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英语叙事短文我的娃娃

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我妹妹姬尔和我从卫理公会教堂跑出来,急切地想回家,玩着Santa留给我们的礼物,还有我们的小妹妹莎伦,细雨蒙蒙。教堂对面的一个泛美加油站停在灰狗巴士上。圣诞节那天关门了,但我注意到一个家庭站在锁着的门外面,挤在狭窄的门下,试图保持干燥。我想知道他们为什么会在那里,但后来忘了他们,我跑去跟上姬尔。
 
我们一到家,就没时间享受礼物了。我们不得不去爷爷奶奶家做一年一度的圣诞晚餐。当我们开车穿过小镇的高速公路时,我注意到那个家庭仍然在那里,站在封闭的加油站外面。
 
我父亲在高速公路上开得很慢。我们越要爷爷奶奶家的分岔路口,车子就越慢。突然,我的父亲在路中间调了个头,说:“我无法忍受!“
 
“什么?我妈妈问。
 
“就是那些站在泛美车站的人,站在雨中。他们有孩子。今天是圣诞节。我受不了。”
 
当我父亲进入服务站时,我看到有五个孩子:父母和三个孩子——两个女孩和一个小男孩。
 
我父亲摇下车窗。“圣诞快乐,”他说。
 
“你好,”那人回答。他个子很高,不得不微微弯下腰去看那辆车。
 
姬尔、莎伦和我盯着孩子们看,他们都盯着我们看。
 
“你在等公共汽车吗?”“我父亲问。
 
那人说他们是。他们要去伯明翰,在那里他有一个哥哥和一份工作的前途。
 
“嗯,那辆公共汽车几小时都不来了,你站在这儿淋湿了。”。伯明翰的只有几英里的路。他们有一个带盖的棚子和一些长凳,“我父亲说。“为什么不上车我送你们到那里。”
 
那人想了一会儿,然后向家人示意。他们爬上汽车。他们没有行李,只有他们穿的衣服。
 
他们安顿下来后,我父亲回头看了看孩子们,问他们Santa是否找到了他们。三张忧郁的脸无声地回答了他。
 
“嗯,我不这么认为,”我父亲对我妈妈眨眨眼说,“因为今天早上我看到Santa时,他告诉我他找不到所有的东西,他问我是否可以把你的玩具留在我家。在我带你去公共汽车站之前,我们先去拿。”
 
突然,三个孩子的脸都亮了起来,他们在后座上蹦蹦跳跳地笑个不停。
 
当我们从车里出来时,三个孩子跑过前门,直奔我们圣诞树下的玩具。其中一个女孩发现了姬尔的洋娃娃,并立即将它抱在怀里。我记得那个小男孩抓住了莎伦的球。另一个女孩拿起了我的东西。这一切都发生在很久以前,但对它的记忆仍然清晰。那是圣诞节,我和妹妹们学会了让别人快乐的快乐。
 
母亲发现中间的孩子穿着短袖衣服,所以她给了那个女孩姬尔的仅有的毛衣穿。
 
我父亲邀请他们和我们一起去爷爷奶奶家吃圣诞大餐,但父母拒绝了。即使我们都试图说服他们来,他们的决定也很坚定。
 
回到车里,在去Winborn的途中,我父亲问他有没有钱买车票。
 
那人说他哥哥寄了票。
 
我父亲把手伸进口袋掏出两美元,这是他下一笔发薪日剩下的钱。他把钱塞到那个人的手里。那个人想把它还给我,但我父亲坚持说。“你到伯明翰时会晚些时候,这些孩子在那之前会饿的。把它。我以前破产了,我知道当你不能养活你的家人时会是什么样子。”
 
我们和他们在Winborn的公共汽车站。当我们驱车离开时,我尽可能长时间地注视着窗外,回头看那个抱着新洋娃娃的小女孩。

A light drizzle was falling as my sister Jill and I ran out of the Methodist Church, eager to get home and play with the presents that Santa had left for us and our baby sister, Sharon. Across the street from the church was a Pan American gas station where the Greyhound bus stopped. It was closed for Christmas, but I noticed a family standing outside the locked door, huddled under the narrow overhang in an attempt to keep dry. I wondered briefly why they were there but then forgot about them as I raced to keep up with Jill.

Once we got home, there was barely time to enjoy our presents. We had to go off to our grandparents’ house for our annual Christmas dinner. As we drove down the highway through town, I noticed that the family was still there, standing outside the closed gas station.

My father was driving very slowly down the highway. The closer we got to the turnoff for my grandparents’ house, the slower the car went. Suddenly, my father U-turned in the middle of the road and said, “I can’t stand it!”

“What?” asked my mother.

“It's those people back there at the Pan Am, standing in the rain. They've got children. It's Christmas. I can’t stand it.”

When my father pulled into the service station, I saw that there were five of them: the parents and three children — two girls and a small boy.

My father rolled down his window. “Merry Christmas,” he said.

“Howdy,” the man replied. He was very tall and had to stoop slightly to peer into the car.

Jill, Sharon, and I stared at the children, and they stared back at us.

“You waiting on the bus?” my father asked.

The man said that they were. They were going to Birmingham, where he had a brother and prospects of a job.

“Well, that bus isn’t going to come along for several hours, and you’re getting wet standing here. Winborn’s just a couple miles up the road. They’ve got a shed with a cover there, and some benches,” my father said. “Why don't y’all get in the car and I’ll run you up there.”

The man thought about it for a moment, and then he beckoned to his family. They climbed into the car. They had no luggage, only the clothes they were wearing.

Once they settled in, my father looked back over his shoulder and asked the children if Santa had found them yet. Three glum faces mutely gave him his answer.

“Well, I didn’t think so,” my father said, winking at my mother, “because when I saw Santa this morning, he told me that he was having trouble finding all, and he asked me if he could leave your toys at my house. We'll just go get them before I take you to the bus stop.”

All at once, the three children's faces lit up, and they began to bounce around in the back seat, laughing and chattering.

When we got out of the car at our house, the three children ran through the front door and straight to the toys that were spread out under our Christmas tree. One of the girls spied Jill’s doll and immediately hugged it to her breast. I remember that the little boy grabbed Sharon’s ball. And the other girl picked up something of mine. All this happened a long time ago, but the memory of it remains clear. That was the Christmas when my sisters and I learned the joy of making others happy.

My mother noticed that the middle child was wearing a short-sleeved dress, so she gave the girl Jill’s only sweater to wear.

My father invited them to join us at our grandparents’ for Christmas dinner, but the parents refused. Even when we all tried to talk them into coming, they were firm in their decision.

Back in the car, on the way to Winborn, my father asked the man if he had money for bus fare.

His brother had sent tickets, the man said.

My father reached into his pocket and pulled out two dollars, which was all he had left until his next payday. He pressed the money into the man’s hand. The man tried to give it back, but my father insisted. “It’ll be late when you get to Birmingham, and these children will be hungry before then. Take it. I’ve been broke before, and I know what it’s like when you can’t feed your family.”

We left them there at the bus stop in Winborn. As we drove away, I watched out the window as long as I could, looking back at the little girl hugging her new doll.


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