet was elected to die.

    During the next three months Millet painted with all his might, enlarged his stock all he could, not pictures, not sketches, studies, parts of studies, fragments of studies, of course, with his cipher *  on them.

    They were the things to be sold.

    Carl went to Paris to start the work of building up Millet's name. Claude and I went to sell Millet's small pictures and to build up his name as well.

    We made Millet a master. I always said to my customer, "I am a fool to sell a picture of Francois Millet's at all, for he is not going to live three months, and when he dies his pictures can't be had for love or money."

    Claude and I took care to spread that little fact as far as we could.

Carl made friends with the correspondents, and got Millet's condition reported to England and all over the continent, and America, and everywhere.

    The sad end came at last, Millet died, not really.  He became Theophile Magnan.

    The pictures went up. There's a man in Paris today who owns seventy Millet pictures. He paid us two million francs for them. Do you still remember the "Angelus"? Carl sold it for twenty—two hundred francs. And as for the bushels of sketches and studies which Millet produced in the last six weeks, well, it would astonish you to know the figure we sell them at nowadays.

    We are no longer artists and Millet dead.

My mother's loving hands

    Night after night, she came to help me sleep, even long after my childhood years.

    I don't remember1it first started making me a little angry-my mum's hands pushing my hair that way. But it really made me uncomfortable, for they2rough(粗糙的)against my young skin. Finally, one night, I3her, "Don't do that anymore. Your hands are too rough！”She didn't say anything, 4she never did it again.

    Years later, I missed my mother's5and her goodnight kiss on my face. I'm not a little girl any more. My mum is6her mid-seventies, and her rough hands are still doing things for my family and me.

    Now my own children have7. It was late on Thanksgiving Eve. As I slept in my bedroom, a familiar hand ran across my8to push the hair from my head. Then a kiss, ever so softly, touched my brow(额头).

    Taking my mum's hand, I told her how9I was for that night I shouted at her. But my mum didn't know what I was talking about. She had forgotten it long ago.

    That night, I10with a new appreciation(感激)for my mother's caring hands. And the guilt(内疚)that I had carried around for so long was nowhere to be found.

    Mrs. White asks Monica, "Do you like to have a treasure hunt(寻宝游戏)?" "Yes, Mom," Monica says. Mrs White gives(给) her a green notes(便条). It says, "You can find books in it." Monica comes to the bookcase and sees a yellow note in it. It says, "You can sit on it."

    Monica comes to her bed, but she can't find a note. She comes to her chair and sees a red note. "You can put(放) your tape in it," it says.

    Monica comes to her tape player and sees an orange note next to it. It says, "Call 786-0987." Monica comes to the phone on the table and calls 786-0987. "Monica comes to the phone on the table and calls 786-0987." Hello? This is Aunt Maria."

    "Oh, Aunt Maria, my treasure is you!" says Monica.