Trau dồi Anh ngữ qua mẩu chuyện đạo đức

[Đỗ Quyên]

The Brave Tin Soldier
Author: Hans Christian Andersen  
This is one of the Andersen short stories that always touch my heart.
 


There were once five-and-twenty tin soldiers, who were all brothers, for they had been made out of the same old tin spoon. They shouldered arms and looked straight before them, and wore a splendid uniform, red and blue. The first thing in the world they ever heard were the words, \\\"Tin soldiers!\\\" uttered by a little boy, who clapped his hands with delight when the lid of the box, in which they lay, was taken off. They were given him for a birthday present, and he stood at the table to set them up. The soldiers were all exactly alike, excepting one, who had only one leg; he had been left to the last, and then there was not enough of the melted tin to finish him, so they made him to stand firmly on one leg, and this caused him to be very remarkable.

The table on which the tin soldiers stood, was covered with other playthings, but the most attractive to the eye was a pretty little paper castle. Through the small windows the rooms could be seen. In front of the castle a number of little trees surrounded a piece of looking-glass, which was intended to represent a transparent lake. Swans, made of wax, swam on the lake, and were reflected in it. All this was very pretty, but the prettiest of all was a tiny little lady, who stood at the open door of the castle; she, also, was made of paper, and she wore a dress of clear muslin, with a narrow blue ribbon over her shoulders just like a scarf. In front of these was fixed a glittering tinsel rose, as large as her whole face. The little lady was a dancer, and she stretched out both her arms, and raised one of her legs so high, that the tin soldier could not see it at all, and he thought that she, like himself, had only one leg. \\\"That is the wife for me,\\\" he thought; \\\"but she is too grand, and lives in a castle, while I have only a box to live in, five-and-twenty of us altogether, that is no place for her. Still I must try and make her acquaintance.\\\" Then he laid himself at full length on the table behind a snuff-box that stood upon it, so that he could peep at the little delicate lady, who continued to stand on one leg without losing her balance. When evening came, the other tin soldiers were all placed in the box, and the people of the house went to bed. Then the playthings began to have their own games together, to pay visits, to have sham fights, and to give balls. The tin soldiers rattled in their box; they wanted to get out and join the amusements, but they could not open the lid. The nut-crackers played at leap-frog, and the pencil jumped about the table. There was such a noise that the canary woke up and began to talk, and in poetry too. Only the tin soldier and the dancer remained in their places. She stood on tiptoe, with her legs stretched out, as firmly as he did on his one leg. He never took his eyes from her for even a moment. The clock struck twelve, and, with a bounce, up sprang the lid of the snuff-box; but, instead of snuff, there jumped up a little black goblin; for the snuff-box was a toy puzzle.

\\\"Tin soldier,\\\" said the goblin, \\\"don\\\'t wish for what does not belong to you.\\\"

But the tin soldier pretended not to hear.

\\\"Very well; wait till to-morrow, then,\\\" said the goblin.

When the children came in the next morning, they placed the tin soldier in the window. Now, whether it was the goblin who did it, or the draught, is not known, but the window flew open, and out fell the tin soldier, heels over head, from the third story, into the street beneath. It was a terrible fall; for he came head downwards, his helmet and his bayonet stuck in between the flagstones, and his one leg up in the air. The servant maid and the little boy went down stairs directly to look for him; but he was nowhere to be seen, although once they nearly trod upon him. If he had called out, \\\"Here I am,\\\" it would have been all right, but he was too proud to cry out for help while he wore a uniform.

Presently it began to rain, and the drops fell faster and faster, till there was a heavy shower. When it was over, two boys happened to pass by, and one of them said, \\\"Look, there is a tin soldier. He ought to have a boat to sail in.\\\"

So they made a boat out of a newspaper, and placed the tin soldier in it, and sent him sailing down the gutter, while the two boys ran by the side of it, and clapped their hands. Good gracious, what large waves arose in that gutter! and how fast the stream rolled on! for the rain had been very heavy. The paper boat rocked up and down, and turned itself round sometimes so quickly that the tin soldier trembled; yet he remained firm; his countenance did not change; he looked straight before him, and shouldered his musket. Suddenly the boat shot under a bridge which formed a part of a drain, and then it was as dark as the tin soldier\\\'s box.

\\\"Where am I going now?\\\" thought he. \\\"This is the black goblin\\\'s fault, I am sure. Ah, well, if the little lady were only here with me in the boat, I should not care for any darkness.\\\"

Suddenly there appeared a great water-rat, who lived in the drain.

\\\"Have you a passport?\\\" asked the rat, \\\"give it to me at once.\\\" But the tin soldier remained silent and held his musket tighter than ever. The boat sailed on and the rat followed it. How he did gnash his teeth and cry out to the bits of wood and straw, \\\"Stop him, stop him; he has not paid toll, and has not shown his pass.\\\" But the stream rushed on stronger and stronger. The tin soldier could already see daylight shining where the arch ended. Then he heard a roaring sound quite terrible enough to frighten the bravest man. At the end of the tunnel the drain fell into a large canal over a steep place, which made it as dangerous for him as a waterfall would be to us. He was too close to it to stop, so the boat rushed on, and the poor tin soldier could only hold himself as stiffly as possible, without moving an eyelid, to show that he was not afraid. The boat whirled round three or four times, and then filled with water to the very edge; nothing could save it from sinking. He now stood up to his neck in water, while deeper and deeper sank the boat, and the paper became soft and loose with the wet, till at last the water closed over the soldier\\\'s head. He thought of the elegant little dancer whom he should never see again, and the words of the song sounded in his ears--


\\\"Farewell, warrior! ever brave,
Drifting onward to thy grave.\\\"


Then the paper boat fell to pieces, and the soldier sank into the water and immediately afterwards was swallowed up by a great fish. Oh how dark it was inside the fish! A great deal darker than in the tunnel, and narrower too, but the tin soldier continued firm, and lay at full length shouldering his musket. The fish swam to and fro, making the most wonderful movements, but at last he became quite still. After a while, a flash of lightning seemed to pass through him, and then the daylight approached, and a voice cried out, \\\"I declare here is the tin soldier.\\\" The fish had been caught, taken to the market and sold to the cook, who took him into the kitchen and cut him open with a large knife. She picked up the soldier and held him by the waist between her finger and thumb, and carried him into the room. They were all anxious to see this wonderful soldier who had travelled about inside a fish; but he was not at all proud. They placed him on the table, and--how many curious things do happen in the world!--there he was in the very same room from the window of which he had fallen, there were the same children, the same playthings, standing on the table, and the pretty castle with the elegant little dancer at the door; she still balanced herself on one leg, and held up the other, so she was as firm as himself. It touched the tin soldier so much to see her that he almost wept tin tears, but he kept them back. He only looked at her and they both remained silent. Presently one of the little boys took up the tin soldier, and threw him into the stove. He had no reason for doing so, therefore it must have been the fault of the black goblin who lived in the snuff-box. The flames lighted up the tin soldier, as he stood, the heat was very terrible, but whether it proceeded from the real fire or from the fire of love he could not tell. Then he could see that the bright colors were faded from his uniform, but whether they had been washed off during his journey or from the effects of his sorrow, no one could say. He looked at the little lady, and she looked at him. He felt himself melting away, but he still remained firm with his gun on his shoulder. Suddenly the door of the room flew open and the draught of air caught up the little dancer, she fluttered like a sylph right into the stove by the side of the tin soldier, and was instantly in flames and was gone. The tin soldier melted down into a lump, and the next morning, when the maid servant took the ashes out of the stove, she found him in the shape of a little tin heart. But of the little dancer nothing remained but the tinsel rose, which was burnt black as a cinder.


[The end]

www.readbookonline.net

[lehung73]

Ngày gửi: 05-05-2009 Lúc 03:51 | IP Logged     
  tinhnguyen08
 
Just Stay

A nurse took the tired, anxious serviceman to the bedside.

\\\'Your son is here,\\\' she said to the old man.

She had to repeat the words several times before the patient\\\'s eyes opened.

He was heavily sedated because of the pain of his heart attack, he dimly saw the young uniformed Marine standing outside the oxygen tent. He reached out his hand. The Marine wrapped his toughened fingers around the old man\\\'s limp ones, squeezing a message of love and encouragement. The nurse brought a chair so that the Marine could sit beside the bed.

All through the night the young Marine sat there in the poorly lighted ward, holding the old man\\\'s hand and offering him words of love and strength.

Occasionally, the nurse suggested that the Marine move away and rest awhile. He refused.

Whenever the nurse came into the ward, the Marine was oblivious of her and of the night noises of the hospital - the clanking of the oxygen tank, the laughter of the night staff members exchanging greetings, the cries and moans of the other patients.

Now and then she heard him say a few gentle words. The dying man said nothing, only held tightly to his son all through the night. Along towards dawn, the old man died.

The Marine released the now lifeless hand he had been holding and went to tell the nurse. While she did what she had to do, he waited. Finally, she returned. She started to offer words of sympathy, but the Marine interrupted her. \\\'Who was that man?\\\' he asked.

The nurse was startled, \\\'He was your father,\\\' she answered. \\\'No, he wasn\\\'t,\\\' the Marine replied.. \\\'I never saw him before in my life.\\\' \\\'Then why didn\\\'t you say something when I took you to him?\\\' \\\'I knew right away there had been a mistake, but I also knew he needed his son, and his son just wasn\\\'t here. When I realized that he was too sick to tell whether or not I was his son, knowing how much he needed me, I stayed.\\\' The next time someone needs you ... just be there. Just Stay.

[lehung73]

gày gửi: 24-04-2009 Lúc 08:11
tinhnguyen08
Piano Lessons
-- By Mildred Hondorf


I am a former elementary school music teacher from DeMoines, Iowa. I\\\'ve always supplemented my income by teaching piano lessons - something I\\\'ve done for over 30 years. Over the years I found that children have many levels of musical ability.

I\\\'ve never had the pleasure of having a protege, though I have taught some talented students. However, I\\\'ve also had my share of what I call \\\"musically challenged\\\" pupils. One such student was Robby. Robby was 11 years old when his mother (a single mom) dropped him off for his first piano lesson.

I prefer that students (especially boys) begin at an earlier age, which I explained to Robby. But, Robby said that it had always been his mother\\\'s dream to hear him play the piano. So I took him as a student. Well, Robby began with his piano lessons and, from the beginning, I thought it was a hopeless endeavor.

As much as Robby tried, he lacked the sense of tone and basic rhythm needed to excel. But, he dutifully reviewed his scales and some elementary pieces that I require all my students to learn. Over the months he tried and tried while I listened and cringed and tried to encourage him. At the end of each weekly lesson he\\\'d always say, \\\"My mom\\\'s going to hear me play someday.\\\" But, it seemed hopeless. He just did not have any inborn ability.

I only knew his mother from a distance as she dropped Robby off or waited in her aged car to pick him up. She always waved and smiled but never stopped in. Then one day Robby stopped coming to our lessons. I thought about calling him, but assumed, because of his lack of ability, that he had decided to pursue something else. I also was glad that he stopped coming. He was a bad advertisement for my teaching!

Several weeks later I mailed to the student\\\'s homes a flyer on the upcoming recital. To my surprise Robby (who received a flyer) asked me if he could be in the recital. I told him that the recital was for current pupils and because he had dropped out he really did not qualify. He said that his mom had been sick and unable to take him to piano lessons, but he was still practicing.

\\\"Miss Hondorf...I\\\'ve just got to play!\\\" he insisted. I don\\\'t know what led me to allow him to play in the recital. Maybe it was his persistence or maybe it was something inside of me saying that it would be all right.

The night for the recital came. The high school gymnasium was packed with parents, friends and relatives. I put Robby up last in the program before I was to come up and thank all the students and play a finishing piece. I thought that any damage he would do would come at the end of the program and I could always salvage his poor performance through my \\\"curtain closer.\\\"

Well, the recital went off without a hitch. The students had been practicing and it showed. Then Robby came up on stage. His clothes were wrinkled and his hair looked like he had run an eggbeater through it. \\\"Why didn\\\'t he dress up like the other students?\\\" I thought. \\\"Why didn\\\'t his mother at least make him comb his hair for this special night?\\\"

Robby pulled out the piano bench and he began. I was surprised when he announced that he had chosen Mozart\\\'s Concerto #21 in C Major. I was not prepared for what I heard next. His fingers were light on the keys, they even danced nimbly on the ivories. He went from pianissimo to fortissimo... from allegro to virtuoso. His suspended chords that Mozart demands were magnificent! Never had I heard Mozart played so well by people his age.

After six and a half minutes he ended in a grand crescendo and everyone was on their feet in wild applause. Overcome and in tears I ran up on stage and put my arms around Robby in joy. \\\"I\\\'ve never heard you play like that Robby! How\\\'d you do it?\\\"

Through the microphone Robby explained: \\\"Well Miss Hondorf... remember I told you my mom was sick? Well, actually she had cancer and passed away this morning. And well... she was born deaf, so tonight was the first time she ever heard me play. I wanted to make it special.\\\"

There wasn\\\'t a dry eye in the house that evening. As the people from Social Services led Robby from the stage to be placed into foster care, I noticed that even their eyes were red and puffy and I thought to myself how much richer my life had been for taking Robby as my pupil. No, I\\\'ve never had a prodigy, but that night I became a protege... of Robby\\\'s. He was the teacher and I was the pupil. For it is he that taught me the meaning of perseverance and love and believing in yourself and maybe even taking a chance in someone and you don\\\'t know why.

[lehung73]

Ngày gửi: 23-04-2009 Lúc 19:00 | IP Logged     
BadMan trả lời
Dear Tinhnguyen08,

How can we \\\"Trau dồi Anh ngữ qua mẩu chuyện đạo đức\\\" that were posted by you?

I hope you understand what I mean.

Cheers!

[lehung73]

Ngày gửi: 23-04-2009 Lúc 07:09 | IP Logged     
 tinhnguyen08

The Red Rose

John Blanchard stood up from the bench, straightened his Army uniform,
   and studied the crowd of people making their way through Grand Central
   Station. He looked for the girl whose heart he knew, but whose face he
   didn\\\'t, the girl with the rose. His interest in her had begun thirteen
   months before in a Florida library. Taking a book off the shelf he
   found himself intrigued, not with the words of the book, but with the
   notes penciled in the margin. The soft handwriting reflected a
   thoughtful soul and insightful mind. In the front of the book, he
   discovered the previous owner\\\'s name, Miss Hollis Maynell. With time
   and effort he located her address. She now lived in New York City. He
   wrote her a letter introducing himself and inviting her to correspond.
   The next day he was shipped overseas for service in World War II.
   During the next year and one month the two grew to know each other
   through the mail. Each letter was a seed falling on a fertile heart. A
   romance was budding. Blanchard requested a photograph, but she
   refused. She felt that if he really cared, it wouldn\\\'t matter what she
   looked like. When the day finally came for him to return from Europe,
   they scheduled their first meeting - 7:00 PM at the Grand Central
   Station in New York. \\\"You\\\'ll recognize me,\\\" she wrote, \\\"by the red
   rose I\\\'ll be wearing on my lapel.\\\" So at 7:00 he was in the station
   looking for a girl whose heart he loved, but whose face he\\\'d never
   seen. I\\\'ll let Mr. Blanchard tell you what happened: A young woman was
   coming toward me, her figure long and slim. Her blonde hair lay back
   in curls from her delicate ears; her eyes were blue as flowers. Her
   lips and chin had a gentle firmness, and in her pale green suit she
   was like springtime come alive. I started toward her, entirely
   forgetting to notice that she was not wearing a rose. As I moved, a
   small provocative smile curved her lips. \\\"Going my way, sailor?\\\" she
   murmured. Almost uncontrollably I made one step closer to her, and
   then I saw Hollis Maynell. She was standing almost directly behind the
   girl. A woman well past 40, she had graying hair tucked under a worn
   hat. She was more than plump, her thick-ankled feet thrust into
   low-heeled shoes. The girl in the green suit was walking quickly away.
   I felt as though I was split in two, so keen was my desire to follow
   her, and yet so deep was my longing for the woman whose spirit had
   truly companioned me and upheld my own. And there she stood. Her pale,
   plump face was gentle and sensible, her gray eyes had a warm and
   kindly twinkle. I did not hesitate. My fingers gripped the small worn
   blue leather copy of the book that was to identify me to her. This
   would not be love, but it would be something precious, something
   perhaps even better than love, a friendship for which I had been and
   must ever be grateful. I squared my shoulders and saluted and held out
   the book to the woman, even though while I spoke I felt choked by the
   bitterness of my disappointment. \\\"I\\\'m Lieutenant John Blanchard, and
   you must be Miss Maynell. I am so glad you could meet me. May I take
   you to dinner?\\\" The woman\\\'s face broadened into a tolerant smile. \\\"I
   don\\\'t know what this is about, son,\\\" she answered, \\\"but the young lady
   in the green suit who just went by, she begged me to wear this rose on
   my coat. And she said if you were to ask me out to dinner, I should go
   and tell you that she is waiting for you in the big restaurant across
   the street. She said it was some kind of test!\\\" It\\\'s not difficult to
   understand and admire Miss Maynell\\\'s wisdom.
   The true nature of a heart is seen in its response to the
   unattractive. \\\"Tell me whom you love,\\\" Houssaye wrote, \\\"And I will
   tell you who you are.\\\"

[lehung73]

Ngày gửi: 22-04-2009 Lúc 05:45 | IP Logged     
 tinhnguyen08
Pop Pop\\\'s Promise
By Leigh B. Singh

When I was a little girl my grandfather, Pop Pop, used to tell me
that every part of life held the promise of something good. He said
if I believed in that promise, sooner or later I would find a good
thing even in life\\\'s roughest situations. When I was young, it was
easy to believe what my grandfather told me, especially when the two
of us spent time together on his farm in Virginia\\\'s Shenandoah Valley.
The gentle greeting of a milking cow, the fragrance of freshly turned
earth in the garden and the unspoiled sweetness of a newborn kitten
taught me the truth in my grandfather\\\'s words.
Still, as a child born with cerebral palsy, I thought I\\\'d found
something my Pop Pop had gotten wrong. He had said \\\"everything in
life holds the promise of something good.\\\"
His words made sense when it came to newborn kittens and fresh
gifts from the garden, but not when it came to cerebral palsy. I
couldn\\\'t find a single good thing in my disability. It meant physical
pain, frightening operations, difficult therapy and the frustrating
realization that no matter how hard I tried, there were things that I
just could not do. I used to watch other children walk smoothly
across a room, but when I tried to do the same, my muscles refused to
cooperate. My body behaved like a complicated toy that never worked
the way I wanted it to. I underwent my first operation before I was
two. By the time I was sixteen, I had endured a dozen surgical
procedures on my feet, ankles, thighs, calves and even my eyes.
Cerebral palsy did not fade away with surgery, therapy or braces, and
it didn\\\'t fade away with prayers hung on every star in the heavens.
Walking was an overwhelming task. It demanded determination,
concentration and luck. If I had all of these, I could usually move
across a room without crashing into anything. For me, that was
graceful. Far too often, my poise faltered in midstride and I\\\'d
tumble to the ground like some weary, wind-tossed butterfly.
With time and practice, I learned to manage - somewhat. Still,
my greatest struggle was that cerebral palsy had a terrible hold on my
heart. I tried to act happy and secure, but beneath my smile I felt
guilty and afraid. Even saying the words \\\"cerebral palsy\\\" made me
redden with shame. I believed my worth was measured not by the way I
lived, but by the way I walked. I was afraid that other people would
see my disabled body and decide there wasn\\\'t enough to love in the
person they saw. That fear surrounded me like a huge stone wall, and
I couldn\\\'t open up to other people. I could not believe in the person
I was created to be - I could only hide behind that wall of fear.
Since my grandfather said that everything in life held the
promise of something good, I wanted to believe him, but after many
years of trying, I couldn\\\'t find anything good about having to live in
my body. Then, when I was twenty-three, something good found me.
Slugger was a lively young Labrador, a handful of
sunshine-colored fluff. Doggy delight bubbled up inside him and
escaped in a constant stream of puppy wiggles. When Sylvia Fisher of
Caring Canine Companions saw Slugger, she knew he was destined to make
a difference. Sylvia enlisted the help of Vicki Polk and many other
Caring Canine Companions volunteers. Thanks to the tireless
dedication of these people, the bright-eyed puppy was transformed into
a skilled service dog.
I\\\'ll always remember the moment when I met Slugger for the first
time. His tail waved an easy hello and his brown eyes sparkled with
friendly curiosity. At that moment I fell in love. He was the most
incredible animal I could have imagined, but I soon discovered there
was even more to him than I could have guessed. Much more! As a
certified service dog, Slugger had mastered basic obedience. He knew
how to retrieve dropped items, open doors and bark on command. He had
even learned to provide support while navigating steps and hills with
his handler.
It had taken two years for Slugger to learn the skills essential
for a service dog; it took the two of us several months to uncover the
secret of successful teamwork. We graduated together in 1993, and
although he and I still had a lot to learn from each other, I knew
this dog would make a difference in my life. At the time, I had no
idea how great that difference would be.
My partnership with Slugger brought a new freedom to my life.
When we began our career as a service dog team, I was completing my
master\\\'s degree at James Madison University. With Slugger by my side,
tasks like carrying heavy textbooks and walking across a crowded
campus became easier than I had ever dreamed they could be. I no
longer had to rely on other people to give me a hand when I was going
up a hill. If I dropped a pencil during one of my classes, he quickly
retrieved it. On many occasions, Slugger even kept me from falling on
icy steps and rain-soaked sidewalks.
My service dog brought me the gift of physical freedom. Even
more precious than that, however, was the gift he brought to my heart.
Slugger touched me with an extraordinary love - a love that kept pace
when my heart danced, and held steadfast when I stumbled. In sweet,
unspoken ways, that love eased the pain in my heart, and his devotion
taught me to believe in the person I was created to be. I learned to
define myself not by what I had to overcome, but by what I had the
courage to become.
Slugger and I have lived and worked together for nine years. In
his gentle way, my service dog continues to share his Labrador
lessons, and they have made me a wiser person. Thanks to him, I
understand that blond fur on a dark skirt makes a wonderful fashion
statement. I\\\'ve discovered that every good partnership requires give
and take. I have learned that a gift is most beautiful when it is
shared. And now, at last, I understand what my grandfather meant when
he said that every part of life holds the promise of something good.

[lehung73]

Ngày gửi: 21-04-2009 Lúc 07:32 tinhnguyen08
A mouse looked through a crack in the wall to see the farmer and his wife open a package. What food might this contain? the mouse wondered - - - he was devastated to discover it was a mousetrap.

Retreating to the farmyard, the mouse proclaimed the warning:

There is a mousetrap in the house!
There is a mousetrap in the house!

The chicken clucked and scratched, raised her head and said \\\"Mr. Mouse, I can tell this is a grave concern to you, but it is of no consequence to me. I cannot be bothered by it.\\\"

The mouse turned to the pig and told him:

There is a mousetrap in the house!
There is a mousetrap in the house!

The pig sympathized, but said \\\"I am so very sorry, Mr. Mouse, but there is nothing I can do about it.\\\"

The mouse turned to the cow and said,

There is a mousetrap in the house!
There is a mousetrap in the house!\\\'

The cow said, \\\"Wow, Mr. Mouse.
I\\\'m sorry for you, but it\\\'s no skin off my nose.\\\"

So, the mouse returned to the house, head down and dejected,
to face the farmer\\\'s mousetrap . . . alone.

That very night a sound was heard throughout the house -- like the sound
of a mousetrap catching its prey.

The farmer\\\'s wife rushed to see what was caught. In the darkness, she did not see it was a venomous snake whose tail the trap had caught.

The snake bit the farmer\\\'s wife. The farmer rushed her to the hospital, and she returned home with a fever.

Everyone knows you treat a fever with fresh chicken soup, so the farmer
took his hatchet to the farmyard for the soup\\\'s main ingredient.

But his wife\\\'s sickness continued, so friends and neighbors came to sit
with her around the clock.

To feed them, the farmer butchered the pig.

The farmer\\\'s wife did not get well; she died.

So many people came for her funeral, the farmer had the cow slaughtered to
provide enough meat for all of them.

The mouse looked upon it all from his crack in the wall with great sadness.

So, the next time you hear someone is facing a problem and think it doesn\\\'t
concern you, remember ----

when one of us is threatened,
we are all at risk.
We are all involved in this
journey called life.

[lehung73]

Ngày gửi: 20-04-2009 Lúc 06:58
tinhnguyen08 viết

Something to make me happy!

I was doing some last-minute Christmas shopping in a toy store and decided to look at Barbie dolls for my nieces. A nicely dressed little girl was excitedly looking through the Barbie dolls as well, with a roll of money clamped tightly in her little hand. When she came upon a Barbie she liked, shewould turn and ask her father if she had enough money to buy it. He usually said \\\"yes,\\\" but she would keep looking and keep going through their ritual of \\\"do I have enough?\\\"
As she was looking, a little boy wandered in across the aisle and started sorting through the Pokemon toys. He was dressed neatly, but in clothes that were obviously rather worn, and wearing a jacket that was probably a couple of sizes too small. He too had money in his hand, but it looked to be no more than five dollars or so at the most.
He was with his father as well, and kept picking up the Pokemon video toys. Each time he picked one up and looked at his father, his father shook his head, \\\"No.\\\"
The little girl had apparently chosen her Barbie, a beautifully dressed, glamorous doll that would have been the envy of every little girl on the block. However, she had stopped and was watching the interchange between the little boy and his father. Rather dejectedly, the boy had given up on the video games and had chosen what looked like a book of stickers instead. He and his father then started walking through another aisle of the store.
The little girl put her Barbie back on the shelf, and ran over to the Pokemon games. She excitedly picked up one that was lying on top of the other toys and raced toward the check-out, after speaking with her father. I picked up my purchases and got in line behind them. Then, much to the little girl\\\'s obvious delight, the little boy and his father got in line behind me.
After the toy was paid for and bagged, the little girl handed it back to the cashier and whispered something in her ear. The cashier smiled and put the package under the counter.
I paid for my purchases and was rearranging things in my purse when the little boy came up to the cashier. The cashier rang up his purchases and then said, \\\"Congratulations, you are my hundredth customer today, and you win a prize!\\\"
With that, she handed the little boy the Pokemon game, and he could only stare in disbelief. It was, he said, exactly what he had wanted!
The little girl and her father had been standing at the doorway during all of this, and I saw the biggest, prettiest, toothless grin on that little girl that I have ever seen in my life. Then they walked out the door, and I followed close behind them.
As I walked back to my car in amazement over what I had just witnessed, I heard the father ask his daughter why she had done that. I\\\'ll never forget what she said to him.
\\\"Daddy, didn\\\'t Nana and PawPaw want me to buy something that would make me happy?\\\"
He said, \\\"Of course they did, honey.\\\"
To which the little girl replied, \\\"Well, I just did!\\\" With that, she giggled and started skipping toward their car. Apparently, she had decided on the answer to her own question of, \\\"do I have enough?\\\"

Some words:

wandered in: slowly walked in
sorting throuth: looking through
glamorous: beautiful
grin: a wide smile
witnessed: seen