1.语文

一年级-上册

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一年级-下册

日语

ドラえもん

英语 自然拼读

Written by Marlene Perez
 Illustrated by David Cockcroft

“Going to California sure sounded like a grand idea when Ma and Pa were alive,” Emily said in a low voice, the hush of the dark woods sending shivers down her spine. Emily’s brother Jess glanced warily at her as he picked up branches of firewood. “When Ma and Pa died, we didn’t have any choice but to continue heading west.”

Like many pioneers, their parents had died on the perilous trail to California, and the Hutchinsons, a young pioneering couple, had taken them in. The four of them had traveled for days through the grandest, greenest mountains
 they had ever seen. They finally set up camp somewhere on the western slopes in California just as the sun’s rays faded from the horizon of the late September sky.

“The Hutchinsons seem plenty nice enough,”
 Emily said, reflecting on friendly Mrs. 
 Hutchinson, a timid woman who spent most of 
 her time in the wagon. “We’re not their 
 family,” Jess said shortly. “Don’t tie 
 to them just yet.” Their wagon train had 
 left the plains of Missouri in April on the
 promise of hitting pay dirt in Sierra Nevada 
 gold country by October. A couple weeks ago 
 their wagon and a few others had split from 
 the main group on a route that would lead them 
 to kin who had already settled in California.

Being between hay and grass, Jess had
 signed on to be Mr. Hutchinson’s 
 apprentice after Ma and Pa passed. 
 Mr. Hutchison, a rather bully blacksmith, 
 planned to sell tools he made to miners. 
 And where Jess went, Emily dutifully 
 followed, helping Mrs. Hutchinson cook 
 and do chores. As they gathered more 
 firewood, Emily heard twigs snap. A low 
 growl came from a clump of trees to the left.

“Did you hear that?” Emily whispered
 urgently to Jess. “Let’s head back. I 
 don’t like it out here,” pleaded Emily 
 as the shadows grew long and the forest 
 turned dark as midnight. “Afraid of some 
 ol’ boogeyman?” Jess teased gently. 
 “Well, I think we’ve got plenty of 
 firewood anyway. Let’s get outta here.”
 Walking back to camp, Emily couldn’t help
 glancing over her shoulder every few steps.

“Just in time,” Mr. Hutchinson said
 with a smile as they returned to camp. 
 “I think the fire was about to peter 
 out.” Jess scowled. It was just a 
 harmless remark, but lately Jess was 
 like a bear with a sore head around 
 Mr. Hutchinson. “Emily,” 
 Mrs. Hutchinson’s voice interrupted
 her thoughts, “would you help me bake 
 some biscuits?”

“I’d be glad to,” Emily said. She 
 walked over to the covered wagon—it 
 stored everything they owned beneath 
 its rounded canvas cover. Emily
 fetched the heavy iron skillet Mrs. 
 Hutchinson used to make their meals.
 “Campfire biscuits again?” Jess 
 said. “I’d give anything for a 
 heapin’ plate of Ma’s biscuits.”
 Emily knew what he meant was that he’d 
 give anything to have Ma back again.

Emily looked at Mr. and Mrs. Hutchinson.
 They’d both winced when Jess mentioned the
 biscuits. She hoped they didn’t think Jess 
 was criticizing Mrs. Hutchinson’s cooking.
 “Emily, when we get to Bear Valley,” Mrs.
 Hutchinson said, “could you show me how
 to make your Ma’s recipe for biscuits? I’m
 sure mine don’t hold a candle to hers.”
 Before Emily could answer, Mr. Hutchinson 
 said, “I have good news for you, dear. We 
 just entered Bear Valley. We should be at 
 your brother’s homestead in a couple of days.”

“Why do they call it Bear Valley?” Emily
 asked. Mrs. Hutchinson gave her husband a look
 that said don’t answer that, but he ignored it.
 “The children need to know the dangers in this
 wilderness, Elizabeth,” he said to his wife.
 He explained: “There are bears in these 
 woods, big black bears, bigger grizzly 
 bears, and even mountain lions. You need 
 to be careful, and don’t wander into the 
 woods alone.” That night, Emily fell asleep 
 quickly, dragged out by traveling and chores. 
 She tossed and turned throughout the night 
 as she dreamed of strange forest creatures.

The next morning, Emily awoke early to find
 a light frost had blanketed the ground. “I’ll 
 make flapjacks,” she said to herself, wanting 
 to surprise Jess and the Hutchinsons. Emily 
 rebraided her hair as the sun peeked over the 
 mountains, burning off the frost. Emily was 
 dying to change into a clean, pressed dress
 like her mother laid out for her on Sundays,
 but she’d have to wait until they reached the 
 homestead. The campfire sputtered, the flames 
 all but dead. Emily leaned over, intending to 
 shake her brother awake to collect wood. But 
 Jess looked so peaceful she couldn’t bring 
 herself to wake him.She wrapped up in a blanket 
 and headed into the woods.

The morning was strangely silent, and a 
 brisk westerly wind blew through the giant 
 spruce trees. The sun had yet to penetrate 
 the canopy of the evergreens. Emily shivered. 
 She gathered wood, moving quickly. With her 
 arms loaded with damp, dead wood, she turned 
 back to camp. Again, she heard a low growl 
 and her spine stiffened. The sound came closer.
 Emily was too terrified to move. Her stomach
 tightened. She’d never see Jess again.

Just then Jess leaped from behind a giant
 spruce tree wearing a big grin. Emily 
 started: “I should feed you bark and
 dirt for that bosh, Jess Edward!” Jess 
 tried unsuccessfully to stifle his laughter.
 “I was going to make you Ma’s recipe for
 flapjacks,” Emily taunted. “Now I’ve got 
 second thoughts.” Jess smiled, unapologetic. 
 “Hold your horses. I was just joking. You 
 know I love Ma’s flapjacks.” Jess took 
 some of the wood from Emily as she pinched
 his arm. Teasing like this made Jess’s
 troubled face look almost happy.

When they returned, Mr. Hutchinson smiled
 and Emily smiled back. Jess flinched. Mr.
 Hutchinson was feeding the oxen. It was 
 Jess’s job to feed the animals in the 
 morning, and he thought Mr. Hutchinson 
 might have a blowup. But Mr. Hutchinson 
 held his tongue if he was angry. “I’m 
 making flapjacks,” Emily explained.
 Mr. Hutchinson grinned. “Elizabeth loves
 flapjacks,” he said. “And so do I.”

While Emily mixed batter for the flapjacks,
 Mr. Hutchinson went to wake his wife, but
 returned wearing a long frown, worry lines
 creasing his deeply tanned face. 
 “Elizabeth’s got a fever. We’ll have to 
 stay here until she’s feeling better,” he 
 said. “That means we should find more food 
 and water. Our provisions won’t last too 
 much longer.” “I saw a stream back there,” 
 Jess offered. “We can refill our water 
 canteens and maybe catch a few fish.”“I 
 don’t like to leave Elizabeth when she’s
 feeling so poorly,” Mr. Hutchinson said.

“I’ll stay here and care for her,” 
 Emily volunteered, hoping to give Jess 
 and Mr. Hutchinson much-needed time 
 together. Mr. Hutchinson reluctantly 
 agreed and gathered the canteens while 
 Jess got the fishing gear. Emily checked 
 on Mrs. Hutchinson, who was awake and 
 lying under a pile of blankets on a 
 wooden pallet in the wagon. “How are 
 you feeling, Mrs. Hutchinson?” Emily 
 inquired. Mrs. Hutchinson gave her a 
 weak smile. “Please, call me Elizabeth,” 
 she said. “You and Jess are family now.”

Emily cautiously smiled back at her, uncertain
 of what to say. “Would you like a cup of tea? 
 Or maybe some flapjacks?” Emily said. “I 
 covered them with a towel and kept them by the 
 fire. They should still be warm.” Elizabeth 
 nodded gratefully. Emily hurried down from the 
 wagon to make tea and get the flapjacks. As she 
 approached the fire, she stopped dead in her 
 tracks. There in the campsite stood a rather 
 small bear gulping down Elizabeth’s flapjacks. 
 Emily’s mind raced, but she was frozen to the 
 spot. She stared at the bear for a few agonizingly 
 slow seconds, trying to remember everything her
 Pa had taught her about wild animals.

Emily realized the animal must have been
 attracted to the camp by the smell of food. 
 She tried to remember everything she’d ever 
 been told about bears, but her mind went blank.
 The young grizzly hadn’t noticed her yet, but
 Emily knew a cub in camp meant the mother was
 most likely lurking nearby. She needed to get 
 the cub out of there and fast—but how?

Emily backed away slowly. She needed to get back to the wagon before Elizabeth came out to see what was taking so long. Everything inside her wanted to run, but somehow she knew
 that was the worst thing to do. The bear would probably think of her as fresh food if she ran. She slowly backed away. She froze when the bear cub suddenly lifted its head and sniffed the air, exposing its sharp, sharp teeth.

Emily didn’t move, and the cub went back to foraging for food. Emily had an idea, but she had to get back to the wagon. She forced herself to gingerly walk the last few steps to the wagon and climbed in, breathing hard. “Emily, what’s wrong?” Elizabeth said. “Your face is as white as a sheet.”

“There’s a bear cub outside,” Emily 
 said, “and its mom is probably close by.”
 “What should we do?” Elizabeth said. “I
 have an idea,” Emily said, as she peeked 
 out of the wagon. What she saw outside 
 made her sick with fear. A second bear 
 had joined the cub, and this one was huge, 
 with frighteningly large claws and teeth.

“Oh, no,” she breathed, but Elizabeth
 heard her. “What is it?” she asked 
 anxiously. “The mama bear is here,” 
 Emily said. “Now I don’t know if my 
 idea will work.” She knew Mr. Hutchinson 
 and Jess wouldn’t be back at camp for 
 hours, and they had the rifle. Emily had 
 promised Mr. Hutchinson that she would 
 take care of Elizabeth. Elizabeth got up 
 from her pallet, pale and shaky, but 
 determined. “I’ll help. Tell me what
 you want me to do.”

Emily said, “We’ll need the pots and 
 pans. Help me take them down.”
 They lifted the pots and pans down from
 where they hung on hooks along the 
 wagon’s frame.
 “I’m scared,” Emily admitted.
 Elizabeth said, “Me, too. But we can do 
 this together.”
 They smiled warily at each other. When
 Elizabeth reached over and gave her a 
 quick hug, Emily felt a warm glow.

“Now what?” Elizabeth said.
 “Now we bang the pots and pans 
 as loudly as we can,” Emily said. 
 “My Pa told me once that bears 
 don’t like loud noises. On the 
 count of three; one, two, three!” 
 They beat the pots and pans loudly 
 and yelled until they were hoarse. 
 Finally, they stopped, exhausted.

Emily and Elizabeth peeked out of the 
 wagon at the quiet campsite. “I don’t 
 see anything, do you?” Elizabeth asked.
 Emily answered, “No, I think they’re gone.” 
 The two of them remained in the wagon for 
 a long time after that just to be sure, 
 but there was no sign of the bears. Finally, 
 Emily said, “Would you like a cup 
 of tea now?” “Yes, please, but I think 
 I’ll skip the flapjacks,”
Elizabeth said.

They looked at each other and collapsed 
 into gales of laughter, relieved that the 
 danger had passed. They left the protection 
 of the wagon, confident that they had chased 
 the bears away. “Wait!” Emily said. She 
 ran to the wagon and came back carrying pots 
 and pans. “Just in case,” she said, 
 handing two pans to Elizabeth. Suddenly, 
 they heard a twig snap and a sound coming 
 toward them. They screamed as loudly as 
 they could and banged on their pots and pans.

When Mr. Hutchinson and Jess 
 walked into view, they were 
 carrying fishing poles and a 
 line of trout. They also had 
 perplexed looks on their faces. 
 “Elizabeth, what in the world 
 are you doing up?” 
 Mr. Hutchinson asked. “What’s 
 going on?” Jess asked, 
 “Emily, are you all right?”

“We thought you were the bears,” Emily
 explained. “Oh that’s rich, Em!” Jess 
 said, not believing bears had come and he 
 had missed it. “No, it’s true, we had a 
 bit of a fuss with a mother and her cub, 
 “ Mrs. Hutchinson replied. “What mother 
 and cub?” Mr. Hutchinson worriedly asked. 
 Elizabeth and Emily shared the rest of 
 their dreadfully exciting adventure as Jess 
 and Mr. Hutchinson admired their bravery.

Adventure in Bear Valley

Acropolis Adventure

Quick Start 
Have you ever run the mile in gym class? 
If you haven’t yet, you soon will. The mile is a
difficult distance to run. It’s long and arduous. 
So, unlike dashes, you cannot run at full speed
(sprint) the entire way. But what if you could? 
What if you could sprint the mile without getting
tired? How fast do you think you could run it . . . 
in nine, eight, or seven minutes? How about five? Alberto Salazar
could. He could not only easily run a mile in five minutes, but
he could also run 26 five-minute miles, 
all in a row, without stopping. Actually, 
when he won the New York City Marathon in 1981, 
he ran even faster than that. He finished the
26.2-mile course in two hours, eight minutes, and
thirteen seconds—you do the math. It was a new
world record for the time. How did he run so fast
for so long? It wasn’t easy—and it came with
consequences.

Two years after being born in Havana, Cuba, in
1958, Alberto moved with his family to the United
States. First they lived in Miami, Florida; shortly
thereafter they moved to Manchester, Connecticut; 
and finally, nine years later, they moved to
Wayland, Massachusetts. It was there, in the small
town outside of Boston, that Alberto met Don
Benedetti, the cross- country and track coach 
of Wayland High School.

Math Minute 
On average, how fast (in minutes) did Alberto
Salazar run each mile of the New York City Marathon
in 1981? He ran the 26.2-mile course in
2 hours, 8 minutes, and 13 seconds. 
Hint: Convert all the time to seconds and divide. 
Then convert the answer to minutes

As a kid, Alberto would run with (and attempt
to keep up with) his older brothers. But it was
Coach Benedetti who inspired Alberto to work
hard and transform his natural talent into
something special. Alberto quickly became the
fastest runner in the school—and the state. In fact,
he became so fast that Coach Benedetti allowed
him to train with the Greater Boston Track Club—
 an elite distance-running group that boasted
some of the swiftest runners in the country, 
including Bill Rodgers, who was soon to become
the world’s best marathoner. Even though Alberto
was only 17 years old, by far the youngest on the
team and nicknamed “The Rookie,” he never
was intimidated. He welcomed the challenge
and gave it his all, just like he did when chasing
his brothers, and it paid off. By the time he
graduated high school, Alberto could run two
miles in under nine minutes—less than four
minutes and thirty seconds a mile.

His fast marks drew interest from college
coaches around the country. But Alberto only
wanted to run for one school: the University of
Oregon, which had the top cross-country team
in the country at the time. The coach was former
Olympian Bill Dellinger, who coached running
phenomenon Steve Prefontaine. Alberto got what
he wanted when Coach Dellinger asked Alberto to
join his team, which allowed Alberto to continue
his steadily growing running career. He helped the
Oregon team win the national cross-country title
as a sophomore and won the individual title as a
junior. However, it wasn’t until his post-college
years that Alberto really shined.

First Steps 
In 1980, Alberto was only well-known within
college sports, but that would soon change. As a
22-year-old college graduate, he decided to run
the New York City Marathon, and suddenly he
became a celebrated athlete throughout the world. 
The marathon is a grueling race, requiring the
highest degree of physical and mental strength. 
Many runners have become so overwhelmed 
with fatigue that they quit the race. Others
have suffered injuries halfway through it. Some
runners have even died before finishing it.

What Is the Marathon? 
The marathon honors the endurance of the Greek soldier
Pheidippides who, in 490 bc , ran from a battlefield near Marathon, 
Greece, to Athens, bringing news of victory over the Persians. After
covering the distance of nearly 26 miles (42 km) and delivering the
message, he collapsed and died. Ever since, that distance has been
considered the mark of an elite athlete.

Alberto had never run the marathon before, 
but after so many successes in college, he was up
for the new challenge. When asked what time he
thought he would clock for his debut, he predicted
2:10 (2 hours and 10 minutes). Many of the sports
reporters covering the event scoffed. No runner in
his or her first marathon had ever achieved such
a swift time. Some writers even grew upset and
called Alberto cocky. He responded that he was
confident, had put in the training, and was
mentally prepared. It turned out that Alberto
was a man of his word, shocking the world. 
Not only did Alberto cross the finish line
in 2:09:41, but he also won the race. It was the
fastest debut marathon in U.S. history and the
second-fastest U.S. marathoner time ever, behind
Bill Rodgers (who ran 2:09:27 in 1979). The
following year, Alberto won the New York City
Marathon again, this time in 2:08:13, setting a world record. In
1982, he won yet again. However, most don’t remember 1982 as the
year Alberto won in New York for the third straight year; they
remember it instead as the historic year of “The Duel in the
Sun” at the Boston Marathon.

Boston: A Turning Point 
The Boston Marathon is one of the oldest and
most prestigious races in the world. The course
is grueling, full of rolling hills as it winds its way 
through small towns before reaching downtown
Boston. The race always draws some of the world’s
best runners, who must meet a qualifying time 
before running the race.

The 1982 Boston Marathon is sometimes called
“The Duel in the Sun” because of the intense battle 
between Alberto Salazar and Dick Beardsley in the
blazing heat. Dick wasn’t nearly as well known as
Alberto. He ran the two-mile in high school almost
a minute slower than Alberto did and dropped out
of college to manage a dairy farm. Then one day,
after reading a magazine article about training for
the 1980 U.S. Olympic Marathon Trials, Dick chose
to start running again. He ran 2:21:54 and qualified
for the trials by two seconds. At the trials, he
clocked a time of 2:16:01 but didn’t make the
Olympic team. After coming so close, he began
training full-time to make the 1984 Olympic
marathon team. The Boston Marathon took place
in the middle of that training.

When Dick and Alberto toed the line that day, 
Alberto was expected to win because he had set
the world record just a few months earlier in New
York. But Dick pushed Alberto to his limit. The
two traded the lead throughout the entire 26.2
miles. With five miles to go, Dick held the lead, 
but with a mile to go, Alberto took it. Then, with
a quarter of a mile left,
Dick surged. The crowds went wild. With
100 meters left, Dick pulled even. The noise
was deafening. Then Alberto looked over. 
The two locked eyes. And Alberto kicked it
in, outrunning Dick by two seconds, finishing
in 2:08:52, a new course record. The two were
completely exhausted. Alberto had never been
pushed like that before. He had to be transported
to the emergency room afterward because he
was so dehydrated. Even though later that year 
Alberto won the New York City Marathon for the
third straight time, he was never the same. It was
the beginning of his decline.

New Challenges 
The Boston duel had taken a toll on his body. 
Alberto was unable to run as fast as he had before. 
At the 1984 Summer Olympics, he was predicted
to win the marathon, if not medal, but only finished 15th
in 2:14:19. He began to train harder—too hard. Instead of
running 70 miles a week (10 miles a day), he’d run 140. If he
still was not satisfied with his performance, he’d run 200
miles a week—more than a marathon each day. His body
just couldn’t keep pace with his ambition to be the fastest long-
distance runner in the world. His immune system failed, bringing about
sudden and frequent illness. Then came a series
of injuries. By 1990, his body had completely
broken down, and he wasn’t even able to jog
anymore. Alberto thought he might never run
again. Suddenly, what had brought him so much
joy as a kid and fame throughout high school,
college, and his adult career was now gone. He
became deeply depressed.

For the next several years, Alberto struggled—
physically, mentally, and emotionally. What
pulled him slowly out of depression was an
important realization: he needed to listen to
his body. For so long, his body had responded
positively to the amount of abuse it
suffered from his training routine, and
after achieving so many feats from that training style—
 successes that no one else in the
world had achieved before —a feeling that his body was
invincible had seeped into his mind. It was only
a matter of time before his body broke down, but having pushed
it for so long left him deaf to his body’s signs
(illness) and screams (injuries) for rest. Thus,
when it finally shut down in order to heal and
recover from the pounding it had endured, 
Alberto realized the grim consequences of his
more-must-be-better training theories.

Alberto surrendered and gave his body a
well-deserved rest. His recovery was very slow
but steady, and eventually his legs came back. 
He considered running again, but hesitated. He
wanted to succeed in whatever race he chose to
run, yet he didn’t want to rely on his old training
style. He decided to trust his new point of view
on running: to create a relationship with his body
 so that it would respond when he listened to it 
and not when he abused it.

Not Finished 
He began running again. He chose to train for
a new distance—the ultra-marathon. He hoped for
success similar to what he experienced just after
college with winning his first four marathons, a
distance he had never run before. Miraculously,
he got back in shape and in 1994 announced that
he would run the Comrades Marathon, a 56-mile
test of endurance through South Africa. Again
sports reporters wrote him off, just like they did
when Alberto announced the time he would secure 
when running his first marathon fresh out of
college. And just like before, he was victorious.
Now Alberto was ready for other new challenges.

Alberto lives in Oregon with his wife and three
children. He’s spent the past several years training
kids and young athletes for Nike, using a more
balanced style developed from his experiences over
the years. He suffered a heart attack while walking
with some of those young athletes, but recovered
fully thanks to the quick actions of several
individuals. A family history of heart disease is
something even a healthy runner cannot escape. 
Alberto has agreed to continue training the five
athletes under his guidance, but no others. Many of
the runners who have followed his training advice
have been highly successful. Most of them run the
mile very quickly—well under five minutes.

Alberto Salazar:An American Runner

The Greatest Athlete of the 20th Century:
Jim Thorpe (1887–1953) 
Who would you say was the greatest athlete
from the last century? Soccer’s Pele? Basketball’s
Michael Jordan? Hockey’s Wayne Gretzky? 
Good choices. These record-setting superstars
revolutionized their sports and deserve to be in
the running for that No . 1 spot. But the athlete
named the greatest of the great was Jim Thorpe, 
a Native American born in Oklahoma in 1887. 
He played professional baseball, was the biggest
football star of his day, and performed legendary
feats in track and field. 
Let’s go back to 1912, to Stockholm, Sweden,
during the Summer Olympic Games . . .

The Native American runner from the Sac and
Fox tribes crouches at the starting line for the Olympic
200-meter dash. It’s the third event of five in the
grueling pentathlon. “On your mark,” calls the starter. 
“Get set . . .” 
Jim Thorpe bursts out of the blocks. He had already
scored an easy victory in the long jump, but had placed
a disappointing fourth in the javelin throw. I need
this race, he thinks as he sprints down the track. 
But, running his hardest, it seems he just can’t pull
ahead of the other runners —until the last moment. At
the finish line, Jim Thorpe wins by a hair!

Before he appeared at the Summer Olympics of 1912, Jim
Thorpe was already a well-known college football
star. As an All-American halfback from Carlisle Indian
College in Pennsylvania, he thrilled
crowds with his blinding speed and strength. He
could just as easily run over would-be tacklers as
run past them. He was also his team’s punter and
place kicker. Thorpe starred on the school’s baseball and
basketball teams, too. He excelled in golf, tennis,
swimming, and just about any sport he tried. 
At the 1912 Olympics, Thorpe represented the
United States in the two toughest track-and-field
events: the pentathlon (five events) and the
decathlon (ten events).

Over the span of a few days, Jim Thorpe
achieved the unimaginable. He won four of the
five events in the pentathlon, set a world record
for the decathlon, and won the gold medal
in both events—amazing! No one in Olympic
history had done this before Jim, and no one has
done it since. When King Gustav V of Sweden called Jim 
to the awards stand to get his medals,he said, 
“You, sir, are the greatest athlete in the world.” 
Always a man of few words, Jim replied, “Thanks, King.”

Do You Know? 
The difficult Olympic athletics pentathlon and
decathlon required a variety of skills. The combination of
events tested an athlete’s all-around ability. 
Pentathlon events: long jump,javelin, discus, 200-meter
run, 1,500-meter run Decathlon events: 100-meter
run, long jump, high jump, shot put, 400-meter run, 110-
meter hurdles, discus, javelin, pole vault, 1,500-meter run

Jim Turns Pro 
After the Olympics, Jim was famous the world
over. He received a letter of congratulations from
the White House. Professional sports teams offered
him rich contracts. He turned them down to return
to Carlisle to play one more season of college
football. He scored twenty-five touchdowns and
made a total of 198 points. He married his college
girlfriend, too. What a year! Then, in 1913, 
he became a professional baseball player 
with the famous New York Giants.
He was great at swinging a bat, 
and his superior strength and
speed also made him great at covering the outfield. 
Although Jim was good at baseball, he
preferred football. In 1915, when professional
football was just getting started, Jim joined the
Canton (Ohio) Bulldogs. He led his team to three
championships: in 1916, 1917, and 1919— while
also playing baseball in the summer months .

In 1920, Jim became the first president of the
American Football Association, which later
became the National Football League. One of his
goals was to make the game more popular. To
excite the fans at halftime, Jim would stand at
the fifty-yard line and drop-kick a ball over the
goalposts. Then he would face the other direction
and do it again! 
Today, a statue of Jim Thorpe greets visitors 
to the Football Hall of Fame. It is a tribute to
the founding father of professional football and
its first true star, the greatest athlete of the
20th century .

Do You Know? 
James Francis Thorpe’s Indian name, Wa-Tho-Huk,
means “bright path.” Jim certainly lit up playing
fields wherever he went. His all-around athletic
ability is said to have come from his mastery 
of traditional Native American skills as a boy. 
In his later years, Thorpe championed the portrayal 
of Native American roles in films.

The Other Babe: 
Mildred Didrikson Zaharias (1911–1956) 
Jim Thorpe may have been named the
greatest athlete of the 20th century. But sports-
loving female fans might also consider another
all-around candidate. Mildred “Babe” Didrikson
was an all-around athlete who dominated
women’s basketball, track and field, and golf
in the 1930s, ’40s, and ’50s . Her nickname was
borrowed from baseball’s famous Babe Ruth. She
was a serious, rough-and-tumble competitor at a
time when women, even athletes, were expected
to be modest and ladylike. Babe Didrikson was born in Texas in 1911, the
sixth of seven children. In high school, she was
a standout in volleyball,baseball, swimming,
tennis, and especially basketball, the most
popular women’s sport of the time. Her high-school
team never lost a game. Never. She often scored
thirty points by herself when twenty was
considered a respectable total —for the whole team!

Babe’s interests shifted to track and field. 
A firm believer in strength training, Babe lifted
weights, which few women did at that time. 
Babe’s serious workouts and natural abilities
paid off at a national track meet in July 1932. She
entered eight events and won five. What’s even
more astonishing is that she single-handedly
won the meet, competing against teams with
twenty members. 
A few weeks later at the Summer Olympics,
Babe won gold medals and set world records
in the 80-meter hurdles, javelin, and high jump. 
Now a celebrity, Babe drew attention to women’s
basketball by putting together a women’s team 
that toured the country playing against
men’s teams.

No Game She Can’t Play 
Babe’s real fame was yet to come, and in a
different sport: golf. Although Babe didn’t pick
up a club until age twenty-three, she practiced
her swing with focus and determination. She
would hit one thousand balls a day, taping over
blisters that formed on her hands. Just a year
later, in 1935, she won her first championship. 
In the next twenty years, Babe won eighty-two
tournaments, including an astonishing seventeen
in a row in 1946 and 1947. She helped found the
LPGA (Ladies Professional Golf Association)
in 1950. 
In 1953, while at the top of her game, Babe was
diagnosed with cancer. Following an operation,
her doctors thought she would never play again. 
Only a few weeks later, she was back on the
pro tour. 
It is the 18th hole of the Servin Women’s Open
Tournament in Miami Beach. Babe Didrikson’s
booming first shot lies in the center of the fairway. 
She takes out a 5-iron and smacks the ball. It soars
high and straight before landing on the green. Babe
pulls back her putter and sinks the ball. She has won
the tournament—just six months after cancer surgery.

Her family and millions of fans were
devastated when the cancer returned a few
years later, and Babe Didrikson passed away
at age forty-five. Her life of sports achievements gained
her a place in two Halls of Fame: golf and track and field. But
her real legacy is the lasting example of her
independent spirit. Babe was a courageous,
outspoken individualist who blazed a path for
future women athletes by playing her own way.

Do You Know? 
Didrikson got her Babe Ruth-inspired nickname 
after hitting five home runs in a youth softball
game. 
She excelled at golf, track and field, softball,
baseball, volleyball, tennis, swimming, diving,
bowling, and billiards. “The only thing I don’t
play,” Babe joked, “is dolls.” 
She was voted “Woman Athlete of the Year”
six times. No other person has been honored
so often.

Baseball’s Most Daring Player: 
Jackie Robinson (1919–1972) 
What would Major League Baseball be like
today without superstars such as Frank Thomas, 
Derek Jeter, and Alex Rodriguez? How might the
Hall of Fame look without Hank Aaron, Willie
Mays, Roberto Clemente, and so many other
brilliant African American and Latino ballplayers? 
Hard to imagine that omission, but very
possible—were it not for the courage and
determination of Jackie Robinson. In 1947, he
became the first African American to play Major
League Baseball.

During this time, black and other non-white
people were discriminated against in many ways,
including in sports. Only white players were
allowed to play in the Major Leagues. So baseball-
loving black players formed their own Negro
Leagues. They developed their own talented
stars—and lots of fans. 
The owner of the Brooklyn Dodgers, Branch
Rickey, knew it was wrong to keep talented
players out of the Major Leagues. It was wrong
for the players, and wrong for baseball. He wanted
to integrate the teams, but he knew it would take
a very special person to stand up against racism
and break the color barrier. Then he discovered
Jackie Robinson.

Jackie Robinson could hit, run, and field as
well as anyone. His daring style of running bases 
excited fans and unnerved opposing players. 
A fierce competitor, he could beat opponents with
a bunt, a blast, and—most importantly—his brain.

Do You Know? 
Jackie had won a scholarship to UCLA, where
he earned varsity letters in four sports: baseball,
basketball, track and field, and football. He had
also been one of the few African American officers 
in the Army in World War II. 
Jackie’s intelligence and leadership abilities were
a big part of why Branch Rickey knew he could
handle the pressures he would face.

After a year in the minor leagues, in which
he led the league in batting and his team to a
championship, Jackie, now twenty-eight, joined the
Brooklyn Dodgers. Robinson’s rookie season was
an ordeal. Opposing players yelled insults at him. 
Pitchers purposely threw at him. Fans booed. Even
some of Jackie’s teammates treated him badly. 
Jackie took it all with quiet dignity—and
determination. He never lost his temper and never
fought back with his fists. Instead, he let his skills
on the diamond speak for him. In his rookie year,
he hit solidly, led the league in stolen bases, and
won the Rookie of the Year Award. In 1949, he
won the National League batting title and also the
highest honor, the Most Valuable Player Award. 
By 1950, he was the highest-paid Brooklyn Dodger 
and the team’s leader .

It is the first game of the 1955 World Series,
a match between the rival New York Yankees and
Brooklyn Dodgers. The Dodgers have been in seven
World Series—and have lost every one. “Wait ’til next
year!” had become the fans’ annual cry. 
Jackie Robinson leads off third base. He’s thirty-six
years old now and at the end of his career. But he is
still a dangerous base runner and a joy to watch. He
takes an extra step toward home plate, then another.
He dives back to third, safe. 
Jackie dusts himself off. He stares down the pitcher
and resumes his big lead. He darts right, then left, then
. . . off he goes! The pitch flies to the plate, but not in
time—Jackie is safe at home! The fans go wild!
Jackie’s bold steal of home pumps up his teammates,
and they go on to win the World Series. In Brooklyn,
“next year” has finally arrived!

Jackie Robinson showed that ability was what
mattered. Any player who could perform at that
professional level belonged in the Major Leagues. 
Soon, other teams began to hire black and Latino
players. Today, the national pastime of the United
States is composed of players and management 
of all races and nationalities. 
Jackie Robinson didn’t break any baseball
records, but he will be remembered long after the
records are forgotten because he broke baseball’s
color barrier. His inner strength and commitment
to equality made it possible for all players to
participate equally in professional American sports .

The Fastest Man: Jesse Owens (1913–1980) 
Sprinting legend Jesse Owens burst onto the
sporting scene in junior high school in Cleveland,
Ohio. He set world records for his age group in
the high jump and long jump. 
The high school track coach invited Jesse to
join the team. But Jesse was very poor. He had to
work after school and couldn’t practice. Instead,
he got up at 5:00 a .m. to train with his coach. 
Jesse’s legend grew. At a national high school
track meet, the teenage star tied the world record
for the 100-yard dash and set a new world record
for the long jump. In 1935, at a college championship meet, Jesse set new world records for the 220-yard dash, long jump, and
220-yard low hurdles. He tied the world record of 9 .4 seconds
for the 100-yard dash. Never before had a track-and-field
athlete accomplished so much. And he did it in about an
hour—with a back injury. Yet, for all the records he set, his
greatest triumphs lay ahead.

Do You Know? 
Jesse chose to go to Ohio State
University even though it was one of the few colleges
 that did not offer
him a scholarship. He worked as an elevator operator,
waiter, and gas station attendant to
support himself and his young wife, Ruth.

An Olympian for Eternity 
In 1936, just before the start of World War II, 
Jesse traveled to Berlin, Germany, for the Summer
Olympic Games. But his participation in the
Olympic G ames was controversial. Nazi leader
Adolph Hitler ruled Germany. Nazis believed
that Aryans—non-Jewish white people—were
a “master race” superior to all others. They called
black people “primitive.”
Jesse was not intimidated by Hitler’s attitude
or by threats. He firmly believed that individual
excellence, not race, color, or where you were
from, distinguished one person from another.
And he proved it on the track in Berlin.

It is August 1936, the final day of the Olympics. 
Jesse Owens has already breezed to the gold medal in
the 100-meter and 200-meter races. Chancellor Hitler
has left the stadium rather than shake his hand. 
Being snubbed does not bother Jesse Owens. 
He is focused on the long jump. Although it is
his best event, he almost did not
qualify because earlier, a German
judge claimed he fouled. Now it is
the fifth round. Jesse is tied with Luz Long, a
German. Both of them have
jumped 22 feet, 10 1 / 2 inches. 
With a few deep breaths and long strides, Jesse
sprints down the path. He springs into the air and
sails into the landing pit for a record-setting leap
of 26 feet, 5 1 / 2 inches. Another gold medal!

Jesse set out to do his best at the 1936 Olympics. 
He earned four gold medals, a first in Olympic
history. And, by letting his accomplishments speak
for themselves, he embarrassed an evil dictator. 
Jesse returned from Germany to a ticker-tape
parade and cheers of admiration, but little else. 
At that time, black athletes did not get product
endorsement or appearance contracts. His fame
produced little income or stability for his family. 
To earn a living, Jesse participated in promotional
stunts. He raced racehorses and motorcycles. At
Negro League baseball games,he raced the fastest
players, often giving them a ten-yard lead! 
He went on to be a playground director for the
city of Cleveland and a well-known speaker. He
toured the country and the world inspiring young
people to do their best. The government named
him America’s Ambassador of Sports. Later
in life, he was awarded the Presidential Medal
of Freedom. 
Jesse Owens’ grandfather had been a slave. His
father was a sharecropper who worked on other
people’s farms. Jesse demonstrated that it is not 
where you come from that determines what you
achieve. That is the legacy of Jesse Owens, a man
who was always a step ahead.

American Sports Legends

Written by Troy Wolff
 Illustrated by Marcy Ramsey

Leaving Dublin Bay
 Patrick Kelley looked out over the ships
 floating in Dublin Bay. Below him, he 
 saw hundreds of people crowding the docks, 
 looking for space on one of the ships 
 bound for America. The year was 1846, 
 and many Irish people, most of whom were 
 farmers, were starving. For the past two 
 years, Ireland’s potato crop had failed
 due to disease, resulting in a great famine.

To avoid starvation, Irish families like Patrick’s
 bought passage on ships of all sizes sailing to
 the United States and Canada. The journey was
 dangerous, but the promise of a better life in
 America, where there was more land to farm 
 and no diseases destroying the crops, drew many 
 to the harbor. Patrick heard his father talk of 
 jobs in big cities like New York and Boston. 
 His father, who was a blacksmith, hoped to 
 find a job working his craft in New York, which 
 had thousands of horses to pull carriages and 
 wagons through the streets. For that much work, 
 Patrick’s father was ready to leave Ireland.

Patrick knew his family was suffering, and he
 knew that America might offer a better 
 life, yet Patrick did not want to leave 
 Dublin. This was his home. He did not 
 want to leave his friends, despite the 
 food shortage, and he did not want to
 leave Dublin Bay, his favorite place. He 
 often sat on the shore overlooking the 
 bay during storms and felt the sea spray 
 in his face, and he would listen to the 
 stories of the suntanned sailors returning 
 from journeys all around the world.

Patrick wanted to be a sailor in the warm South Pacific Ocean; he did not want to be a crowded passenger aboard an immigrant 
 ship crossing the cold Atlantic. So, Patrick sat on the docks 
 by himself, angry with his family, mostly his father, for 
 making him leave. He shaded his eyes from the setting sun on 
 the horizon and looked for the tall mast of the Donegal, the ship that would take his family to America the following morning.

He spotted
 the Donegal a little farther down the docks; it was easy to pick 
 out because it was larger than most of the other ships. He 
 could see the name painted in gold letters across the stern 
 of the ship as it gently bobbed in the water. Patrick glared at 
 the massive boat, wishing it would sink to the bottom
 of Dublin Bay. He shut his eyes, closing out
the sight.

Promise of a Better Life
 By the time Patrick finally decided to go 
 home, it had grown dark. Patrick lived on 
 the edge of Dublin, where his house was 
 connected to his father’s large blacksmith 
 barn and shop. After he left the edge of 
 the water, which reflected the oil lamps 
 along the docks and the faint moonlight above, 
 the streets and alleyways leading home were 
 so dark that he could see just a short way 
 ahead. The dim glow coming from the windows 
 of houses did little to light his way.

After a few blocks, Patrick noticed footsteps
 behind him. The streets were usually deserted
 after dark, and Patrick wondered who might be
 out tonight. The footsteps drew closer and 
 closer, and as he listened, Patrick detected 
 a strange metallic clicking along with the 
 footsteps. Frightened, Patrick kept his head 
 down and began walking faster. Another block 
 later, the steps and the clicking got closer 
 still. Frantically, Patrick tried to remember 
 an alleyway or doorway he could duck into to 
 get away from this stranger following him.
 Suddenly, Patrick felt a small jab on the top
 of his shoulder. His blood froze in terror.

“Excuse me, young man!” he 
 heard behind him. Patrick stood 
 still, afraid to turn around. 
 “Young man, I say! Where are 
 you off to? I noticed you eyeing 
 the Donegal down at the docks.”

Still frightened, Patrick slowly turned around.
 Standing over him glared an older man with a
 silver beard glowing in the lamplight and a
 military sword in his right hand. “Who are you?”
 Patrick asked, trying to sound confident. “I am 
 First Mate Thomas O’Brien, an officer of the 
 Donegal, at your service,” he answered in a 
 serious tone. “The Donegal?” Patrick repeated. 
 “My family and I are sailing on the Donegal 
 tomorrow.” “Ah, very good,” O’Brien answered. 
 “She’s a fine ship, and the sailing conditions 
 are better than most other ships these days.”

“But I hear the living conditions are bad 
 on these ships,” Patrick said. “Well, 
 they often are,” Thomas replied. “Some 
 ships are worse than others. Unfortunately,
 conditions usually depend upon how much
 money a family can spend on their fare.”
 “Yeah, I know,” Patrick interrupted. “My
 father spent most of our savings on this trip.”
 “Your family will travel on a ship with a
 record for bringing its passengers safely to
 America, even though the journey will still
 be difficult and uncomfortable,” O’Brien 
 said. “The Atlantic is a huge ocean, and the 
 weather can be dangerous on the open sea.”

Patrick thought about this for a moment.
 “I can’t remember the last time I wasn’t 
 going to bed feeling hungry. I don’t want 
 to live like that much longer.” “Exactly,” 
 Thomas responded. “In an emergency, 
 people must make difficult choices to make 
 life better. But listen to me, young man. 
 I’ve seen America many times, and I think 
 that a better life is waiting for you and 
 your family. You will have to work very 
 hard, but if you do, there should be no 
 limit to what you can accomplish.”

“Yes, sir. That’s what my dad keeps 
 telling me. Maybe he’s right,” Patrick 
 admitted. “Of course he’s right, son,” 
 Thomas answered. He then looked back 
 toward the harbor. “Well, young man, 
 it’s getting late. You should be off to
 bed. After all, this may be the last 
 peaceful night’s sleep you’ll have for 
 several weeks,” he said with a wink.
 “Okay, sir. Thank you for the advice. 
 Maybe I’ll see you on the ship,” Patrick 
 said as he turned to go home.

Stormy Seas
 A week later, Patrick and his family 
 were well on their way to America aboard 
 the Donegal. “All hands on deck! All 
 hands on deck!” Patrick heard from above. 
 In the darkness below decks, Patrick 
 heard his sister groaning. She had been 
 sick for three days, like many of the 
 people on the ship. After several days 
 of calm seas sailing from Dublin, the 
 Donegal had run into a violent storm.

On the first day of the storm, Patrick 
 watched from the deck with excitement 
 as giant walls of water would swell and 
 approach the ship. Patrick’s stomach 
 would rise in his throat as the Donegal 
 climbed, hovered for one awful second at 
 the crest of the wave, then crashed down 
 the far side of the wave in a great rush. 
 This was exciting, but the storm was 
 getting stronger, and the constant rising 
 and falling of the ship was churning the 
 stomachs of the passengers, many of whom, 
 like Patrick’s sister, became seasick.

“All hands on deck! We must lower these sails,
 boys!” Patrick heard these commands again 
 from above. He knew that “hands” only 
 meant the sailors, not any of the passengers, 
 but he felt he couldn’t stand staying below 
 in the darkness one more moment. He 
 desperately wanted to see the sailors 
 handling the stormy conditions. So, when 
 no one was looking, Patrick burst up the 
 main hatch and into the howling wind and 
 freezing spray. The deck of the ship was 
 wildly confusing—sailors running around, 
 officers barking orders, sails flapping 
 in the wind, and white ocean spray
 crashing over the rails of the ship.

“Captain! One of the sails has wrapped 
 itself around the upper yardarm!” Patrick 
 heard a sailor yell out to the captain.
 “Well, send someone up there to untangle 
 it. We need that sail down before the 
 wind tears it!” the captain thundered. 
 “We can’t, sir,” the sailor replied. “The 
 yardarm has been damaged in the wind 
 and can’t support a sailor’s weight. We 
 would need someone much smaller.”

The sailors hadn’t noticed Patrick yet, 
 but as he heard this, he only needed to 
 think about what they said for a moment.
 “Excuse me, sir!” he said as he tugged 
 on the captain’s coat. The captain turned 
 quickly and, seeing Patrick, yelled, “You,
 boy! What are you doing above deck? Get 
 yourself below with the other passengers.”
 “But, sir,” Patrick protested. “I can 
 climb the mast and untangle the sail.”

“What? You? What makes you think you could 
 do this? It’s howling out here. These are
 no conditions for a passenger.” “It’s 
 really no problem, sir. I’ve grown up along
 the coast all my life. The wind doesn’t 
 bother me, and I have to climb in the rafters 
 of my father’s blacksmith barn every day to
 hang up his tools.” Patrick said this with 
 as much confidence as he could fake, but the 
 wild wind and water frightened him. He 
 didn’t dare to actually look up at the mast. 
 Before the captain could answer, another sailor
 interrupted them. “Sir, we must do something 
 quickly, the sail is beginning to tear!”

The captain looked out over the stormy sea,
 then leaned down and grabbed Patrick 
 by the shoulders. “All right, lad. Be 
 careful, climb slowly, and do NOT look 
 down. Just concentrate on the mast ahead 
 of you. You can do this! Now, up you go.”
 Climbing the mast wasn’t scary for 
 Patrick at first, as long as he just 
 looked straight ahead. Halfway up, 
 however, Patrick was unable to resist 
 temptation and, holding tightly to the 
 mast, he looked out and below him.

Through a crisscross of ropes whistling
 in the wind, he saw the white tops of the waves
 surrounding the ship and the small heads of the
 sailors scurrying around the deck of the ship.
 He briefly thought of his family out of sight
 below the deck, and how worried his mother
 would be right now if she saw him up here.
 This thought vanished quickly, however, as
 Patrick felt a wave of dizziness overtake him.
 The rocking of the ship on the waves was twice
 as strong up on the mast, and seeing all the waves
 around him made his head spin. Fighting against
 this dizziness, Patrick refocused on the mast in
 front of him. His head quickly cleared, and he
 climbed the rest of the way up the mast.

At the top, he could see the crack in 
 the wood of the yardarm, but it didn’t 
 look very large, so he knew if he took 
 care, he would be okay. Looking out, he 
 could see the top of the sail flapping 
 in the wind and the clip he needed
 to unhook to lower the sail.

“Okay,” he said to himself. “Here goes.”
 Carefully reaching out from the mast, 
 Patrick stretched his hand toward the 
 clip. Glancing down for a moment, he could 
 see the faces of the captain and crew 
 looking up at him from below. Stretching 
 a bit farther, feeling the mast sway 
 dangerously under him, he caught hold of 
 the clip. Tugging with all of the strength 
 he could find in his awkward position, he 
 felt the clip give way and the sail drop 
 below him. A cheer rose from the sailors 
 below, and the captain happily waved at 
 him to come back down the mast.

Arriving in America
 Three weeks later, Patrick stood on the deck
 of the Donegal with his family. Before them
 the buildings of New York City came into view.
 At last, they had made it to America! On the
 docks, Patrick could see the activity as other 
 ships were unloading from their own ocean 
 journeys. Patrick could feel the energy and 
 bustle of this new, growing city, so different 
 from the centuriesold calmness of Dublin.
 “Why, Patrick, my boy!” he heard a familiar
 voice behind him. It was First Mate Thomas
 O’Brien, whom he had not seen for several 
 days. Thomas came up to Patrick and put his 
 hand on Patrick’s shoulder.

Looking at Patrick’s father, Thomas said,
 “You know, Mr. Kelly, none of us would be here
 in New York right now if it weren’t for your 
 son here.” He looked down at Patrick and gave 
 his shoulder a friendly shake. “What he did up 
 on that mast in the storm was quite courageous.
 Quite remarkable.” “Thank you, sir,” Patrick 
 said, a little bit embarrassed. “Well, we are 
 all very proud of Patrick,” Mr. Kelly said, 
 looking fondly at his son. “And we are also 
 very thankful to you and the rest of the crew 
 of the Donegal,” he continued.
 “Thanks to you, my family now has a chance
 for a new life—a better life—here in America.”

“I wish you all the luck in the world,”
 Thomas answered. “And, Patrick, I hope to 
 see you at the Harbor whenever the Donegal 
 is in port. You have the makings of a fine 
 sailor, and you’re welcome on the deck of 
 this ship any time.” Patrick smiled 
 excitedly at this invitation and imagined 
 his future, sailing the oceans of the 
 world, but always returning to his family
 and to America, his new home.

Atlantic Crossing

Introduction 
Do you have a public library near you? Thank
Benjamin Franklin. 
Do you have lights to read by? Thank Benjamin
Franklin. 
Does your mail come right to your door? Do
you get to play outside later in the summer 
because it stays lighter longer? Thank Benjamin
Franklin. 
Do you live in a free and independent country? 
Thank Benjamin Franklin.
How did one man do so much?

Early Life 
“ . . . All the little money that came into my hands
was ever laid out in books.” 
Born on January 17, 1706, to Josiah and Abiah
Franklin in Boston, Massachusetts, Benjamin
Franklin was the youngest son of 17 children. His
father worked hard making candles and soap. His
mother managed the large household.

When he was eight years old, Ben started
school. He liked learning and did well in all his
subjects except arithmetic. However, Josiah and
Abiah could not pay for years of school for their
children. Only the wealthy could afford that. So
ten-year-old Ben went to work for his father. He
cut wicks and filled the molds for candles. He
cleaned up the shop, ran errands, and spent hours
near vats of boiling tallow. Tallow is a fat that
comes from
sheep and
cows. Ben
thought it
smelled awful.

Ben dreamed of being a sailor. He loved the water
and swam in the local pond with his friends every
chance he had. Once he took a kite to the pond, and
as he held onto the kite string, the air pulled the kite. 
He relaxed and let the kite pull him across the pond. 
Ben’s parents did not want him to be a sailor 
because of the dangers he would face on long ocean
voyages. So Josiah took Ben to visit bricklayers,
carpenters, and blacksmiths. He hoped that Ben
would find a job he liked. Ben learned skills he later
used in his own home; however, he did not find a job.

Though he wasn’t in school, Ben read as much as
possible. He read all of his father’s books and used
his meager spending money to buy more books.
Josiah noticed that Ben loved books. James, one
of Ben’s brothers, had recently set up a printing
business. At last, Josiah knew the perfect job for Ben.

A Young Apprentice 
“Hope of gain
Lessens pain.” 
Josiah arranged for Ben to be an apprentice to
James. Ben, now twelve, would work for James
and learn printing. He would do this until he
turned twenty-one. For eight years, he would
receive no pay, just food and a bed. In his last
year, he would get a small salary. 
Ben became good at setting the type (the
letters) for books and newspapers. He soon
became friends with other apprentices. Some
worked for booksellers, and they lent him books. 
He read for hours at night so he could return a
book the next day.

Ben ate alone and studied. He used any extra
money to—you guessed it—buy books. He even
tackled arithmetic again and became good at it. 
Ben started writing too. He would read an
essay, put it aside, and later re-write it from
memory. He even wrote a few poems. But his
father said that poets made no money, so Ben
should stick to writing essays.

Being Fair 
While Ben was
an apprentice, he
felt he was unfairly
treated. This made
him strive to be fair
to others. He thought
that women should
have opportunities for
an education. He also
supported abolition,
or the end of slavery.

Ben even contributed to a newspaper James
published called the New England Courant; though
James did not know it for a while. James and his
friends, using pen names, wrote the newspaper’s
articles. They even wrote the letters to the editor. 
Ben decided to write a letter, but he did not tell
James. Ben pretended to be a middle-aged woman
named Silence Dogood. He slipped his first letter to
the editor as Silence Dogood under the door of the
print shop. James printed it. People liked it. Ben
wrote more letters. Soon James found out his little
brother wrote the letters and became annoyed. 
Ben and James had not been getting along. 
Josiah often had to settle arguments between
them. Finally, at age seventeen, Ben left Boston to
find work elsewhere.

Printer and Businessman 
“He that can have patience, can have what he will.” 
Ben found work in another print shop in
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. He worked hard so
that he could follow his dream of one day
opening his own shop. During this
time period, Great Britain controlled
the American colonies, including
Pennsylvania where Ben lived.
In 1724, Ben left for London to
buy printing equipment for his
own business with money
promised by a new friend,
Governor William Keith. 
Ben found London to be an exciting place. 
He stayed for two years, gaining more printing
experience. He also had fun and made friends. 
He hung out in coffee shops to discuss and
debate ideas.

Do You Know? 
In the 1700s, people were reading more than in
the 1600s. They were learning how to discuss issues. 
They began to value logical thinking and to question
traditions. They proposed new ways of looking at the
world. They even began to challenge government. 
This time period was called the Enlightenment.

The money that Ben’s friend promised never
came, so Ben could not start his business. A kind
merchant helped him get home to Philadelphia, 
where he returned to the printing trade. Ben was only 22 when, in 1728, he finally
opened a print shop in Philadelphia. He published
a newspaper, the Pennsylvania Gazette, and used it to
inform people and to speak his mind. He soon
became the official printer for Pennsylvania.

Family Man, Community Activist 
“Be civil to all; sociable to many; familiar with few;
friend to one; enemy to none.” 
Ben married Deborah Read in 1730. She helped
him run the print shop— where they also sold
stationery as well as his father’s soap and candles. 
Ben had a baby son, William, from a past romance. 
He and Deborah raised him. They had two more
children, Sarah and Francis, but Francis died of
smallpox when he was four. Sarah was nicknamed
Sally. She loved to read, just like her father.

Soon Ben started
one of his most popular
publications, Poor
Richard’s Almanack. 
An almanac contains
information on the tides, 
the times for sunset and
sunrise, and the weather. 
This bestseller included
many of Ben’s well-known
sayings such as, 
“Early to bed and early to
rise, makes a man
healthy, wealthy, and
wise.”

Busy as he was, Ben also had other interests. 
He remembered when he spent spare pennies to
buy books, so he and his friends organized the
first lending library. Ben also started the first
volunteer fire company in the colonies. He even
founded a school that eventually became the
University of Pennsylvania. He and his friend,
Dr. Thomas Bond, founded a hospital together. 
People noticed that Ben got things done. The
government put him in charge of mail delivery. 
He improved it. His daughter, Sally, sometimes
went with him when he rode along the mail route.

Inventor and Scientist 
“In success be moderate.” 
For twenty years, Ben built up his printing
business. He had print shops in other cities, too. 
He and Deborah saved much of the money he
made, which allowed Ben to retire early and
devote time to his many passions. 
Ben liked to invent
things that improved
everyday life. He had
already designed a
stove that gave more
heat than the ones most people were using. 
He also invented swim fins, bifocals, and an
extension arm to reach
books on high shelves. 
He improved streetlights
and suggested Daylight
Saving Time as a way to
save money on lighting.

1717: Invents
swim fins 1729: Proposes the
use of paper
money 1731: Starts
America’s
first lending
library

Ben founded the American Philosophical
Society, a club where scientists could gather for
study and discussion. Ben wished to study
weather and electricity. He believed that storms
traveled from one place to another. Like other
scientists, he thought that lightning was electricity. 
He wanted to prove this.

One afternoon,
Ben and his son,
William, went
outside to a
meadow because
they had seen a
storm coming. Ben
had made a kite out
of silk and wood. 
He attached a stiff
wire to the top of
his kite; then tied a
silk ribbon to the
kite string. He tied
a key to the ribbon. 
Ben and William
wanted the ribbon to stay dry so they stood inside
a shed and flew the kite from the doorway. As the
storm increased, Ben and William saw loose
threads on the string standing up.

Carefully, Ben put a knuckle near the key. 
Ouch! He got a tiny shock and saw a spark. Now
Ben was convinced that lightning was electricity. 
Lightning often caused fires, and
Ben wanted to invent a way to protect
buildings and people. His invention
was called a lightning rod, and it is
still used today. He did not apply for
a patent. (A patent is like a license. 
It says that no one else can make the
same thing without your permission.) 
This allowed anyone to use his
inventions without his permission.

How It Works 
A lightning rod is attached to the
highest part of a building. The rod
has a wire attached to it that leads
to the ground. When lightning hits
the rod, the electricity goes along
he wire and safely into the ground.

1736: Organizes a
volunteer fire
company 1737: Becomes Postmaster
of Philadelphia 
and improves
mail delivery

Founding Father 
“Those who would give up essential
liberty, to purchase a little temporary
safety, deserve neither liberty
nor safety.” 
Ben was generous with his time, as
well as his inventions. He spent many
years trying to help the colonies and
later played an important role when
the colonies sought their freedom
from Great Britain.

As early as 1754, Ben talked about
uniting the colonies. He even went
overseas many times to work out
problems between the colonies and
Great Britain’s government. He tried
to educate the British about the
colonies. Ben even convinced some of
the British people that the colonists
could govern themselves.

1739: Leads a
protest against
pollution 1741–1744: Invents the Franklin
stove; publishes one
of America’s first
magazines 1750: Invents
the
lightning
rod

Ben had always been a loyal citizen of Great
Britain. Just the same, he believed the colonies, 
which were an ocean away and better able to
defend themselves, should be independent from
Great Britain. In 1775, Ben became a delegate to
the Continental Congress, a group of colonists
who worked for independence from Great
Britain. The delegates argued constantly. Ben
became a peacemaker and negotiator.

1751: Develops methods
for keeping city
cleaner and dealing
with garbage 1752: Conducts
kite
experiment 1754: Proposes that the
colonies unite; prints
America’s first
political cartoon

Ben also joined
the committee
formed to write
the Declaration
of Independence, 
the document
proclaiming
the colonies’
independence. 
Thomas Jefferson
did most of the
writing, but Ben
made a few
suggestions. After
it was finished,
everyone in the
Continental Congress read it. Of course, every
member had a change or a suggestion. Ben sat
down with Thomas. He knew that Thomas was
bothered by the many changes. Ben was a good
friend and told him a funny story to try to cheer
him up.

1762: Invents glass
armonica— 
a musical
instrument 1764: Proposes
the idea of
Daylight
Saving Time 1773: Theorizes that
the common cold 
is passed from
person to person

Ben was now in his seventies. He would have
liked to take it easy; however, the colonists wanted
him to go to France to get help in their fight for
independence. Luckily, the French loved Ben. 
They thought he was friendly, funny, and down-to-
earth. He made great friends there. During the
American Revolution, France helped the colonies
in their fight for independence.

1775–1776: Helps to write
and signs the
Declaration of
Independence 1784: Invents
bifocals 1786: Invents extension
arm for taking
books down
from a shelf

After the revolution, Ben helped establish
peace between the new United States of America
and Great Britain. He also was elected president
of Pennsylvania three times. Before he retired
from public duties, he took on one more job. In
1787, he became part of the Constitutional
Convention and helped to create the U.S.
Constitution, 
the foundation
of today’s U.S.
government.

1787: Helps to
create the
U.S. Constitution 1789: Becomes President
of the Society for
Promoting the
Abolition of Slavery

Conclusion 
“All would live long, but none would be old.” 
During his last years, Ben became bedridden. 
However, he still read and wrote. Deborah, his
wife, had died many years before. His daughter,
Sally, and her family moved in to take care of
him. He enjoyed the company of his family,
especially his grandchildren. Every afternoon,
his granddaughter, Deborah, would bring her
spelling lesson. They would go over the words
together. When she did well, he would give her
a spoonful of jelly. 
Three months after his 84th birthday, one of
America’s greatest writers, leaders, inventors, and
patriots, Benjamin Franklin, died.

Ben Franklin

Written by M. LaVora Perry 
Illustrated by Mike LaRiccia

Malik sailed the basketball into the hoop 
as if it had wings: Swoosh! 
All of the guys slapped his palms—Bryan, 
Deonne, even Sean, Malik’s younger brother. 
Malik liked how everyone shot hoops in his
yard after school —something that couldn’t
happen back when his family lived in a cramped
apartment. There was no place to shoot hoops 
there except in the street, where drivers yelled, 
“Move, before you get run over!”

Two years ago, Malik, Sean, and their mom 
moved to a house just a few blocks away from his
friends. Ever since, the guys came by to b-ball in
his yard. On rainy days, they played video games 
in Malik’s very own bedroom, twice the size of the
room he and Sean had shared in their apartment. 
“My hungry stomach and my homework are
calling my name,” said Malik, “so let’s pick it up
again tomorrow.”

Once Bryan and Deonne had headed home, 
Malik joined Sean in the kitchen. Sean stood at the
counter making a sandwich with tuna, mayonnaise,
whole wheat bread, leafy green lettuce, and tomato
slices. It surprised Malik to see Mom in the kitchen,
too. He grabbed an apple from a bowl of fruit on
the table and took a big bite.

“Hey, Mom, you’re early,” he said. 
Malik could tell from her face that something
was wrong. Sean looked up at his mother, noticed
it, too, and stopped spreading mayonnaise on his
bread. 
“Sit down, boys,” she said, and in silence, the
three of them took seats around the kitchen table.

“I’ve lost my job,” she announced. 
Malik heard his mother’s words, but they
didn’t seem real. For as long as he could
remember, she had worked at a department store 
called Deal Mart. They liked her so much, they’d
even promoted her. 
“They said business has been too slow to keep
all of us,” she said.

“But you’re a manager,” Malik said, 
wondering how his mother’s job —something that
had always seemed like a part of normal life— 
could be gone just like that. 
“Other managers have worked there longer
than I have,” said Mom, “and some of them have
been let go, too. The bad economy is catching up 
with everybody.” 
“What’s an economy?” asked Sean.

Malik’s mom gave a heavy sigh and gazed
around the kitchen as though she might find an
answer there. “It’s all about money and jobs,” 
she explained. “When lots of people have jobs 
and lots of people are spending money, that’s
a good economy. Right now, in many countries, 
including ours, the economy is bad.

People don’t have money to spend, which means businesses
that make and sell things make less money. Then
workers at those businesses make less money or
lose their jobs, like I just lost mine.” 
Malik’s mom looked gloomier than he’d ever
seen her. 
“You’ll find another job,” he said. 
“I will,” she agreed, “but when?”

Three months had passed since their mom lost
her job at Deal Mart, and she’d been looking for 
work ever since. When she could, she worked at
what she called “odds and ends” jobs that only
lasted a day or two. Malik and Sean still shot
hoops in their yard with the guys, but the snacks
they ate afterward had changed.

Now when Malik peered into the kitchen
cabinet, it was almost bare. “I guess it’s peanut
butter and jelly again,” he said. 
“Yeah,” said Sean, “we’ve been eating so much
peanut butter, sometimes I think I’m turning into
a peanut.” 
“Well,” said Malik, “at least we don’t have
to pack PB&J for lunch anymore.”

Last week, their mom had signed them up for
free meals at school. Until last week, Malik hadn’t
even known the school offered free meals . . . if
you were poor enough to need them. 
The brothers were still at the table chewing
their PB&J sandwiches when their mom walked
through the door. 
“Hey, you two.” She sounded dead tired.

“Hi, Mom,” Malik said. “Where did you work
today?” 
She dropped into a kitchen chair as if a
thousand-pound weight pressed down on her. 
“Well, boys, I got my exercise today, that’s for
sure. I delivered grocery store flyers to houses
for seven hours straight. If I got paid a dollar for
every house I visited, we’d be rich.”

Malik knew his mother made less money at
odds-and-ends jobs than she used to make at Deal
Mart. 
“At least it wasn’t raining,” she said wearily, 
sorting through the day’s mail and tossing letters
aside until the last one. She opened this one and
ran her eyes across it, then made a noise in her
throat. 
“What is it, Mom?” Malik asked.

“It’s our mortgage bill,” she said, then noticed
their blank faces. “That’s the money we owe the
bank for our home.” 
“I thought we owned our home,” Malik said. 
“Actually, Malik, the bank owns our home. 
Each month, I pay the bank a certain amount 
until I’ve paid off the mortgage.”

“So the bank is like the landlord we paid 
when we lived in the apartment?” asked Sean.
“No, the bank gave me a loan so I could buy
our house from the woman who used to own it. 
The mortgage is what I borrowed from the bank, 
plus interest—lots of interest. If I can pay off the
mortgage, then we really will own this house.” 
“If?” asked Malik.

Mom didn’t respond. 
“How long will it take to pay off the
mortgage?” asked Sean. 
“Thirty years,” she said. “It’s supposed to take
thirty years.” 
“But you’ll be old by then,” Sean said.

Mom didn’t respond to this, either, but that
same worried look shadowed her face —the
one they saw a lot lately. Holding the letter, she
shuffled away toward the bathroom and closed
the door behind her. 
Malik and Sean went back to eating their
sandwiches, this time without any peanut butter
jokes. Malik wondered if his little brother could
hear what he heard —their mother’s sobs coming 
from behind the bathroom door.

Saturday morning, Malik’s family stood in a
ragged line outside the church three blocks from
their home. 
“Why do we have to come here?” Sean asked. 
“I told you,” said his mom. “The food bank
gives out free food.”

“But this place is for poor people,” Malik
whispered, not wanting the men and women 
standing in line to hear him. Some of them wore
tattered clothes; some of them smelled as if they
hadn’t bathed; some of them looked as though 
they’d been using illegal drugs for years and
years. As he kept stealing looks at the people
in line, though, Malik realized that some of the
others looked like him.

An hour later, Malik helped load three bags 
into the trunk of their car. At least they’d gotten 
a box of Fruity Puffs— their mom never bought
those. 
“Hey, Malik!” Malik recognized the voice right
away and froze. 
“Hey, what are you doing here?” Bryan asked. 
He and Deonne straddled their bikes, waiting for
an answer.

“Oh, I— I—“ Malik stammered while his
mother and Sean watched. “We were just picking
up stuff to take to my mom’s friend.” Then he
remembered the time the refrigerator in their
apartment broke down and lied some more. “Her
refrigerator got busted and everything spoiled, 
and she asked if we would come here and grab
her some food, so we did.”

“Oh,” Bryan said. 
Malik wasn’t sure if they believed his lie
or not, but they let it go. 
“Want to play some ball later?” asked Deonne. 
“How about another day?” Malik asked. 
“I’m a little behind in my homework and need
to catch up.”

That, too, was a lie— Malik had done all of his
homework. Getting caught at the food bank and
lying to Bryan and Deonne had ruined his day, 
though. He just wanted to be alone.

On the ride home, Malik was glad that neither
his mom nor Sean mentioned his behavior at the
church. Instead, they listened to some news show
on the radio. A man’s voice droned on about the
bad economy, mortgages, and unemployment.

“Bo-ring.” Malik reached out to change the
station, but his mom grabbed his hand. 
“Everything that man is talking about is
happening to us.” She sounded angry, but her
eyes were bright with tears. 
Malik stared at her a moment. “Mom,” he
asked slowly, “do we have enough money to keep
paying the mortgage?”

The car pulled into the driveway, but nobody
got out. The boys sat and waited for her answer. 
“When Deal Mart made me a manager, I made
more money—enough money to pay the monthly
mortgage on this house. Once I lost my job,I
started getting unemployment benefits from the
government. But even with that and my odds-
and-ends jobs, I still don’t have enough money
for the bank; I’ve missed two payments already.”

“Don’t worry,” Malik said. “We’ll move into
a smaller house.” 
“Yeah,” Sean said. “Malik and I can share
a room again.”
 Their mom smiled sadly. “We bought our
house at the wrong time, boys. The house is
worth less now than when we bought it.” 
“Why?” Malik asked. “We’ve taken care of it.”

“It’s not our fault,” she said. “Nobody’s house
is worth as much now as before the economy
went downhill. Too many people bought houses 
they thought they could afford. Now that many
people have lost their jobs,the banks took their
houses back from them.” “That’s wrong,” Malik said.

“That’s business,” she said. “Remember, the
bank owns the home until the mortgage is paid
off. Lots of people can’t pay their mortgages now. 
The bank takes back those houses —it’s called
foreclosure —and sells them to someone else, but
for less money this time.” 
“That’s not fair,” Sean said.

“That’s business, too,” she said. “With so
many cheap houses for sale now, none of the
houses are worth as much, including ours. I owe
more money for our house than anybody now 
would ever pay to buy it. When you owe the
bank more money than your house is worth, it’s
called an ‘underwater mortgage.’

Even if we sold
the house for whatever someone else was willing
to pay for it, I’d still have to pay back the rest of
our loan. And we don’t have the money to pay off
the bank.” Malik stared up at their house —the front
porch, the basketball hoop, his bedroom window. 
He didn’t believe the bank would take their
house, but Mom seemed to believe it, and that
had him worried.

“We can’t afford to sell the house,” she said, 
“and we can’t afford to keep it. If I keep missing
payments, the bank can foreclose on our home 
just like they’ve foreclosed on other people’s
homes. That’s what I’m afraid will happen to
us if I don’t start making more money soon.” 
She pocketed the keys, opened her door, and
stepped onto the driveway. “Let’s get these
groceries inside,” she said.

A few days later, Malik collected the mail from
the mailbox and spotted another letter from the
bank. He hid the letter on top of the refrigerator 
so his mom wouldn’t see it. 
At dinner, the three of them sat eating canned
green beans and instant tuna noodles, all from the
church’s free food bank. Malik missed the fresh
fruit and the salads he used to eat every day. 
His mom put down her fork, looked from
Malik to Sean, and placed the letter from the bank
on the table.

She found the letter, he thought. 
“Boys,” said his mother, “we’ve got to move.” 
“Back to the apartment?” asked Malik.
 “To my parents’. That’s all we can afford.” 
“How can we live at Big Mama’s and
Granddaddy’s?” asked Sean. “They don’t have
space for us.”

“We’ll live in their attic.” 
“But how will we get to school,” asked Malik, 
“when they live way across town?” 
“You’re going to have to go to the school
where they live.”
 Malik’s heart dropped to his stomach. It was
all so unfair —they were worse off now than
they’d ever been.

“It’ll just be temporary,” she said, as if she
knew what Malik was thinking,“ just until I can
get back on my feet.”
 Malik nodded and tried to smile, but the smile
felt tight and phony. From where Malik stood
right now, life was the worst it had ever been.

One week later, Malik’s mom loaded a final
box into the moving trailer. The trailer was
hooked to the back of their car and packed from
top to bottom. Sean sat on the front porch, 
looking around their yard one last time. 
Bryan and Deonne had stopped by to shoot
a few last “see you later” hoops.

“I’ll come by your new house, Malik,” said
Bryan. “I’ll take the bus.” 
“Yeah, I’ll come by, too,” said Deonne.
“Okay,” said Malik, but he wondered if he and
the guys would really stay friends. Even if they
visited him, there would be nowhere to shoot
hoops in his grandparents’ yard.

“Come on, boys!” their mom called from the
car. “I don’t want to be charged extra for renting
this trailer.”
 Malik climbed in the backseat and shut the
door. He waved to his friends, then turned and
gazed back at the home he had thought would
be theirs forever.

“Well,” Sean said, as they pulled out onto the
street, “at least now we get to eat Big Mama’s
cooking. And I don’t have to worry about turning
into a peanut.” 
“Speak for yourself,” said Malik, still looking
back. “I’d make a fine-looking peanut.”
 Their mom didn’t speak until the house had
passed from view. “You both would,” she said.

Malik Had a House

A Great Gallardo Book 
Written by Lori Polydoros 
Illustrated by David Cockcroft

Groaning About Gardening 
Roses. Oregano. Raspberries. Miguel Ventura
was exhausted. The weeds. The thorns. The
smells. Working in the family garden was not
how he planned to spend his summer. 
“We need your help,” his dad said, “to grow
food for the shop.” Miguel and his little sister,
Teresa, often lent a hand at the Ventura family
sandwich shop.
“Gardens,” 
Miguel’s dad glanced
up, “can be magic.” 
“Yeah, right.”
“The Earth has
healing powers.” His
dad cut a bouquet of
yellow roses. “The
peace would do you
some good.”
“I don’t want
peace,” Miguel said. 
“I want adventure
and danger!”
Dad rolled his eyes.

Miguel took a break in the coolness of the
shop. Mom and Teresa were baking bread, so he
sneaked away to the loft. He was in desperate
need of The Great Gallardo’s books. A while back,
Miguel had discovered a chest full of magic books 
that belonged to his great-grandfather George, a
magician called The Great Gallardo. Miguel went
into these stories as an actual character. He’d
become Huckleberry Finn from The Adventures of
Tom Sawyer and the Scarecrow from The Wizard of
Oz. Every time Miguel entered a story, he usually
had to solve a big problem. Sometimes it was pretty
dangerous. And danger was what Miguel needed.

Up at the loft, a red feather rested near the 
rusty lock of the chest. When Miguel first chose 
one of The Great Gallardo’s books, he usually
found a strange object from the story. Miguel
spent hours trying to figure out how he became
a real, live character in a book. Was it a spell?
An enchantment? The Great Gallardo’s magic
could be risky. Maybe it was a curse. 
A colorful book sat atop all the others. He
picked it up. The Secret Garden. It was a good book 
he remembered from the beginning of the year, 
but it wasn’t dangerous enough. Miguel tried to
choose another. But the lid had closed. The chest
was locked!

Once a book had magically been chosen for
him, there was no going back, so he opened to
page 181. “The robin flew from his swinging
spray of ivy . . .” The words scrambled on the
page. “. . . trill on of the and he loud, opened top his
an sang beak a wall lovely.”
Dizziness swept over Miguel like a wave. He
closed his eyes, and a gust of wind swept him up, 
lifting him high above until he felt weightless—
like air. Was he flying?

Bird Talk 
Miguel was flying! He soared miles and miles
above green pasture. With each gust of wind, the
air flowed under him, lifting him higher. He
rocketed through the air, flapping hard . . .
FLAPPING? 
Miguel tried to extend his arms but found
that he had wings and feathers instead. “I’m the
robin!” he said as he began to flap his wings.

Never in any Great Gallardo book had Miguel
become an animal. He pointed his beak and dove
downward. The ground rushed up at him as
though he were fast-forwarding a movie on
a screen. With wings spread wide, the wind
brushed against him, but the feathers insulated
him from the cold. Being a bird was incredible!

A big gust of wind rushed through the oak trees 
and lifted trailing sprays of untrimmed ivy. During
the gust, Miguel noticed a wall between the vines. 
Could this be the secret garden in the book? 
Swooping down with the next gust of wind, he
saw things in patches, almost as though he were
looking at a map, one grid at a time. Details popped
out as though they were three-dimensional. Miguel
zeroed in on a section of the brick wall. He fluttered
around and around the ivy, until one more big rush
of wind lifted up a thick patch, revealing a round
doorknob. It was the entrance to the secret garden!

A small wave of excitement flittered through
his feathers, but his first instinct about this story
soon returned. This was not going to be the exciting
adventure he hoped for. He regretted having
climbed into the loft.

A whistling sound drew him down and
around the garden, where he found a man
tending the roses. “That has to be Ben, one of the
groundskeepers!” 
Miguel fluttered above his head. 
“You’re at it again, today, robin,”
Ben said. “Mary is
over there!”
Miguel rose
on an updraft 
and cruised above the
trees again. 
He caught sight
of a young girl 
searching in the
orchard as though
she’d lost something. 
Miguel let a current
of air gently lower
him to a branch
of ivy. “Follow
me, Mary!” he
squawked at her. 
“There’s something
I must show you.”

Mary stared at him and cocked her head. 
He quickly remembered that robins didn’t
speak English; his words were only chirps and
cheeps. He tried again, but no matter what he
said, it came out something like cheerily, cheer up,
cheer up. 
How could he get Mary to understand him? 
He hopped up and down, flapped his wings, and
bobbed his head. 
“What a strange bird,” Mary said.

Miguel shook his head back and forth. He
stood on one foot. To get her attention, Miguel
belted out the best bird-song he could muster. But
as hard as he tried, the song came out sounding
like the whispery words hisselly-hisselly. 
Mary smiled. “Thank you for the song, dear
robin, but I’m trying to find a lost garden that was
my aunt’s favorite place.” She skipped away
down the path, leaving a most sorrowful bird
behind. 
This was going to be tougher than he thought. 
Miguel’s frustration was building. How could he
talk to her if she didn’t speak his language?

A Snack for a Fox 
After a little nap in the oaks, Miguel awoke
to the grumblings of his stomach. He flittered
down onto a rock. A tiny school of fish headed
downstream in a creek. Too fishy for lunch. A
squiggly earthworm squirmed in the mud below
him. Too mushy for a snack. Miguel sighed. If he
didn’t find something to eat soon, he’d have no
energy to help Mary find the secret garden.

Amid the feast, Miguel heard a strange sound. 
It was soft like a flute, but lighter, almost like trees
blowing in the breeze. A boy with rosy cheeks
walked up to him, flute in hand. “Hello, fair
robin.” Several squirrels and a small rabbit peeked
out of pockets on his worn jacket. A little red fox
followed at his heels. This must be Mary’s friend
Dickon; he had a knack for talking with animals. 
Surely he could help Miguel.
“I need to find Mary,” Miguel chirped. 
“Slow down—I don’t speak robin very well,” 
Dickon chuckled as he sat down on a stump. The
fox hopped up to his lap.

“I need to find a girl named Mary.” Miguel
tried to speak clearly, but he knew that each word
was merely bird chatter. “Mary. Mary. MARY!”
His words spewed out like a bird alarm, tuktuk,
tuktuk, tuktuk!
Robin talk was indecipherable! Miguel stared
at Dickon, willing him to understand his request. 
But instead, the dark eyes of the fox stared back. 
Miguel froze, quickly realizing that he was the
perfect size for a tasty treat.
“Tell me again, robin,” Dickon said.

But before Miguel could utter one little chirp, 
the fox’s eyes narrowed and its ears stood erect. 
Miguel’s heart raced. He had to get out of there—
NOW! With a swivel of his head, Miguel lifted
his wings. 
The fox lunged.
“Stop!” cried Dickon. 
Miguel glanced back. He
flapped his wings but found
it difficult to fly in a panic. 
He ran forward, but
every time he tried to lift
off, the fox sped closer.

江家小朋友的学习园地