哈利和安妮
Harry and Annie
苏茜和罗弗
Susie and Rover
竞 争
Emulation
粗鲁的男孩
The Insolent Boy
一个故事，两种说法
Two Ways of Telling a Story
懒汉休和托利先生
Hugh Idle and Mr. Toil
人生的写照
A Picture of Human Life
CHAPTER 7 培养良好的习惯
闹 钟
The Alarm Clock
学会说“不”
When to Say No
物归原处
A Place for Everything
拉尔夫?维克
Ralph Wick
坚持的价值
Perseverance
误 时
Behind Time
控制你的脾气
Control Your Temper
不浪费，就不会缺乏
Waste Not, Want Not
请别多管闲事
Do Not Meddle
內容試閱：
艾丽丝的晚餐
一顿简单的晚餐，却需要经过那样多的程序和那么多双勤劳的双手。歌声中唱出的，除了浓浓的爱，还有一丝“粒粒皆辛苦”的味道。无论是爱，还是粮食，都是需要我们珍惜的。
远方的山谷下小麦长得正好，
收割者忙着挥舞着镰刀。
我听到他们放声歌唱，
这歌声欢快而高亢。
“小麦从未长得这么好，
这是为艾丽丝的晚餐准备的，嗬，嗬。”
远方的河边有一处老磨坊，
磨坊主正在搓着沾满粉尘的双手，
当磨盘缓缓转动，
他激动不已地喊道：
“这是用钱能买到的最好的面粉，
这是为艾丽丝的晚餐准备的，嗨，嗨。”
楼下的厨房里炉火熊熊，
厨师正在揉着雪白而柔软的面团。
今天她一边不停地忙碌着，
一边唱着快乐的歌：
“这是我揉的最好的面团，
这是为艾丽丝的晚餐准备的，哈，哈。”
最后，妈妈来到了婴儿室，
她手中稳稳地端着什么？
是满满一盘的金色和白色，
她边走边唱，带着满脸的微笑，
“这是我见过的最好的面包和奶油，
这就是为艾丽丝的晚餐准备的，呵，呵。”
Alice''s Supper
Far down in the valley the wheat grows deep,
And the reapers are making the cradles sweep;
And this is the song that I hear them sing,
While cheery and loud their voices ring:
"''Tis the finest wheat that ever did grow!
And it is for Alice''s supper —ho! ho!"
Far down by the river the old mill stands,
And the miller is rubbing his dusty hands;
And these are the words of the miller''s lay,
As he watches the millstones grinding away:
"''Tis the finest flour that money can buy,
And it is for Alice''s supper —hi! hi!"
Downstairs in the kitchen the fire doth glow,
And cook is a-kneading the soft, white dough;
And this is the song she is singing to-day,
As merry and busy she''s working away:
"''Tis the finest dough, whether near or afar,
And it is for Alice''s supper —ha! ha!"
To the nursery now comes mother, at last,
And what in her hand is she bringing so fast?
''Tis a plateful of something, all yellow and white,
And she sings as she comes, with her smile so bright:
"''Tis the best bread and butter I ever did see,
And it is for Alice''s supper —he! he!"
“可怕”的黑暗
任何的黑暗都无法笼罩一颗强大的心灵。黑暗并不可怕，可怕的是你内心的软弱。心若是怯了，勇气便也跟着丧失了，做什么事情便先自乱了阵脚。请拥有一颗勇敢的心，不要让一片小小的阴影阻挡你人生的脚步。
“威利，你能到楼上，从柜子里把我的插针垫拿来吗？”妈妈大声说。
但是威利一点动静也没有。可能是威利没有听见吧。妈妈这样想着又喊了一声。
这次威利怯怯地说： “我怕！”
“怕什么？”妈妈问。
“那里很黑。”
“呵呵，我来告诉你黑暗是什么？”妈妈把手伸向灯与桌子上的针线篮之间。妈妈说。“现在篮子里是黑的，但只要我的手一移开，它马上就会变亮了。”
“来呀，威利，站在灯和墙之间。看，威利！妈妈说。墙上只是你的影子。你觉得你的影子可以伤害你吗？”妈妈微笑着问。
“当然不，妈妈！我确信它伤害不了我。”威利兴奋地回答。
“对啊，黑暗只是笼罩世界的大影子。”
“那是什么弄出的大影子，妈妈？”威利好奇地问。
“我会告诉你的，威利，不过要等你再长大一些。现在，我想你是一个不再害怕影子的勇敢男孩了。你敢到楼上把我的插针垫拿来了吧。”
“当然，妈妈，我这就去拿给你。”很快，威利就把插针垫拿给了妈妈。
“谢谢，我勇敢的小男子汉。你看，黑暗并没有伤害你！”妈妈说。
Afraid in the Dark
"Willie, will you run upstairs, and get my needle book from the
bureau?"
But Willie did not stir. "Willie!" said mamma. She thought he had
not heard.
"I''m afraid," said Willie.
"Afraid of what?"
"It''s dark up there."
"What is the dark?" asked mamma. "See! It is nothing but a
shadow."
And she held her hand between the lamp and the workbasket on the
table.
"Now it is dark in the basket; but as soon as I take my hand
away, it is light."
"Come and stand between the lamp and the wall, Willie. See! There
is your shadow on the wall. Can your shadow hurt you?"
"Oh no, mamma! I am sure it can not hurt me."
"Well, the dark is only a big shadow over everything."
"What makes the big shadow, mamma?"
"I will tell you all about that, Willie, when you are a little
older. But now, I wish you would find me a brave boy who is not
afraid of shadows, to run upstairs and get my needlebook."
"I am brave, mamma. I will go. — Here it is."
"Thank you, my brave little man. You see the dark didn''t hurt
you."
积木城堡
人生的道路上，总会遇到很多困难和打击。你可以选择退缩，留下满地的狼藉独自落跑，承认自己是个失败者，也可以选择迎难而上，重整旗鼓，为自己营建更为美丽的城堡。如果你选择迎难而上，你会发现失败没什么了不起，只要再来一次就好了。
“臭猫！”赫伯特生气地嚷道，声音中带着些沮丧。顽皮的小猫碰到了他的积木城堡，塔楼和城墙“呼啦”一声全倒在了地上。
赫伯特捡起一块木块，狠狠地朝小猫砸过去。幸运的是，木块只是从小猫的头顶飞过，没有伤害到它。赫伯特又去拿另一块木块，妹妹赫蒂急忙跳过来一把将小猫抱在了自己怀里。
“不，不要这样。”她说，“你不该伤害它，它不是有意的。”
赫伯特的愤怒一下消失了，却变得伤心起来。他一屁股坐在地上，用手掩住脸抽泣起来。
“你是个男孩！”正在沙发上看书的哥哥乔说，“不要为打翻的牛奶哭泣，重新建一个吧。”
“不，我不要。”赫伯特哭着说。
“这里发生了什么事？”爸爸一边推门，一边大声问。
“小猫刚刚碰到了赫伯特的城堡，城堡一下子塌了。”赫蒂说，“可是小猫也不是故意的呀，它也不想让城堡塌掉的，是吗，爸爸？”
“哦，不，我还以为出了什么大麻烦呢！”
“赫伯特！”爸爸向赫伯特伸出手来，“起来吧！”小男孩慢慢地从地板上爬了起来，眼睛里还含着泪水，慢慢地走过来，站在了爸爸旁边。
“有比哭泣更好的法子，我的孩子。”爸爸说，“如果你那样做的话，你的心情就会好起来。我会听到你对着积木欢呼，而不是一直在这里哭泣。想让我做给你看吗？”
赫伯特点点头。爸爸坐在地板上的一堆积木块里，开始搭建新的城堡，赫伯特则在一边帮着递这递那。
很快，赫伯特对重建城堡就和刚才一样兴致勃勃了。他开始边唱边工作，所有的烦恼一下子全没了。
“这不是比哭好多了吗？”爸爸说。
“为什么要哭？”赫伯特问，看来他已经忘掉了几分钟前的伤心事了。
“因为小猫把你的城堡碰塌了呀！”
“哦！”赫伯特的脸上掠过一丝不快，不过很快便消失了。他又像先前一样高兴地建他的城堡去了。
“我告诉过他不要哭的。”坐在沙发上的乔说。
“如果你的风筝被刮跑了，你难道也不哭吗？”赫伯特反驳说。
“风筝和你的城堡是不一样的。”乔略显伤感地说，“风筝失去了就永远不会回来了，可你的积木还在那里，你只要重建一个就可以了。”
“我不这么看。”爸爸说道，“哭泣对你来说，比赫伯特更不应该。竹棍和纸都很容易找到，你只需动动手就可以得到新的风筝。”乔无话可说，低下头继续看他的书。这时，赫伯特的新城堡也建成了。
“比刚才小猫弄坏的那个漂亮多了！”赫蒂说。赫伯特显然也这么认为，他十分自豪地欣赏着城堡的每一个部分。
“小猫再把它弄坏，我非……”
“再建一个。”爸爸替他补充了下半句话。
“可是，爸爸，不能再让小猫弄坏了，那样我可受不了。”赫伯特大声说。
“那你就得看着它点，孩子。你要学着和成年人一样，时刻保持警惕。就像你要过马路，你就必须当心车辆。如果你不想和别人撞在一起，就必须留意别人行进的方向。”
“在房间里，如果你随意地到处走动，就很容易和别人撞在一起。我就看到过一个冒失的小女孩突然冲进房间里，和一个手里端着托盘刚要出门的仆人撞在一起了，托盘里的盘子自然碎得满地都是。”
“你是在说我吗？”赫蒂说。
“是的，就是你呀，不过我希望以后不会再发生这样的事情了。”爸爸接着说：“就像乔说的一样，不要为打翻的牛奶哭泣。如果你的城堡塌掉了的话，再建一个就是了！”
说完，爸爸离开了房间。
Castle-Building
"O pussy!" cried Herbert, in a voice of anger and dismay, as the
blockhouse he was building fell in sudden ruin. The playful cat had
rubbed against his mimic castle, and tower and wall went rattling
down upon the floor.
Herbert took up one of the blocks and threw it fiercely at pussy.
Happily, it passed over her and did no harm. His hand was reaching
for another block, when his little sister Hetty sprang toward the
cat, and caught her up.
"No, no, no!" said she, "you sha''n''t hurt pussy! She didn''t mean
to do it!"
Herbert''s passion was over quickly, and, sitting down upon the
floor, he covered his face with his hands, and began to cry.
"What a baby!" said Joe, his elder brother, who was reading on
the sofa. "Crying over spilled milk does no good. Build it up
again."
"No, I won''t," said Herbert, and he went on crying.
"What''s all the trouble here?" exclaimed papa, as he opened the
door and came in.
"Pussy just rubbed against Herbert''s castle, and it fell down,"
answered Hetty. "But she didn''t mean to do it; she did n''t know it
would fall, did she, papa?"
"Why, no! And is that all the trouble?"
"Herbert!" his papa called, and held out his hands. "Come." The
little boy got up from the floor, and came slowly, his eyes full of
tears, and stood by his father.
"There is a better way than this, my boy," said papa. "If you had
taken that way, your heart would have been light already. I should
have heard you singing over your blocks instead of crying. Shall I
show you that way?"
Herbert nodded his head, and papa sat down on the floor by the
pile of blocks, with his little son by his side, and began to lay
the foundation for a new castle.
Soon, Herbert was as much interested in castle-building as he had
been a little while before. He began to sing over his work. All his
trouble was gone. "This is a great deal better than crying,
isn''t it?" said papa.
"Crying for what?" asked Herbert, forgetting his grief of a few
minutes before.
"Because pussy knocked your castle over."
"Oh!" A shadow flitted across his face, but was gone in a moment,
and he went on building as eagerly as ever.
"I told him not to cry over spilled milk," said Joe, looking down
from his place on the sofa.
"I wonder if you didn''t cry when your kite string broke,"
retorted Herbert.
"Losing a kite is quite another thing," answered Joe, a little
dashed. "The kite was gone forever; but your blocks were as good as
before, and you had only to build again."
"I don''t see," said papa, "that crying was of any more use in
your case then in Herbert''s. Sticks and paper are easily found, and
you had only to go to work and make another kite." Joe looked down
at his book, and went on reading. By this time the castle was
finished.
"It is ever so much nicer than the one pussy knocked down," said
Hetty. And so thought Herbert, as he looked at it proudly from all
sides.
"If pussy knocks that down, I''ll—"
"Build it up again," said papa, finishing the sentence for his
little boy.
"But, papa, pussy must not knock my castles down. I can''t have
it," spoke out Herbert, knitting his forehead.
"You must watch her, then. Little boys, as well as grown up
people, have to be often on their guard. If you go into the street,
you have to look out for the carriages, so as not to be run over,
and you have to keep out of people''s way.
"In the house, if you go about heedlessly, you will be very apt
to run against some one. I have seen a careless child dash suddenly
into a room just as a servant was leaving it with a tray of dishes
in her hands. A crash followed."
"It was I, wasn''t it?" said Hetty.
"Yes, I believe it was, and I hope it will never happen
again."
Papa now left the room, saying, "I don''t want any more of this
crying over spilled milk, as Joe says. If your castles get knocked
down, build them up again."
好奇的玛杰丽
你可曾读过《苏菲的世界》？面对镜子中的自己，认真地问：“我从哪里来？”很多事情，我们习以为常却不求甚解。你可知道，真理藏在这个世界的每一个角落。你每多一分求索的精神，你便对这个世界多了一分了解。
三月末一个明媚的早晨，小玛杰丽戴好帽子，围上她的苏格兰彩格披肩，朝海滩走去。这可是她第一次一个人出来溜达呀，玛杰丽还只是一个小姑娘，除了那圆溜溜的、仅仅打量过六个春夏的灰色眼睛，她什么都是小小的。
远处的海和天空蒙着一层薄雾，太阳周围的白色云朵镶着粉色、紫色的光边。阳光和湿润的空气让玛杰丽心里觉得暖洋洋的，轻柔的风吹拂着她的披肩，当她望着阳光下粼粼的水面时，眼前的景象让她感到惊奇。因为太阳似乎从来没有像今天这样，如同一朵巨大的金色的花，盛开在珍珠般的花萼中——像一朵没有柄的花。也许那巨大的花柄隐藏在天空，直插到海底，没有人知道它的根扎在哪里。
玛杰丽没有继续为这个问题而困惑，因为她看到潮水涨起来了。浪花起初极小但每刻都在长大，它们涌上沙滩，洗刷卵石，欢笑着，眨着眼，低声轻语着，挤成一团，像成千上万急着回家的小孩子，每一个都有许多小秘密要述说。
浪花是从哪里来的呢？在蔚蓝色的地平线下面，是谁用低沉、空旷的声音，催促着他们涌上自己脚下的沙滩的呢？他们那悦耳的声音又在互相嘀咕着什么秘密呢？噢，海面下是什么，上面又是什么？它是如此深邃，如此宽广，又如此朦胧。那些看起来比海鸟都小的白色轮船是从哪里来的，又要去哪里呢？
当玛杰丽静静地坐在一块岩石上，想着这些问题的答案的时候，从崖上一棵香柏树上传来一声低沉的鸟鸣。漫长的冬天过后，玛杰丽几乎忘了还有小鸟，忘了小鸟还会歌唱，她甚至开始奇怪这样的音乐是怎么发出来的。
当她看到一只鸟落在黄褐色的枝干上时，她更加好奇了。这是一只蓝色的鸟，玛杰丽第一次见到这种颜色的鸟。它在那多刺的枝头上跳来跳去，仿佛成了树的一部分，因为香柏的果实是暗蓝色的，和鸟的羽毛的颜色差不多。但是音符是怎么进到它的嗓子里去的呢？进到它的嗓子后，又是怎么自如地抒发出来的呢？这只蓝鸟是从哪里来的？它是怎样飞过雪白的云堆来到蔚蓝大海的沙滩上的？
浪花对小鸟唱着欢迎的歌，小鸟也欢唱着应和浪花，它们就好像是老朋友一样。浪花的节拍和小鸟的啾啾声是如此和谐，就像是从同一个老师那儿一起学来的乐曲。在小鸟的歌声和大海涛声的相伴下，玛杰丽边想边走，爬上了一个在春日阳光映照下显出淡淡绿色的陡坡。
小草真的开始生长了！新鲜的嫩芽从去年的枯草叶子中挺出，似乎重新获得了生命。玛杰丽弯下腰来，看到新生的草尖从叶梢中挺出。到处散落着小小的由暗绿色叶子包裹的花蕾。它们包得紧紧的，只有那些观察过它们好几个春秋的人，大概才能知道不久之后那其中会绽放出什么样的花朵。没有人会责怪玛杰丽不知道这些显得很普通的东西，也不可能去责怪她这样俯身去观看小小的花骨朵，还对此发出惊叹声。
是什么使得黑色土地上长出这么碧绿的小草？花骨朵又是怎么知道该是脱掉那小小绿色帽子看看周围世界的时候了？它们是怎么长成花蕾的？在来到这个世界之前，它们是不是就在另一个世界盛开呢？它们知不知道自己会开什么样的花？花有灵魂吗，就像小女孩一样，当它们凋谢之后也会去往另一个世界吗？
玛杰丽想坐在岸边，等着花骨朵张开。如果花儿第一眼看到的就是玛杰丽凝望着它们的眼睛，它也许会把自己的小秘密告诉她的。一个花蕾正在绽放，上面点缀着黄色条纹，她想像着这些条纹将随着时间一点点变大。但是她不愿意去碰花骨朵，因为它看上去和自己一样鲜活。她只是在边上想着为什么，惊叹着。
玛杰丽听到妈妈的呼唤，踏着贝壳、卵石朝家走去，她愉悦地笑着，脸上露出了甜甜的酒窝。她觉得生活在这个大大的、奇妙的世界里真是自在，尽管她还不能给出它们为什么会是这样的答案，但她仍觉得活着真是幸福。当母亲给她摘下披肩，脱掉帽子时，小姑娘说：“妈妈，就让我待在门口好吗？我不喜欢在屋里待着。是什么让所有的东西都这么美丽快乐的呢？你不想知道吗？”
玛杰丽的妈妈是一个很善良的人。但是她因为有那么多的家务在等着她去做，即使自己有嗜好，也不会经常任由这些想法溜出厨房的门的。刚才她正在烤姜汁面包，现在怕是要烤糊了，所以她又把披肩围在小姑娘的脖子上，让她留在了门廊上。回去干活的时候，她自言自语地说：“古怪的孩子，长大后会变成什么样呢？”
玛杰丽坐在门槛上遐想，海浪阵阵，阳光照在身上越来越暖和。这一切都是如此奇妙、伟大而美丽！她的心随着音乐高兴地舞动起来。这音乐回响在天地间，回响在滋长的小草与金色的太阳间。
那天夜里，当这双圆溜溜的灰色眼睛合上的时候，当星星刚刚开始闪烁，天使们从空中望着玛杰丽，为那英明的造物主所创造的奇迹惊叹着。因为在地球上，没有什么比小孩子那花蕾般的灵魂更奇妙的东西了。
How Margery Wondered
One bright morning late in March, little Margery put on her hood
and her Highland plaid shawl, and went trudging across the beach.
It was the first time she had been trusted out alone, for Margery
was a little girl; nothing about her was large, except her round
gray eyes, which had yet scarcely opened upon half a dozen springs
and summers.
There was a pale mist on the far-off sea and sky, and up around
the sun were white clouds edged with the hues of pinks and violets.
The sunshine and the mild air made Margery''s very heart feel warm,
and she let the soft wind blow aside her Highland shawl, as she
looked across the waters at the sun, and wondered! For, somehow,
the sun had never looked before as it did today — it seemed like a
great golden flower bursting out of its pearl-lined calyx — a
flower without a stem. Or was there a strong stem away behind it in
the sky, that reached down below the sea, to a root, nobody could
guess where?
Margery did not stop to puzzle herself about the answer to her
question, for now the tide, was coming in, and the waves, little at
first, but growing larger every moment, were crowding up along the
sand and pebbles, laughing, winking, and whispering, as they
tumbled over each other, like thousands of children hurrying home
from somewhere, each with its own precious little secret to
tell.
Where did the waves come from? Who was down there under the blue
wall of the horizon, with the hoarse, hollow voice, urging and
pushing them across the beach at her feet? And what secret was it
they were lisping to each other with their pleasant voices? Oh,
what was there beneath the sea, and beyond the sea, so deep, so
broad, and so dim, too, away off where the white ships, that looked
smaller than sea birds, were gliding out and in?
But while Margery stood still for a moment on a dry rock, and
wondered, there came a low, rippling warble to her ear from a cedar
tree on the cliff above her. It had been a long winter, and Margery
had forgotten that there were birds, and that birds could sing. So
she wondered again what the music was.
And when she saw the bird perched on a yellow-brown bough, she
wondered yet more. It was only a bluebird, but then it was the
first bluebird Margery had ever seen. He fluttered among the
prickly twigs, and looked as if he had grown out of them, as the
cedar berries had, which were dusty blue, the color of his coat.
But how did the music get in his throat? And after it was in his
throat, how could it untangle itself, and wind itself off so
evenly? And where had the bluebird flown from, across the snow
banks down to the shore of the blue sea?
The waves sang a welcome to him, and he sang a welcome to the
waves; they seemed to know each other well; and the ripple and the
warble sounded so much alike, the bird and the wave must have both
learned their music of the same teacher. And Margery kept on
wondering as she stepped between the song of the bluebird and the
echo of the sea, and climbed a sloping bank, just turning faintly
green in the spring sunshine.
The grass was surely beginning to grow! There were fresh, juicy
shoots running up among the withered blades of last year, as if in
hopes of bringing them back to life; and closer down she saw the
sharp points of new spears peeping from their sheaths. And
scattered here and there were small, dark green leaves folded
around buds shut up so tightly that only those who had watched them
many seasons could tell what flowers were to be let out of their
safe prisons by and by. So no one could blame Margery for not
knowing that they were only common things, nor for stooping over
the tiny buds, and wondering.
What made the grass come up so green out of the black earth? And
how did the buds know when it was time to take off their little
green hoods, and see what there was in the world around them? And
how came they to be buds at all? Did they bloom in another world
before they sprung up here? — and did they know, themselves, what
kind of flowers they should blossom into? Had flowers souls, like
little girls, that would live in another world when their forms had
faded away in this?
Margery thought she would like to sit down on the bank, and wait
beside the buds until they opened; perhaps they would tell her
their secret if the very first thing they saw was her eyes watching
them. One bud was beginning to unfold; it was streaked with yellow
in little stripes that she could imagine became wider every minute.
But she would not touch it, for it seemed almost as much alive as
herself. She only wondered, and wondered!
Margery heard her mother calling her, and she trudged home across
the shells and pebbles with a pleasant smile dimpling her cheeks;
for she felt very much at home in this large, wonderful world, and
was happy to be alive, although she neither could have told, nor
cared to know, the reason why. But when her mother unpinned the
little girl''s Highland shawl, and took off her hood, she said, "O
mother, do let me live on the doorstep! I don''t like houses to stay
in. What makes everything so pretty and so glad? Don''t you like to
wonder?"
Margery''s mother was a good woman. But then there was all the
housework to do, and, if she had thoughts, she did not often let
them wander outside of the kitchen door. And just now she was
baking some gingerbread, which was in danger of getting burned in
the oven. So she pinned the shawl around the child''s neck again,
and left her on the doorstep, saying to herself, as she returned to
her work, "Queer child! I wonder what kind of a woman she will
be!"
But Margery sat on the doorstep, and wondered, as the sea sounded
louder, and the sunshine grew warmer around her. It was all so
strange, and grand, and beautiful! Her heart danced with joy to the
music that went echoing through the wide world from the roots of
the sprouting grass to the great golden blossom of the sun.
And when the round, gray eyes closed that night, at the first
peep of the stars, the angels looked down and wondered over
Margery. For the wisdom of the wisest being God has made, ends in
wonder; and there is nothing on earth so wonderful as the budding
soul of a little child
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