妈妈把这些钱放回信封里。我们都没有说话，只是坐在那里，盯着地板。我们刚才还觉得自己是百万富翁，现在这种感觉一落千丈，觉得自己很贫穷。我们这些孩子们一直过得很幸福，我们总是为那些人们感到遗憾，因为他们未曾拥有与我们父母一样的父母，而且我家里兄弟姊妹众多，来我们家玩的孩子总是源源不断。我们认为和别人共享银餐具是件趣事，而猜测自己吃晚餐时是用汤勺还是用刀叉也很有意思。我们家有两把刀子，谁需要谁就用它。我知道我们家不像别人家那样拥有很多东西，但是我们从来不认为我们贫穷。
但是在那个复活节，我发现我们确实是贫穷的。牧师给我们送来了为贫穷家庭募捐的钱，我想那么我们一定是穷人了。我不喜欢做穷人。我看着我的衣服和破旧的鞋子，觉得很羞愧——我甚至不再想到教堂去了。那儿所有的人可能都已经知道我们是穷人了！
我们沉默地坐了很长时间。天黑以后，我们就去睡觉了。那一周里，我们女孩子像平常一样上学、回家，谁也没有过多谈论此事。终于，又到了星期六，妈妈问我们想怎么处理这些钱。穷人们都是如何处理这些钱的呢？我们不知道。我们从来没有认为自己是穷人。我们星期天不想去教堂，但是妈妈说我们必须去。虽然那天天气很好，阳光明媚，但是我们一路上什么也没说。
那天，教堂中有一位传教士。他谈到非洲的教堂是如何用被风干的砖块砌成，但是他们仍需要买屋顶材料的钱。他说建一座教堂，屋顶需要花费100美元。传教士补充道：“难道我们不能做出一点牺牲来帮助那些贫穷的人吗？”我们彼此看了看，脸上均露出了一星期以来的第一次微笑。
妈妈把手伸进她的钱包里，拿出那个信封。她把它递给达琳，达琳把它递给了我，我又把它递给了奥丝。奥丝把它放进了募捐箱里。
牧师数过捐款以后，宣布捐款数额稍稍超出了100美元。传教士很兴奋。他本没料到能在我们这座小教堂里募捐到这么一大笔款项。他说，“你们这座教堂里一定有一些富人。”这句话猛然惊醒了我们！在那稍稍超出100美元的款项中我们的捐款占了87美元。
我们是这座教堂里富裕的家庭！难道传教士不是这么说的吗？从那天开始，我再也没觉得自己贫穷了。
Carl’s garden
卡尔的花园
Carl was a quiet man. He didn’t talk much. He would always greet you with a big smile and a firm handshake. Watching him， we worried that although he had survived WWII， he may not make it through our changing uptown neighborhood with its ever-increasing random violence， gangs， and drug activity.
He was well into his 87th year when the very thing we had always feared finally happened. He was just finishing his watering for the day when three gang members approached him. Ignoring their attempt to intimidate him， he simply asked，“Would you like a drink from the hose？
The tallest and toughest-looking of the three said，“Yeah， sure”， with a malevolent little smile. As Carl offered the hose to him， the other two grabbed Carl’s arm， throwing him down. As the hose snaked crazily over the ground， dousing everything in its way， Carl’s assailants stole his retirement watch and his wallet， and then fled.
A few weeks later the three returned. Just as before their threat was unchallenged. Carl again offered them a drink from his hose. This time they didn’t rob him. They wrenched the hose from his hand and drenched him head to foot in the icy water. When they had finished their humiliation of him， they sauntered off down the street， throwing catcalls and curses， falling over one another laughing at the hilarity of what they had just done. Carl just watched them.
Then he turned toward the warm giving sun， picked up his hose， and went on with his watering. The summer was quickly fading into fall. Carl was doing some tilling when he was startled by the sudden approach of someone behind him. He stumbled and fell into some evergreen branches. As he struggled to regain his footing， he turned to see the tall leader of his summer tormentors reaching down for him.
He braced himself for the expected attack.
“Don’t worry old man， I’m not going to hurt you this time.” The young man spoke softly， still offering the tattooed and scarred hand to Carl. As he helped Carl get up， the man pulled a crumpled bag from his pocket and handed it to Carl.
“What’s this？” Carl asked.
“It’s your stuff，” the man explained. “It’s your stuff back. Even the money in your wallet.”
“I don’t understand，” Carl said.“Why would you help me now？”
The man shifted his feet， seeming embarrassed and ill at ease.“I learned something from you，”he said.“I ran with that gang and hurt people like you. But every time we came and did something to you， instead of yelling and fighting back， you tried to give us a drink. You didn’t hate us for hating you. You kept showing love against our hate.”
He died one cold day after Christmas that winter. Many people attended his funeral in spite of the weather. In particular the minister noticed a tall young man that he didn’t know sitting quietly in a distant corner of the church.
The minister spoke of Carl’s garden as a lesson in life. In a voice made thick with unshed tears， he said，“Do your best and make your garden as beautiful as you can. We will never forget Carl and his garden.”
The following spring a flyer went up. It read： “Person needed to care for Carl’s garden.”
The flyer went unnoticed by the busy parishioners until one day when a knock was heard at the minister’s office door.
Opening the door， the minister saw a pair of scarred and tattooed hands holding the flyer.
The minister recognized him as the same young man who had returned the stolen watch and wallet to Carl. He knew that Carl’s kindness had turned this man’s life around.
卡尔这个人寡言少语。他话不多，通常是用灿烂的微笑和有力的握手来和你打招呼。我们看到他就担心，虽然他参加二战幸存了下来，但是他可能无法适应我们不断变化的市郊住宅区，因为这里肆意的暴力行为、犯罪团伙和贩卖毒品的活动越来越多。
就在卡尔即将到87岁高龄的时候，让我们一直以来担心的事情终于发生了。那天他刚刚给花园浇完水，就有3个流氓向他走去。卡尔对这伙人恐吓他的企图视若无睹，只是简单地问道，“你们想喝点儿水管里的水吗？”
3个流氓里个子最高、面相最凶的那个说：“好啊，当然想喝。”说的时候脸上还带着一丝坏笑。卡尔正要把水管递给他，另外两个流氓就抓住卡尔的胳膊，把他按倒在地。这下水管就像蛇一样在地上疯狂地乱扭，所到之处把什么都给浸湿了，袭击卡尔的这伙人抢完他退休时发的手表和他的钱包就逃走了。
几个星期之后，那３个流氓又来了。正如上次一样，他们这次威胁卡尔也没有遇到反抗。卡尔再次请他们喝水管里的水。但是这一次小流氓没有抢劫他，而是从他手中抢过水管，把他从头到脚用冰冷的水浇了个透。他们羞辱完卡尔就回到街上大摇大摆地走了，嘴里发出嘘声，还骂骂咧咧的，争先恐后地笑着，觉得他们刚才的恶作剧特别搞笑。卡尔只是望着他们。
然后他才转身面对暖融融的太阳，捡起水管，继续给花浇水。转眼间夏逝秋来。卡尔正在花园耕作时身后突然走近一个人，把他吓了一大跳，结果跌倒在常绿植物的枝条里。当他挣扎着要站起来的时候，扭头看到夏天折磨他的3个流氓中为首的高个子向他走来。
他打起精神等待着意料之中的袭击。
“别担心，老人家，这次我不会伤害你。”那个年轻人轻声说道，依然向卡尔伸出刺有文身、留着伤疤的手。他扶卡尔站了起来，从口袋里掏出一个皱皱巴巴的包，并把它递给了卡尔。
“这是什么？”卡尔问道。
“这是你的东西，”年轻人解释道。“现在还给你。还有你钱包里的钱。”
“我不明白，”卡尔说，“你为什么现在愿意帮助我？”
年轻人挪了挪脚，看上去局促不安。“我从你身上学到了点东西，”他说，“我和那伙人混在一起，伤害像你这样的人。但是每次我们过来欺负你的时候，你都没有大喊大叫，也没有还手，而是试图给我们水喝。我们讨厌你，但你并没有因此而怀恨在心。你总是以德报怨。”
那年冬天圣诞节之后，卡尔在一个寒冷的日子里离开了人世。尽管天气恶劣，很多人还是出席了他的葬礼。牧师特别注意到一个他素不相识的高个子青年，只见他静静地坐在教堂稍远的一个角落里。
牧师提起卡尔的花园，说这是人生的一堂课。他强忍着泪水，嘶哑着嗓子说：“请大家各尽所能，把你们的花园收拾得漂漂亮亮。我们永远不会忘记卡尔和他的花园。”
在随后的那个春天出现了一份传单。上面写着：“需要人料理卡尔的花园。”
教区的居民们都很忙，没有注意到这个传单，直到有一天有人敲响了牧师办公室的门。
牧师打开门，看到了一双带着伤疤并刺有文身的手拿着传单。
牧师认出来他就是向卡尔归还被抢手表和钱包的年轻人。他知道是卡尔的善良改变了这个人的一生。
Shillings between friends
朋友之间的先令
Fifty years ago during the World War II， I married my soldier sweetheart. Six weeks later， he left to fight in Korea. While he was away for that first year of our marriage， I stayed with my mum and worked hard to save a deposit for our first home. After John returned， we found a home and applied for a War Service Home Loan， which at that time took about six months to come through.
