高级中学课本 英语 第三册 SUPPLEMENTARY READINGS1. （One afternoon, Tom Sawyer and Huck Finn went to a deserted house to look for “hidden treasures”） The dead silence of the place almost drove them away. When they finally got up enough courage to go in, they found themselves in a dusty room with broken windows and rotten stairs. After looking around, they decided to have a look upstairs. Throwing their tools in a corner, they went up. There was nothing there, just more dust. They were about to go down again when Tom suddenly whispered: “Sh! Keep still! Don’t move!” “What is it?” Huck turned as white as a sheet. “Someone’s coming.” “Who is it? Who would be coming to this deserted old place?” The frightened boys lay down quietly, their eyes fixed to holes in the floor. Two men came into the room downstairs. One of them was the old deaf and dumb Spaniard who had been hanging around in the town lately. The second was someone they had never seen before. This man went on with what he had been saying: “No, I’ve thought it over and it’s too dangerous.” “Don’t be a coward!” the “Spaniard” said. The boys were shocked by the voice, not only because the “Spaniard” could now speak, but because it was the voice of the bad man, Joe, whom Tom had exposed as the murderer of Dr Robinson. After some more talk the two men lay down and soon fell asleep. Tom then rose softly, but the very first step he took produced such a terrible noise that he almost died of fright. He didn’t make a second try. At last, as the sun was setting, the two men below got up. They took out a bag they had hidden in the fireplace. There were hundreds of silver dollars in it. They took out twenty or thirty dollars each. Then, going down on his knees in the corner, Joe began to dig a hole with his knife in order to hide the bag again. All of a sudden Joe’s knife struck something. “What is it?” the other asked. “It’s a box, I believe.” He got the boys’ pick and spade and dug the box out. It was full of gold coins! “There are thousands of dollars here,” exclaimed Joe, his eyes wide with excitement. “I’ve often heard that Murrel’s gang was around here one summer,” his friend said. “This is probably their money. Well, now you won’t have to do that job that you’ve been planning.” “You don’t understand,” said Joe, a cruel light shining in his eyes. “It’s not her money. It’s revenge that I want! And I’ll need your help.” “What shall we do with the money? Bury it?” “Yes …” suddenly he stopped. “Why are a pick and a shovel here? And the pick had fresh earth on it. Who brought them here?” He looked around, then looked up. “Do you think they can be upstairs?” The boys’ blood ran cold. Joe put his hand on his knife and turned towards the stairs. The boys could hear him coming upstairs step by step. They were sick with fear. Crash! The rotten stairs had broken. Joe landed on the floor. “Look, Joe,” said his friend, “whoever left those tools here must have seen us and thought we were ghosts. I’m sure they haven’t stopped running yet.” Joe stood undecided for some time. “All right,” he said. Then the two picked up the box and went out. The boys let out a long breath. (Tom and Huck decided to keep an eye on Joe and try to get the treasure from him. It was decided that Huck was to wait every night near the room where Joe sometimes stayed.) Huck had been waiting a long, long time, but nothing had happened. Why not give it up and go to bed? Just as he was trying to make up his mind, he heard a noise. He jumped into a doorway. The next moment two men passed by him. One seemed to be carrying something under his arm. It must be that box! They were going to hide the treasure in a new place. What should he do? Should he call Tom? No, the men would get away and probably never be found again. He must follow them alone. The two men took the path that led up the hill. They passed the house of the old Welshman and kept on going. Huck shortened the distance between them now, thinking they would not be able to see him in the darkness. He slowed down after a while, fearing that he was getting too near to be safe. He was about to hurry on again when he heard someone cough not four feet from him! Huck’s heart jumped into his mouth. Then he relaxed. He knew where he was – right outside Widow Douglas’s yard. “There are lights, although it’s late,” he heard Joe say in a low voice. “You’d better give it up, then.” This was the voice of the stranger of the deserted house. “Give it up? Never! Her husband was the judge who had me thrown into prison. And that isn’t all. He had me whipped, with all the town looking on! He died, and escaped me. But she’ll suffer in his stead!” “Oh, don’t kill her!” the other said. “Don’t do that!” “Keep your opinion to yourself! You’ll help me. If you refuse, I’ll kill you!” “All right, but the quicker we do it the better.” “No, we’ll wait until the lights are out. There’s no hurry.” Huck didn’t wait to hear more. With the greatest care he stepped back little by little, until he judged that he was safe. Then he flew like the wind. Down, down he raced till he reached the Welshman’s. He banged at the door and the heads of the old man and his sons stuck out from the windows. “Let me in. Quick! It’s Huck Finn! I’ve got something important to tell you.” As soon as he was let in, Huck said, “Please don’t tell anyone that I told you, or I’ll get killed. But the widow’s in danger. She’s been good to me and I must help her!” “Speak out, Huck,” the old man said. “I promise you that no harm will ever come to you.” Huck hurriedly told them what he had overheard, and a few minutes later the old man and his sons, well armed, were going silently up the hill towards the widow’s house. Huck, hidden behind a great rock, listened anxiously. All of a sudden there was the sound of shorts and a cry. Huck waited for nothing more. He rushed down the hill as fast as his legs could carry him. 2. Paper is made of cellulose, a substance from the cell walls of plants. Cellulose fibers are treated with chemicals and mixed with water. The mixture is placed on a fine-meshed screen that lets the water drain off. As the fibers dry they mat together to form a sheet. The sheet is removed from the screen, dried, and pressed smooth to form paper. The cellulose used in paper today comes mostly from trees. About three fourths of the wood for papermaking comes from these trees has a long fiber and makes a strong paper. Cellulose from hardwood trees, such as poplar and birch, has short fibers and is used for making smooth paper. The highest-quality paper is made mostly from cotton fibers obtained from rags. Paper is one of the most important products ever invented by man. Widespread use of written language would not have been possible without some cheap and practical material to write on. The invention of paper meant that more people could be educated because more books could be printed and distributed. Together with the printing press, paper provided an extremely important way to communicate knowledge. How much paper do you use every year? Probably you can not answer that question quickly. In 1900 the world’s use of paper was about one kilogram for each person a year. Now some countries use as much as 59 kilograms of paper for each person a year. Countries like the United States, England and Sweden use more paper than other countries. Paper, like many other things that we use today, was first made in China. In Egypt and the West, paper was not very commonly used before the year 1400. The Egyptians wrote on papyrus; Europeans used parchment for many hundreds of years. Parchment was very strong; it was made from the skin of certain young animals. We have learnt some of the most important facts of European history from records that were kept on parchment. The Chinese first made paper about 2,000 years ago. China still has pieces of paper which were made as long ago as that. But Chinese paper was not made from the wood of trees. It was made from the cellulose of certain plants. Paper was not made in southern Europe until about the year 1100. Scandinavia, which now makes a great deal of the word’s paper, did not begin to make it until 1500. It was a German named Schaeffer who found out that one could make the best paper from trees. After that, the forest countries of Canada, Sweden, Norway, Finland, and the United States became the most important in paper making. Today in Finland, which makes the best paper in the world, the paper industry is the biggest in the land. New papermaking machines are very big, and they make paper very fast. The biggest machines can make a piece of paper 300 metres long and six metres wide in one minute. When we think of paper, we think of newspapers, books, letters, envelopes, and writing paper. But there are many other uses. Only half of the paper that is made is used for books and newspapers, etc. Paper is very good for keeping you warm. Houses are often insulated with paper. You have perhaps seen homeless men asleep on a large number of newspapers. They are insulating themselves against the cold. In Finland where in winter it is sometimes – 40。 Centigrade, the farmers wear paper boots in the snow. Nothing could be warmer. Each year, more and more things are made of paper. We have had paper cups, plates, and dishes for a long time. But now we hear that chairs, tables, and even beds can be made of paper. With paper boots and shoes, you can wear paper hats, paper dresses, and paper raincoats. When you have used them once, you throw them away and buy new ones. The latest in paper seems to be paper houses. These are not small houses for children to play in, but real, big houses for people to live in. You can buy a house with three chief rooms for a comparatively small amount. You can put it up yourself in a few hours, and you can use it for about five years. People have made paper boats, but they have not yet made paper aeroplanes or cars. Just wait – they probably will. 3. At about 9 a.m. the front door of the jewelry store opened. Two well-dressed men entered. The taller one smiled and said “Good morning” to Mr. Ness. Mr. Ness put down the watch he was working on. He got up and went to greet the two men. “Good morning, gentle men. May I help you?” “Yes,” replied one of the men with a pleasant smile. “Are you Mr. Ness?” “Yes, I’m John Ness.” “Mr. Ness, I am Bert Krantz. I was sent here by Mrs. Van Loon. I understand you do all her work.” “That’s right,” said the jeweler. “Mrs. Van Loon said that you are working now on the famous Van Loon pearl brooch – the one that has the very large pearl.” “That’s right,” replied Mr. Ness. “It has been in the Van Loon family for years.” Bert Krantz gave him a broad smile. “Yes, that’s the one I mean. It must be worth a fortune.” “Right. The big pearl alone is rated in five figures. With the rest of the stones and the setting, the brooch is worth near a quarter of a million.” “Well, I just wanted to make sure,” replied Krantz, suddenly grabbing Mr. Ness’s arm. Then he flipped open his coat to let Mr. Ness know that he had a gun. Mr. Ness looked at one man and then the other. His face grew pale. “Listen,” continued Krantz. “We know that the time lock on the safe is set for ten o’clock. There are five alarm buttons in the store. We know exactly where they are. I’m warning you, don’t touch any of them. All you have to do is go back to work. Then at ten o’clock when the time lock opens up the safe, give us the brooch.” Krantz let go of Ness’ arm and moved up to the front of the store. The other man took a morning paper and sat down in the rear of the store. Mr. Ness picked up a package and began to unwrap it. In the package were about two dozen watches that sold for about five dollars each. A young man came in and walked over to Ness. “Good morning, Mr. Ness. Is my compass ready?” “Oh, good morning, Jerry. Yes, it is. Why all the hurry?” “This afternoon I’m teaching some of our scouts how the compass works. I’m a scoutmaster now, you know.” “Good! You know I once was a scoutmaster, too. I know how eager scouts are to learn. By the way, did you ever teach your scouts the semaphore code?” “Yes, I did. I’m grateful to you, Mr. Ness, for the help you once gave me.” Mr. Ness picked the watches one by one and kept talking as he wiped them off and hung them on a rack. Then he turned to Jerry and said, “Oh, I’m sorry to have kept you waiting. When I get to talking about the scouts, I never know when to stop. I’ll get your compass.” He stepped behind the counter, took down the compass, and handed it to Jerry. “Now, don’t drop it again,” he said. Jerry left and the jeweler turned back to work on the watches. In a few minutes two workmen came in the front door. “Are you the man who runs this place?” one of them asked. “Why, yes.” “You called yesterday about a leaky faucet in your washroom. We/re sorry we couldn’t get here sooner. Where’s the washroom?” “Oh, you’re the plumbers. The washroom is back there.” “Okay,” the man replied. The two men started for the rear of the store. About midway one man set down his tool box. He started to look for something in the bottom. “Well, I haven’t any small washers,” he said. “There’s a box of washers on the seat in the truck. Go get them, Joe.” Joe went back outside. At ten o’clock the time lock on the safe worked as it had been set to. Mr. Ness moved over to the safe, reached inside, and handed a small box to Krantz’s partner. The man immediately placed the box in his inside pocket. Just then the door opened and Joe, the “plumber’s helper,” came in. He had a gun in his hand. “Reach!” he said. “Reach, buddy, and reach high! I’m an officer, and you’re under arrest!” Both thieves put up their hands. The other plumber got out handcuffs and clamped them on the two men. By now Krantz was wondering what had gone wrong. He turned to the jeweler and asked, “What went wrong? Who tipped off the law?” The jeweler beamed. “Take a good look at the faces of the fifteen watches that I hang up.” Krantz looked and noted that the hands on the watches were turned to match the letters of the semaphore code. Then his jaw dropped as he spelled out the words, HOLD UP GET POLICE. 4. Some 2,000 kinds of earthworm wiggle across our world. One giant kind is 12 feet long. One tiny wonder glows like a lantern. Another kind protects itself by shooting out a stinging spray. But the real wonder is the four-inch earthworm most of us know. If you have gone fishing with worms for bait, you have probably cut an earthworm in two. You may think that he becomes two worms. The chances are against that. But if you pinch off his head or tail, he will probably grow a new one. And if you cut him exactly in half, the head half usually can grow a new tail. The other half often does not have enough food to keep it alive during the three weeks it takes to grow a new head. The earthworm’s body is made up of about 120 ringlike parts. On each of them, except the first and last, are bristles, which keep the worm from slipping as he glides along. Does the earthworm have a heart? Yes, but not just one. He has four pairs of hearts! The earthworm has a mouth but no eyes and ears. Still, he can sense the faint light of dawn or the hop of a robin. If he’s lucky, the worm will get back to his burrow before the robin catches him. The earthworm has no lungs. He breathes through his skin, taking oxygen from the air. Underground, he gets oxygen from air spaces in the soil. When water fills up the air spaces, he must come to the surface or drown. That’s why we are most likely to see worms after a heavy rain. When it’s very dry or warm, the earthworm goes deep underground. There he curls up in a ball in an air space and goes to sleep. The earthworm spends much of his time burrowing into the earth. But he doesn’t dig the way most animals do. He doesn’t push the earth aside. Instead he eats it! In 24 hours he eats his own weight in leaves, grass and earth. He has been known to dig as far down as eight feet. Everyone knows that worms are good for catching fish. But do you know that worms are good for plants and for the soil itself? That’s really why earthworms can be called wonders. The tunnels dug out by the earthworm allow air from the surface to enter the soil. The air spaces give plants more room to spread their roots. The worm’s tunnels are passages for water too. The soil drains better, thanks to the earthworm. The earthworm’s eating habits improve the soil in other ways. He comes out of his burrow to look for food. And he nibbles at anything from dead insects to dry leaves. He drags leaves into his burrow to eat later. The leaves and other vegetable matter the worm brings underground help to make the soil richer. The earthworm also brings chemicals from underground to the surface. He eats the soil that holds these chemicals. Then he goes to the surface and deposits the waste from food that has gone through his body. These deposits look like dirt and they are dirt. But in passing through the earthworm’s body the chemicals in the soil are changed into a form that plants can use. In winter the earthworm burrows deep, where the ground does not freeze. There he joins other earthworms. Forming a huge ball, hundreds of them squeeze together. In this way they keep their skins from drying out. When the ground begins to thaw, they all separate and move upward. The earthworm may live as long as six years. And all that time he is working wonders underground. 5. The family had just moved and the young woman was feeling a little melancholy on that Sunday in May. After all, it was Mother’s Day – and 800 miles separated her from her parents in another state far away. She had phoned her mother that morning to wish her a happy Mother’s Day, and her mother had mentioned how colorful the yard was, now that spring had arrived. As they talked, the younger woman could almost smell the purple lilacs hanging on the big bush outside her parents’ back door. Later, when she mentioned to her husband how she missed those lilacs, he sat up from his chair. “I know where we can find all you want,” he said. “Get the kids and come on.” So off they went, driving down the country roads on the kind of day only mid-May can produce: sparkling sunshine, clear blue skies and green grass and trees growing all around. They stopped at the foot of a hill. “Come with me,” the man said. “Over that hill is an old cellar hole, part of somebody’s farm of years ago, and there are lilacs all around it. The man who owns this land said I could come here anytime. I’m sure he won’t mind if we pick a few lilacs.” Before they got halfway up the hill, the fragrance of the lilacs drifted down to them, and the children started running. Soon, the mother began running, too, until she reached the top. There, far from view of passing cars were the tall bushes of beautiful purple lilacs. The young woman rushed up to the nearest bush and buried her face in the flowers, drinking in their fragrance and the memories it recalled. While the man examined the cellar hole and tried to explain to the children what the house must have looked like, the woman drifted among the lilacs. Carefully, she chose a few blossoms here, a few more there. She was in no hurry. To her, each blossom was a rare and delicate treasure. Finally, though, they returned to their car for the trip home. While the children chattered and the man drove, the woman sat smiling chattered and the man drove, the woman sat smiling, surrounded by her flowers, a faraway look in her eyes. When they were within three miles of home, she suddenly shouted to her husband, “Stop! Stop right here!” The man brought the car to a stop. Before he could ask her why, the woman was out of the car and hurrying up a nearby slope with the lilacs in her arms. At the top of the hill was a nursing home. It was such a beautiful spring day that the patients were outdoors strolling with relatives or sitting on the porch. The woman went to the end of the porch. There an elderly patient was sitting in her wheelchair, alone, head bowed, her back to most of the others. Across the porch railing went the flowers, into the lap of the old woman. Surprised, she lifted her head, then a smile lit up her face. For a few moments, the two women chatted, both glowing with happiness. Then the young woman turned and ran back to her family. As the car pulled away, the woman in the wheelchair waved, and clutched the lilacs to her heart. “Mom,” the kids asked, “who was that woman? Why did you give her our flowers?” The mother said nothing for a moment. “I don’t know her, nor do I know who she is,” the woman said softly. “But it’s Mother’s Day, and she seemed so alone.” “Besides,” she added, “I have all of you, and I still have my mother, even if she is far away. Just think how much those flowers meant to her.” Since then, every Mother’s Day, the family gather bouquets of purple lilacs they have planted themselves. And every year they think of that smile on the lonely old woman’s face, and the kindness that put the smile there. 6. Winter weather comes with its extreme coldness and low supply of food. Since most animals can not survive in it, they either sleep through it or migrate. The urge to migrate is very strong in some birds. Each year the tern can produce offspring only during a two-month period. During those two months the tern lives in the region near the North pole. In the ten months between this time and the next, he flies all the way from the North Pole to the South Pole, and then back north again. That is a distance of about 22,000 miles. To accomplish this, the tern must fly about 75 miles every day for ten months! What causes birds to migrate? How do they know when to migrate? How do they find their way on such long trips? And why do they come back from those warm comfortable places? Studies in New York State show that it is the bird’s biological time clock that causes a bird to migrate. A bird specialist kept some birds in a planetarium. He was surprised to find that they didn’t pay any attention to the stars in the ceiling when migration time came. But then he gradually gave them periods of false daylight, making the days shorter and shorter, as they are in the fall. Within a few weeks the birds tried their best to fly south. He also found that the birds navigate by the North Star once they get the urge to migrate. In fact, when the North Star was removed from the false sky, the birds became completely confused and flew in all different directions. Some birds find their way by the position of the sun in the sky. But most birds migrate at night. Apparently they migrate by the stars just as pilots of ships do. This was shown scientifically by some studies in Germany recently. Native song birds were kept inside a planetarium. In the center of the floor of a planetarium a machine shoots lights on to the ceiling, making small points of light to look like stars. The operator can imitate the night sky over any part of the earth by changing the machine. Inside the building the birds all became excited on the day of their usual migration. They all tried to fly south to Africa to their winter home. Then the experimenters changed the lights so that the sky on the ceiling was like that in Russia. At once the birds changed direction in the building to face what would have been the direction of Germany if they had been in Russia. When the false “sky” was slowly changed so that it was again like the one over Germany, the birds again turned to face Africa, trying to escape and fly a thousand miles. If things are so good in the warm climates that birds return there every winter, why do they come back north every spring? The warm region is crowded with birds, and the short winter stay of the migrants puts space and food on short supply. The area also has many turtles, snakes, and other animals that steal from bird nests, so birds return north to lay their eggs. Bird migration is the most familiar migration. But other animals migrate too. Every fall monarch butterflies all over Canada and the United States take an extremely long migration trip. They start out singly, then join others in crowds, moving in great numbers through the skies. Sometimes the butterflies fly in a single line, and other times they crowd together in thick black clouds, then stop in trees, making the covered branches move as if they were living. When you hold a butterfly in your hand and see the thin wings, you wonder how the butterflies can make these long trips. But they fly thousands of miles, often ten to forty miles an hour. No one knows how they find their way to the same places in California, Florida, and Mexico – but they do. And, as did their parents and grandparents, they not only go to the same towns for the winter, but sometimes even land in the same trees. In the spring the butterflies leave the trees and return north again. There they lay their eggs on young plants that are just coming up above the ground. After they lay their eggs, they die. Other creatures migrate too. Clouds of locusts sometimes cover the sky and eat everything visible. Eels leave the streams of Europe and America in the fall and travel as far as 5,000 miles to reach the Sargasso Sea in the Atlantic Ocean near Central America. Green turtles that live in Brazil set out every two or three years and travel across more than a thousand miles of open sea to lay their eggs on tiny islands in the South Atlantic Ocean. Salmon return to their home streams to lay their eggs, as do other fish. Many other animals migrate, some short distances, some to the other side of the world. Man, too, has been a great migratory. Many forces have kept man on the move – wars, religions, food, sickness. The most commonly known migrators were the groups who moved with the changes of seasons. These groups followed the animals north in the spring and south in the fall. For example, the America Plains Indian followed the buffalo for centuries. Man started his life upon the earth moving from one place to another. Moving frequently, looking for food, hunting here, picking fruit there – this was the earliest human way. That urge to move is still in most of us, but it is also balanced with the opposite and newer urge to farm and build cities. 7. In addition to my son, Adrian, there were seven children in his ward at The Hospital for Sick Children in London. They ranged from Adrian, who was four, through Carolyn, Elizabeth, Joseph, Hermie, Miriam, and Sally, to 12-year-old Freddie. All of the young patients were victims of leukemic diseases and didn’t have long to live. All, that is, except one – beautiful, green-eyed, golden-haired Elizabeth, who was ten years old. After completing a period of treatment with the other children, she would be able to go home and live a healthy life. Yet the other children felt a genuine and profound sympathy for the little girl. This I learned when I paid my daily visits to my son and talked with him and the others. Companions in distress, the children shared everything, even their parents. Elizabeth, who had undergone complicated surgery in the region behind her ears, was going deaf. It would be only a matter of months before her hearing loss was complete. Elizabeth was an ardent music lover, who possessed a clear and delightful singing voice and showed promise as a pianist, which made the prospect of her deafness all the more tragic. But she never complained. Occasionally, though, when she thought no one was looking, silent tears would form in her eyes and slowly roll down her cheeks. Elizabeth loved music more than anything else, and she enjoyed listening as much as she enjoyed performing. Frequently, after I had helped my son prepare for bed, she would make a sign to me to come into the playroom, which was quiet after the day’s activities. Seating herself in a big armchair, and making room for me to sit beside her, she would take my hand and say, “Sing for me.” I could not deny her request. Facing her so she could see my lips, and forming the words as clearly as I could, I would sing a couple of songs. She would listen intently and with obvious enjoyment, then thank me with a quick kiss on the forehead. The other children, as I have said, were disturbed by the little girl’s plight and decided to do something to cheer her up. Under Freddie’s leadership they came to a decision, which they took to their nurse Hilda Kirby, who, they knew, was their friend. At first, Kirby was taken aback by their announcement. “You want to give a concert for Elizabeth’s 11th birthday?” she exclaimed. “And it’s in three weeks’ time? You’re mad.” Upon seeing the look on their faces, she added, “You’re all mad. But I’ll help you.” Kirby lost no time in keeping her promise. As soon as she was off duty, Kirby took a cab to a conservatory of music to see her friend, Sister Mary Joseph, who was a voice and choir teacher. After a brief greeting, the nun came right to the point. “Kirby,” she asked, “what do you intend to involve me in now?” “Mary J,” replied Kirby, “is it possible to turn a small group of children, none of whom has had any musical training, into a choir, capable of giving a concert in three weeks?” “It is possible,” replied Sister Mary Joseph. “Not very probable, but possible.” “Bless you, Mary J,” exclaimed the nurse. “I knew you would.” “Just a minute, Kirby,” said the bewildered nun. “Tell me more. Maybe I am unworthy of your blessing.” Twenty minutes later, the two parted on the steps of the conservatory. “Bless you, Mary J,” repeated Kirby. “We’ll see you on Wednesday at three.” “What’s her name?” demanded Freddie as Kirby told him and the other children about her plan while Elizabeth was undergoing her daily treatment. “Is she a man or a woman, then? How can she be called ‘Mary Joseph’?” “She’s a nun, Freddie. She teaches at one of the best music schools in London. It’d cost you two guineas an hour to take lessons from her. And she’s going to train you – for free.” “Great!” exclaimed Hermie. “We’ll do it.” So it was settled. Under Sister Mary Joseph’s able direction, the children practiced each day while Elizabeth was undergoing treatment. There was only one big problem: how to include nine-year-old Joseph in the concert. Clearly, Joseph could not be left out, but, following surgery, he could no longer use his vocal cords. “Joseph,” the nun told him, after she had noticed him watching sadly as the others were assigned their singing parts, “You will sit beside me and turn the music pages as I play the piano.” For a brief moment, Joseph’s eyes shone. Then, close to tears, he wrote quickly on his note pad. “But, Sister, I can’t read music.” Sister Mary Joseph smiled down at the anxious little boy. “Don’t worry, Joseph,” she assured him, “you will.” Incredibly, within the three weeks Sister Mary Joseph and Kirby turned six dying children, none of whom had any noticeable musical talent, into an acceptable choir, and a little boy who could neither sing nor speak into a confident page-turner. Equally remarkable, the secret was well kept. When Elizabeth was led into the hospital chapel on the afternoon of her birthday and seated on a “throne” (a wheelchair) her surprise was genuine. Her pretty face flushed with excitement, and she leaned forward to listen. Although the audience – ten parents and three nurses – sat only a few feet from the platform, we had some difficulty in seeing the faces of the children clearly. But we didn’t have any trouble hearing them. Sister Mary Joseph had told the children just before the program began, “You know she can hear very little, so give it all you’ve got.” And they did. The concert was a great success. Elizabeth said it was the best birthday she had ever had. The choir almost burst with pride. Joseph beamed. The rest of us, I’m afraid, shed more tears. Anyone who is close to desperately ill or dying children realizes that it is not the hopelessness of their situation, nor even their physical suffering, that is so hard to bear. It is their will to keep fighting, their courage in the face of overwhelming odds, that breaks your heart. I have no printed program for the most memorable of all the concerts I have attended. Nevertheless, I have never heard, nor do I expect to hear, more beautiful music. If I close my eyes, I can still hear every note. Those six young voices have been stilled now many years. All seven members of the choir are sleeping. But I guarantee that Elizabeth, now married and the mother of her own golden-haired, green-eyed daughter, can still hear, in the ear of her memory, those six young voices which were among the last sounds she ever heard. 8. The closest brush I have ever had with death happened because I am blind. I was to give a speech, and I was late. I had 15 minutes to get from my hotel to the meeting. With Buddy, my German shepherd guide dog, I left my room on the 14th floor and hurried down the hall to the elevator. There Buddy stopped and stood still. Always before she had pointed with her nose to the call button, but this time she didn’t. “Forward,” I commanded. She did not obey! I let go of the dog and started forward. Buddy immediately threw herself across my legs, pushing so hard that I could not move ahead. At that moment a maid coming out of one of the rooms let out a terrified cry. “Don’t move!” she shouted. “The elevator door’s open, but the elevator’s not there! There’s only a hole!” Had Buddy let me take tow more steps I would have disappeared down the empty shaft! “I Want One of Those Dogs” A few years earlier I had never heard of guide dogs for the blind. I was 20 years old, living in a closed world of blindness, completely dependent upon others. Then one day – November 5, 1927 – my father read me a magazine article that changed my life. I heard how German shepherd dogs had been trained to take the place of a blind man’s eyes! I wrote the author of the article, Mrs. Dorothy Eustis. “Is that you say really true?” I asked. “If so, I want one of those dogs! And I am not alone. Thousands of blind people like me hate being dependent on others. I will help them. Train me and I will bring back my dog and show people here how a blind man can be on his own.” After a long month the answer came – from the village of Vevey in Switzerland. Mrs. Eustis would find me a dog, she said. But to get my dog, I would have to go all the way from Nashville, Tennessee, to the mountains of Switzerland! I did just that. One day in April 1928 I stepped down from the train into the warm sunshine and fresh cool air of Vevey. “Mr. Frank, here we are!” were the first words I heard. It was Mrs. Eustis. She shook my hand warmly and then introduced Jack Humphrey. “Jack trained your dog,” she said. “And now he’ll train you.” The next afternoon Jack brought my dog to me. I heard the door open and the soft fall of the dog’s paws on the floor. I knelt and stroked her. How lovely she was! Her name was Kiss. I pictured myself in a crowd of strangers calling out, “Here, Kiss. Come, Kiss.” I knew that wouldn’t do! So I put my arms around my new friend and told her, “I’ll call you Buddy.” “That’s a Good Girl ” The next morning my training began. I put on Buddy’s harness, with its U-shaped leather handle which was to be my link with her, and met Jack at the front door. “Pick up your handle in your left hand – the dog always works on your left side,” Jack told me. “Keep your shoulders back and walk like a soldier.” “Now give the command ‘Forward!’ and give it clearly. As soon as the dog responds, praise her.” My heart pounding, I said, “ Forward!” The handle almost jerked out of my hand, and we almost ran to the gate. Buddy stopped before it and for a moment I almost lost my balance. “She’s showing you where the latch is,” said Jack. I put my hand on her head and slid it down her nose. A teacher with a wooden pointer couldn’t have shown me any better. I lifted the latch and we started through. With Jack directing me, I gave the commands “Right” and “Forward” and down the road we went. I had not gone so fast in years. I heard Jack say, “Keep your shoulder back.” As I straightened, I threw out my chest. It was glorious – just a dog and a leather strap linking me to life. We were on the road leading to the cable railway that would take us down the mountain into Vevey. I heard the sounds of people, horses, wagons. As I was enjoying it all, Buddy suddenly stopped. “The railway steps, probably,” I thought and slid my foot forward. Sure enough, there was a low platform. How exciting! “Forward! That’s a good girl!” I cried. I felt Buddy’s harness giving me a gentle pull, and up we went. Jack sat with us when we found places on the cable car. “Put the dog under your knees so no one steps on her,” he said. I felt the car start jerkily, and 20 minutes later we had made our way down the hill to the little village. As we walked down the narrow sidewalk the feel of the harness told me Buddy was swerving to the right and I swerved with her. “She just took you around a man carrying two big baskets,” said Jack. At one point Buddy swung out to the left, then back in line again. I sensed no person or building near. “Why did she do that?” I asked Jack. “Put your hand up,” was his answer. I did, and at about eye level hit the framework of an awning. It would have struck me right in the face except for Buddy. This to me seemed the most amazing guiding she had done. Traveling alone, she would hardly have noticed the awning so far above her. But with me, her eyes had measured it against my six feet. Hers were, indeed, my seeing eyes. “That’s a good girl!” I said with feeling. “You’re on Your Own” For five days we took a training trip every morning and afternoon. Then Jack said, “Today you’re on your own. I’ll follow behind you but I won’t help you. If you don’t do what I’ve tried to teach you, you may get hurt.” I listened, but I didn’t really believe that Jack would let me get hurt. Jack carefully reviewed for me every turn and block of the route to the village. Then we set out. At the gate, instead of stopping immediately when Buddy did, I took two steps and ran right into the post. There was Jack’s laugh behind me and a loud “I told you so!” Buddy stopped as usual at the steps to the railway, but I was nervous and once more failed to halt as quickly as I should have. This time I stumbled and fell. Again Jack just laughed. Brushing off the dust, I clenched my teeth and thought, “That’s a mean way to treat a blind man. He could have saved me from falling.” In Vevey, discouraged and angry, I got into trouble at our first corner. Instead of listening for the sound of traffic, I foolishly gave my command, “Forward.” Halfway across, Buddy made a sudden stop, then hurriedly backed up, dragging me with her. I felt a car zoom past, so close that I could have touched it. That brought me to my senses. When we reached the safety of the curb, I gave Buddy a hug. On the trip home I did better. But I was still angry at Jack. When we got back I went to my room and threw myself on the bed. Soon I heard the door open. “Look, boy” – it was Jack’s voice – “you have your choice. You can be just another blind man or you can be a man on your own with Buddy’s eyes to help you. You can’t lean on me. If I have to follow you and tell you everything, you aren’t going to depend on your dog.” I didn’t answer. That night I went to bed feeling ashamed and lonely and discouraged. What if I couldn’t learn to use a guide dog after all? What a fool I’d feel returning to Nashville and having to say I had failed. The other blind people I wanted to help would never know I had tried. Then, as if she knew how I felt, Buddy got up from her place by my bed. She crawled up on top of the covers beside me, nuzzling my neck. My spirits lifted, and I began reviewing our morning trip. Really, it had not been so bad. I had made mistakes, but I had learned from them. And I had done fairly well on the last part of the trip. Most important, Buddy had shown me that if I did my part we two would walk together in safety. I dropped off to sleep with the comfort of Buddy beside me. Two Challenges Several weeks later I was really on my own with Buddy. I even went to Vevey and got a haircut – without Jack along. As the time drew near for me to “graduate” and go back home, Mrs. Eustis, Jack and I talked about my hopes for bringing guide dogs to the blind in America. “Whether any school for guide dogs can ever get started at all depends upon two things.” Mrs. Eustis warned me. “Number one, few people will believe that a dog can give you complete freedom of movement. So you and Buddy will have to go from city to city and prove that is is nearly as easy for you to get about as for any person who has sight.” I shuddered, thinking of the traffic in a big city. “Number two,” Mrs. Eustis continued, “you must not forget that signs saying ‘No digs allowed’ are almost everywhere, They’re in restaurants, hotels and stores, and on trains and buses. If the blind man’s dog can’t be with him wherever he goes, of what value is it to him? So your second task is to get Buddy accepted all over America with no more fuss than if she were a blind man’s cane.” This, too, was no easy task. “If you and Buddy can meet these two challenges,” she finished, “I will put up $10,000 and will help you start the guide-dog school.” Buddy’s Triumph Our first real challenge in America came right after Buddy and I arrived in New York. One of the reporters who met the boat dared me to cross West Street. I had never heard of West Street. If I had, I would not have answered so quickly. “Show us where it is,” I told the reporter. “We’ll cross it.” “It’s right here,” he said. “Okay,” I said confidently. “Buddy, Forward.” We entered a street so noisy that it was like entering a wall of sound. Buddy went about four paces and halted. A deafening roar and a rush of hot air told me a huge truck was passing by. Buddy moved forward, stopped, backed up and started again. I lost all sense of direction and surrendered myself entirely to the dog. I shall never forget the next three minutes. Trucks zoomed past, cabs blew their horns in our ears, drivers shouted at us. When we finally got to the other side, I leaned over and gave Buddy a big hug and told her what o good, good girl she was. “She sure is a good girl,” exclaimed a voice at my elbow – one of the photographers. “Some of the other fellows are still back on the other side!” After that, Fifth Avenue, Broadway and other busy New York streets were almost easy. All during our stay in New York photographers and newsmen trailed us. Everywhere people spoke to Buddy and petted her. She did her work grandly and with pleasure. In a week she had conquered the biggest city in the world. By the time we reached home, Buddy had triumphed in Philadelphia and Cincinnati, as well as in New York. Newspaper and magazine stories about her spread across the country. Happily, I went to a telegraph office in Nashville. “ I want to send a cable. Address it Eustis, Vevey, Switzerland,” I told the clerk. “Yes, sir. And what is the message?” “SUCCESS!” “Is that all?” he asked, unbelievingly. “Just one word?” “Yes,” I told him, “that tells everything.” A Final Tribute Late in January, 1929, Mrs. Eustis, Jack Humphrey and I organized The Seeing Eye. We named it after the title of the magazine article that had meant so much to me. And exactly one year and three months after I came across that article we opened our school. Buddy and I went all over the country to raise money for The Seeing Eye. I told my story – and always Buddy stole the show. In 1938 Buddy died. She was 12 years old. At that time in America 350 dogs were already guiding blind men and women. It was Buddy who made this great service to the blind possible. She was a true pioneer –and my loyal friend. 9. THE BLIND BOY O say what is that thing call’d Light, You talk of wondrous things you see, I feel him warm, but how can he My day or night myself I make And could I ever keep awake With heavy sighs I often hear But sure with patience I can bear Then let not what I cannot have C. Cibber THE DAFFODILS I wander’d lonely as a cloud That floats on high o’ver vales and hills, When all at once I saw a crowd, A host of golden daffodils Beside the lake, beneath the trees, Fluttering and dancing in the breeze. Continuous as the stars that shine And twinkle on the milky way, They stretch’d in never – ending line. Along the margin of a bay: Ten thousand saw I at a glance Tossing their heads in sprightly dance. The waves beside them danced, but they Outdid the sparkling waves in glee: - A Poet could not but be gay In such a jocund company! I gazed – and gazed – but little thought What wealth the show to me had brought; For oft, when on my couch I lie In vacant or in pensive mood, They flash upon that inward eye Which is the bliss of solitude; And then my heart with pleasure fills, And dances with the daffodils. W. Wordsworth |
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