It was Christmas 1961. I was teaching in a small town in Ohio where my twenty-seven third graders eagerly looked forward to the great day of gifts giving.

Each day the children produced some new wonder—strings of popcorn, hand-made presents, and German bells made from wallpaper samples, which we hung from the _ceiling. Through it all, she remained far from others, watching from a long distance, as if miles away. I wondered what would happen to this quiet child, once so happy, now so suddenly _withdrawn. I hoped the _festivities would be attractive to her. But nothing did.

The day of gifts giving finally came. We _oohed and _aahed over our hand-made presents as they were exchanged. Through it all, she sat quietly watching. I had made a special small bag for her, red and green with white _lace. I wanted very much to see her smile. _She opened the package so slowly and carefully. I waited but she turned away.

After school the children left in little groups, but she stayed behind, watching them go out the door. I sat down to catch my breath, hardly aware of what was happening when she came to me with her hands spread out, holding a small white box, which was unlocked and slightly dirty, as though it had been held many times by unwashed, childish hands. “For me?” I asked with a weak smile. She said not a word, but nodded her head. I took the box and quietly opened it with great care. There inside, bright green, lay a golden chain. In a flash I knew—she had made it for her mother, a mother she would never see again, a mother who would never hold her or brush her hair or share a funny story, a mother who would never again hear her childish joys or sorrows, a mother who had taken her own life just three weeks before.

I held out the chain. She took it in both her hands, reached forward, and secured the simple clasp at the back of my neck. She stepped back then as if to see that all was well. I looked down at the golden chain, then back at the giver, “Maria, it is so beautiful. She would have loved it.” Neither of us could stop the tears. She _stumbled into my arms and we wept together. And for that brief moment I became her mother, for she had given me the greatest gift of all: herself.

ceiling 天花板

withdrawn 孤僻的

festivities 慶典，慶?；顒?/p>

ooh 發(fā)出“嗬”的聲音

aah 發(fā)出“啊”的喊叫

lace蕾絲花邊

clasp扣子

stumble步履蹣跚

（1） The underlined word “She” in the last paragraph refers to_______.

A. the chain giver B. the school teacher

C. the child herself D. the childs mother

（2） We know from the passage that the little girls name was_______.

（Find the KEY in this issue）