Ali, who was working a long way from home wanted to send a letter to his wife, but he could neither read nor write, and he had to work all day, so he could only look for somebody to write his letter late at night. At last he found the house of a letter writer whose name was Nasreddin.

    Nasreddin was already in bed. "It is late," he said. "What do you want?" "I want you to write a letter to my wife," said Ali, Nasreddin was not pleased. He thought for a few seconds and then said, "Has the letter got to go far?" "What does that matter?" answered Ali.

  "Well, my writing is so strange that only I can read it, and if I have to travel a long way to read your letter to your wife, it will cost you a lot of money." Ali went away quickly.

    When the three children arrived at the tunnel, they looked up at the trees above it.

    "What's happening?" Peter said. "Look at the trees. They're moving."

    He was right. The trees were sliding down the hill.

    "It's a landslide," Roberta said. "There has been a lot of rain. The earth is soft. It is moving and bringing the trees with it."

    "They are going to fall on the railway line," Phyllis said. "There'll be an accident if the train hits them. We must stop the next train."

    "How do we do that?" Peter said. "The next train is arriving at 11:29. That's in five minutes. And the train is only about fifteen kilometers away."

    "We can run towards the train and wave to the driver," Phyllis said.

    "He won't think there is anything wrong," Roberta said. "We always wave to him."

    "We need something red to wave,"Peter said."Red is for danger."

    "My skirtis red,"Phyllis said."I'll tear pieces off."

    "Mother will be angry if you do that,"Roberta said."Skirts are expensive."

    "People may die if there is an accident,"Peter said."Skirts aren't important."

    Phyllis tore strips(条)from the bottom of her skirt.

    "We need sticks to tie the strips to,"Peter said.

    The children ran to a nearby tree. With his knife, Peter cut off three thin branches. He tied each of the strips of red skirt to one of the branches.

    "Now we have red flags," he said. "When we wave these, the engine driver will know something is wrong. He will stop the train and ask us what the matter is."

    The children ran through the tunnel and waited at the other side for the train to come. They had to wait for a long time. Peter thought the watch must be wrong, but it was the train that was late. Then, the train arrived. The children waved their flags. Roberta was so excited that she fainted(晕).

    The engine driver saw the red flags and the children. He knew something was wrong. He stopped the train. Peter and Phyllis ran towards the engine. They shouted to the driver that there were trees on the line. The engine driver climbed down from his engine. He hurried to where Roberta was lying on the ground in a faint. He picked her up and carried her to the train and put her in a comfortable carriage.

    Frank was a very talkative little boy. He never saw a new thing without asking a great many questions about it.

    His mother was very patient and kind. When it was proper to answer his questions, she would do so. Sometimes she would say, "You are not old enough to understand that, my son. When you are ten years old, you may ask me about it, and I will tell you." When his mother said this, Frank never bother(烦扰)her any more. He knew she always liked to answer him when he asked proper questions.

    The first time Frank saw an hourglass, he was very much interested, but he did not know what it was. His mother said, "An hourglass is made in the shape of the figure 8. The sand is put in at one end and runs through a small hole in the middle. As much sand is put into the glass as will run through in an hour."

    Frank watched the little stream of sand. He was impatient, because it would not run faster. "Let me shake it, mother," said he, "it is lazy, and will never get through."

    "Oh, yes, it will, my son," said his mother, "The sand moves by little and little, but it moves all the time. When you look at the hands of the clock, you think they go very slowly, and so they do, but they never stop. While you are at play, the sand is running, grain by grain(一粒粒). The hands of the clock are moving, second by second. At night, the sand in the hourglass has run through twelve times. The hour hand of the clock has moved all around its great face. This because they keep at work every minute. They do not stop to think how much they have to do, and how long it will take them to do it."

    Now, Frank's mother wanted him to learn a little hymn(赞美诗), but he said, "Mother, I can never learn it."

    His mother said, "Study all the time. Never stop to ask how long it will take to learn it. You will be able to say it very soon."

    Frank followed his mother's advice. He studied line after line, very busily; and in one hour and a half he knew the hymn perfectly.

    July is the time for some students to say goodbye to their mother schools. Every time it comes, I will think of my old deskmate, Xiaowei. She is the most unforgettable classmate in my junior high school life. It has been many years since I graduated, but she is still in my mind clearly.

    Xiaowei was a lovely girl with long black hair. On hot days, her hair was sometimes seen to be tied up. She was always wearing a sweet smile. She was an artistic(文艺范的)girl who showed up before me every day. She loved reading novels and drawing.

    She liked reading different kinds of novels, especially on history. She could finish reading a historical novel as thick as our Chinese textbook at an amazing speed.

    Whenever she had free time, she would take out a drawing note and start drawing cartoons with a pencil. She drew from characters' heads to eyes and to faces, but the characters were always long-haired and wide-eyed. One day I couldn't help asking," Why don't you colour them?" She answered simply, "Because I don't have enough time." She kept her works as a secret and never talked about them with others. When we were told that she had won a prize in the drawing competition in her group, my classmates felt surprised.

    There is a folk song called My Old Deskmate, which is sung widely among people of different ages. It was created because the creator, Gao Xiaosong, had never forgotten his deskmate. Whenever I hear it, I will think of Xiaowei. How are you, my old deskmate?