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She was six years old when I first met her on the beach near where I live. I drive to this beach, a distance of three or four miles, whenever the world begins to close in on me. She was building a sand castle or something and looked up, her eyes as blue as the sea.
“Hello,”she said. I answered with a nod, not really in the mood to bother with a small child.“I’m building,”she said.
“I see that. What is it?”I asked, not caring.
“Oh, I don’t know. I just like the feel of sand.”
“That sounds good.”
A 1)sandpiper 2)glided by. “That’s a joy,”the child said.
“It’s a what?”
“It’s a joy. My mama says sandpipers come to bring us joy.”The bird went 3)glistening down the beach. “Good-bye joy.”
I 4)muttered to myself, “hello pain,”and turned to walk on. I was 5)depressed; my life seemed completely out of balance.
“What’s your name?”She wouldn’t give up.
“Ruth,”I answered. “I’m Ruth Peterson.”
“Mine’s Wendy……I’m six.”
“Hi, Wendy.”She 6)giggled.
“You’re funny,”she said.
In spite of my 7)gloom, I laughed too and walked on.
“Come again, Mrs. P,”she called. “We’ll have another happy day.?
The days and weeks that followed belonged to others: a group of 8)Boy Scouts, 9)PTA meetings, and 10)ailing mother. The sun was shining one morning as I took my hands out of the 11)dishwater. “I need a sandpiper,”I said to myself, gathering up my coat. The ever-changing 12)balm of the seashore awaited me.
The 13)breeze was 14)chilly, but I 15)strode along, trying to 16)recapture the 17)serenity I needed. I had forgotten the child, and was 18)startled when she appeared.
“Hello, Mrs. P,”she said. “Do you want to play?”
“What did you have in mind?”I asked, with a 19)twinge of 20)annoyance.
“I don’t know, you say.”
“How about 21)charades?”I asked 22)sarcastically. The 23)tinkling laughter 24)burst forth again.
“I don’t know what that is.”
“Then let’s just walk.”
Looking at her, I noticed the 25)delicate 26)fairness of her face.”Where do you live?”I asked.
“Over there.”She pointed toward a row of summer cottages.
“Where do you go to school?”
“I don’t go to school. Mommy says we’re on vacation.”
She 27)chattered little girl talk as we 28)strolled up the beach, but my mind was on other things. When I left for home, Wendy said it had been a happy day. Feeling surprisingly better, I smiled at her and agreed.
Three weeks later, I rushed to my beach in a state of panic. I was in no mood to even greet Wendy.
I thought I saw her mother on the 29)porch and felt like 30)demanding she keep her child at home.
“Look, if you don’t mind,”I said 31)crossly when Wendy caught up with me, “I’d rather be alone today.?
She seemed unusually pale and out of breath. “W hy?”she asked.
I turned to her and shouted, “Because my mother died!”and thought, my God, why was I saying this to a little child?
“Oh,”she said quietly, “then this is a bad day.”
“Yes, and yesterday and the day before and……Oh, go away!”
“Did it hurt? ”
“Did what hurt?”I was 32)exasperated with her, with myself.
“When she died?”
“Of course it hurt!”I 33)snapped and strode off.
A month or so after that, when I next went to the beach, she wasn’t there. Feeling guilty and ashamed, admitting to myself I missed her, I went up to the cottage after my walk and knocked at the door.
A young woman with honey-colored hair opened the door.
“Hello,”I said.“I’m Ruth Peterson. I missed your little girl today, and wondered where she was.”
“Oh yes, Mrs. Peterson, please come in. Wendy talked of you so much. I’m afraid I allowed her to bother you. If she was a 34)nuisance, please, accept my apologies.”
“Not at all. She’s a delightful child,”I said, suddenly realizing that I meant it.
“Where is she?”
“Wendy died last week, Mrs. Peterson. She had 35)leukemia. Maybe she didn’t tell you.”
Struck 36)dumb, I 37)groped for a chair. My breath caught.
“She loved this beach; so when she asked to come, we couldn’t say no. She seemed so much better here, and had a lot of what she called happy days. But the last few weeks, she 38)declined rapidly...”her voice 39)faltered. “She left something for you...if only I can find it. Could you wait a moment while I look?”
I nodded stupidly, my mind racing for something, anything, to say to this lovely young woman. She handed me an envelope, with “MRS. P”printed in bold, childish letters. Inside was a drawing in bright crayon 40)hues-a yellow beach, a blue sea, and a brown bird. Underneath was carefully printed: A SANDPIPER TO BRING YOU JOY. Tears 41)welled up in my eyes, and a heart that had almost forgotten to love opened wide.
I took Wendy’s mother in my arms. “I’m so sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,”I muttered over and over, and we wept together.
The precious little picture is framed now and hangs in my study.
Six words-one for each year of her life-that speak to me of 42)harmony, courage, 43)undemanding love. A gift from a child with sea-blue eyes-who taught me the gift of love.
我第一次在我家附近的海滩上碰见她时，她只有六岁。海滩距离我家大约三四英里。每次我开始感到尘世的压迫时，便会开车到这儿来。当时她正在那儿堆着沙堡之类的东西。她抬起头，眼睛蓝得像海。
“你好。”她说。我只是点了点头，没有什么心情去理睬一个小孩。“我在砌沙子呢，”她继续说道。
“我看到了。你在建什么？”我心不在焉地问道。
“噢，我也不知道。我只是喜欢玩沙子的感觉。”
“真不错。”
这时，一只鹬从空中滑过。“那是快乐。”这孩子又说话了。
“那是什么？”
“是快乐。妈妈说鹬会给我们带来快乐。”那只鸟儿沿着海滩慢慢飞去，闪闪发亮。“再见，快乐。”
我喃喃自语起来：“你好，痛苦。”然后转身继续走。我的心情烦闷；我的生活似乎一团糟，完全失去平衡。
“你叫什么名字？”小女孩穷追不舍。
“露丝。”我答道。“我叫露丝•彼得森。”
“我叫温迪……我今年六岁。”
“你好，温迪。”她咯咯地笑了。
“你真有趣。”她说。
虽然心情阴郁，但我也笑了出来，继续向前走。
“要再来哦，P太太。”她叫道。“我们可以再过快乐的一天。”
然而接下来的数周时间都给了其他人—一群童子军、家长教师协会，还有生病的母亲。一个阳光灿烂的早晨，我把手从洗碗水里抽出来，对自己说：“我需要一只鹬鸟。” 我拿起了外套。海边有变化无穷的慰藉在等着我。
海风很凉，但我还是阔步前行，想要重获我所需要的平静。那时候我已经忘记了那个小女孩，所以再次碰见她时，我吃了一惊。
“你好，P太太。”她说。“要不要一起玩？”
“那你有什么主意？”我问道，带着点儿恼怒的刺痛。
“我不知道。你说呢？”
“打手势猜字谜怎样？”我讥讽地问道。那阵清脆的笑声又响起来了。
“我不知道那是什么游戏。”
“那我们就散散步好了。”
我看着她，注意到她的脸庞苍白而脆弱。“你住在哪儿？”我问。
“就在那儿。”她指向一排避暑别墅。
“那你在哪里上学呢？”
“我不上学。妈妈说我们在放假呢。”
我们沿着海滩漫步，她一直絮絮叨叨，说着小女孩的私己话，但我的心在其它事情上。我回家的时候，温迪说那是快乐的一天。很奇怪，我也感觉好多了，便朝她笑了笑，同意她的说法。
三个星期后，我又一次恐慌地奔向我的海滩。我甚至没有心情和温迪打招呼。
我想我看到她母亲在门廊那里，很想叫她把孩子留在家里。
“听着，要是你不介意的话，”在温迪追上我的时候，我恼火地对她说，“今天我想一个人待着。”
她的脸色似乎比平时更苍白，上气不接下气的。“为什么？”她问。
我转向她叫道：“因为我妈妈死了！”随即便想到，天啊，我为什么要对一个小孩子说这些话呢？
“哦，”她轻声地说，“那今天不是一个好日子了。”
“对。昨天也是，前天也是……噢，你走开！”
“痛苦吗？”
“什么痛苦？”我被她惹怒了，也被自己惹怒了。
“她死的时候。”
“当然痛苦！”我厉声说到，然后径自走开了。
大约一个月后，我再次来到海滩的时候，她已不在那儿了。我感到内疚和羞愧，而且我承认我想她了。于是，我散步后向那栋避暑别墅走去，敲响了门。
一个蜜色头发的年轻女人打开了门。
“你好，”我说。“我是露丝•彼得森。我今天很想见你的小女儿，想问问她在哪儿。”
“哦，对，彼得森太太，请进。温迪经常提起你。恐怕我让她烦着你了。要是她让你觉得烦，请接受我的道歉。”
“一点也不会。她是个让人开心的孩子。”我说。那一刻我突然意识到自己的确是这么想的。
“她在哪儿呢？”
“温迪上星期去世了，彼得森太太。她患有白血病。也许她没对你提过吧。”
我吓得哑口无言，伸手摸索着椅子，透不过气来。
“她爱这个海滩，所以当她说要来的时候，我们无法拒绝。她在这儿似乎好多了，过了许多她说很快乐的日子。但最近几个星期，她的状况急剧恶化……”她的声音颤抖起来。“她给你留了一些东西……但愿我还能找得着。可否请你稍等一会儿？我去找找看。”
我傻傻地点了点头，心里却迅速地寻求着一些话，什么都行，可以回答这个可爱的年轻女人。她递给我一个信封，上面用幼稚的粗体字写着“P太太”。信封里面是一幅色彩明亮的蜡笔画—黄色的海滩，蓝色的海，还有一只褐色的鸟儿。底下精心写上了一行字：“鹬鸟送你快乐。”我泪水盈眶，一颗早已忘记了爱的心豁然开朗。
我伸手抱住温迪的母亲。“对不起，对不起，对不起……”我一遍又一遍地呢喃，与她相拥而泣。
我把这幅珍贵的小画装裱起来，现在就挂在我的书房里。
画上那六个字—她用短短的生命一年写出一个字—对我讲述着和谐、勇气，还有不求回报的爱。这是一份礼物，来自拥有一对海蓝眼睛的孩子—她给了我 “爱”这份厚礼。
“Hello,”she said. I answered with a nod, not really in the mood to bother with a small child.“I’m building,”she said.
“I see that. What is it?”I asked, not caring.
“Oh, I don’t know. I just like the feel of sand.”
“That sounds good.”
A 1)sandpiper 2)glided by. “That’s a joy,”the child said.
“It’s a what?”
“It’s a joy. My mama says sandpipers come to bring us joy.”The bird went 3)glistening down the beach. “Good-bye joy.”
I 4)muttered to myself, “hello pain,”and turned to walk on. I was 5)depressed; my life seemed completely out of balance.
“What’s your name?”She wouldn’t give up.
“Ruth,”I answered. “I’m Ruth Peterson.”
“Mine’s Wendy……I’m six.”
“Hi, Wendy.”She 6)giggled.
“You’re funny,”she said.
In spite of my 7)gloom, I laughed too and walked on.
“Come again, Mrs. P,”she called. “We’ll have another happy day.?
The days and weeks that followed belonged to others: a group of 8)Boy Scouts, 9)PTA meetings, and 10)ailing mother. The sun was shining one morning as I took my hands out of the 11)dishwater. “I need a sandpiper,”I said to myself, gathering up my coat. The ever-changing 12)balm of the seashore awaited me.
The 13)breeze was 14)chilly, but I 15)strode along, trying to 16)recapture the 17)serenity I needed. I had forgotten the child, and was 18)startled when she appeared.
“Hello, Mrs. P,”she said. “Do you want to play?”
“What did you have in mind?”I asked, with a 19)twinge of 20)annoyance.
“I don’t know, you say.”
“How about 21)charades?”I asked 22)sarcastically. The 23)tinkling laughter 24)burst forth again.
“I don’t know what that is.”
“Then let’s just walk.”
Looking at her, I noticed the 25)delicate 26)fairness of her face.”Where do you live?”I asked.
“Over there.”She pointed toward a row of summer cottages.
“Where do you go to school?”
“I don’t go to school. Mommy says we’re on vacation.”
She 27)chattered little girl talk as we 28)strolled up the beach, but my mind was on other things. When I left for home, Wendy said it had been a happy day. Feeling surprisingly better, I smiled at her and agreed.
Three weeks later, I rushed to my beach in a state of panic. I was in no mood to even greet Wendy.
I thought I saw her mother on the 29)porch and felt like 30)demanding she keep her child at home.
“Look, if you don’t mind,”I said 31)crossly when Wendy caught up with me, “I’d rather be alone today.?
She seemed unusually pale and out of breath. “W hy?”she asked.
I turned to her and shouted, “Because my mother died!”and thought, my God, why was I saying this to a little child?
“Oh,”she said quietly, “then this is a bad day.”
“Yes, and yesterday and the day before and……Oh, go away!”
“Did it hurt? ”
“Did what hurt?”I was 32)exasperated with her, with myself.
“When she died?”
“Of course it hurt!”I 33)snapped and strode off.
A month or so after that, when I next went to the beach, she wasn’t there. Feeling guilty and ashamed, admitting to myself I missed her, I went up to the cottage after my walk and knocked at the door.
A young woman with honey-colored hair opened the door.
“Hello,”I said.“I’m Ruth Peterson. I missed your little girl today, and wondered where she was.”
“Oh yes, Mrs. Peterson, please come in. Wendy talked of you so much. I’m afraid I allowed her to bother you. If she was a 34)nuisance, please, accept my apologies.”
“Not at all. She’s a delightful child,”I said, suddenly realizing that I meant it.
“Where is she?”
“Wendy died last week, Mrs. Peterson. She had 35)leukemia. Maybe she didn’t tell you.”
Struck 36)dumb, I 37)groped for a chair. My breath caught.
“She loved this beach; so when she asked to come, we couldn’t say no. She seemed so much better here, and had a lot of what she called happy days. But the last few weeks, she 38)declined rapidly...”her voice 39)faltered. “She left something for you...if only I can find it. Could you wait a moment while I look?”
I nodded stupidly, my mind racing for something, anything, to say to this lovely young woman. She handed me an envelope, with “MRS. P”printed in bold, childish letters. Inside was a drawing in bright crayon 40)hues-a yellow beach, a blue sea, and a brown bird. Underneath was carefully printed: A SANDPIPER TO BRING YOU JOY. Tears 41)welled up in my eyes, and a heart that had almost forgotten to love opened wide.
I took Wendy’s mother in my arms. “I’m so sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,”I muttered over and over, and we wept together.
The precious little picture is framed now and hangs in my study.
Six words-one for each year of her life-that speak to me of 42)harmony, courage, 43)undemanding love. A gift from a child with sea-blue eyes-who taught me the gift of love.
我第一次在我家附近的海滩上碰见她时，她只有六岁。海滩距离我家大约三四英里。每次我开始感到尘世的压迫时，便会开车到这儿来。当时她正在那儿堆着沙堡之类的东西。她抬起头，眼睛蓝得像海。
“你好。”她说。我只是点了点头，没有什么心情去理睬一个小孩。“我在砌沙子呢，”她继续说道。
“我看到了。你在建什么？”我心不在焉地问道。
“噢，我也不知道。我只是喜欢玩沙子的感觉。”
“真不错。”
这时，一只鹬从空中滑过。“那是快乐。”这孩子又说话了。
“那是什么？”
“是快乐。妈妈说鹬会给我们带来快乐。”那只鸟儿沿着海滩慢慢飞去，闪闪发亮。“再见，快乐。”
我喃喃自语起来：“你好，痛苦。”然后转身继续走。我的心情烦闷；我的生活似乎一团糟，完全失去平衡。
“你叫什么名字？”小女孩穷追不舍。
“露丝。”我答道。“我叫露丝•彼得森。”
“我叫温迪……我今年六岁。”
“你好，温迪。”她咯咯地笑了。
“你真有趣。”她说。
虽然心情阴郁，但我也笑了出来，继续向前走。
“要再来哦，P太太。”她叫道。“我们可以再过快乐的一天。”
然而接下来的数周时间都给了其他人—一群童子军、家长教师协会，还有生病的母亲。一个阳光灿烂的早晨，我把手从洗碗水里抽出来，对自己说：“我需要一只鹬鸟。” 我拿起了外套。海边有变化无穷的慰藉在等着我。
海风很凉，但我还是阔步前行，想要重获我所需要的平静。那时候我已经忘记了那个小女孩，所以再次碰见她时，我吃了一惊。
“你好，P太太。”她说。“要不要一起玩？”
“那你有什么主意？”我问道，带着点儿恼怒的刺痛。
“我不知道。你说呢？”
“打手势猜字谜怎样？”我讥讽地问道。那阵清脆的笑声又响起来了。
“我不知道那是什么游戏。”
“那我们就散散步好了。”
我看着她，注意到她的脸庞苍白而脆弱。“你住在哪儿？”我问。
“就在那儿。”她指向一排避暑别墅。
“那你在哪里上学呢？”
“我不上学。妈妈说我们在放假呢。”
我们沿着海滩漫步，她一直絮絮叨叨，说着小女孩的私己话，但我的心在其它事情上。我回家的时候，温迪说那是快乐的一天。很奇怪，我也感觉好多了，便朝她笑了笑，同意她的说法。
三个星期后，我又一次恐慌地奔向我的海滩。我甚至没有心情和温迪打招呼。
我想我看到她母亲在门廊那里，很想叫她把孩子留在家里。
“听着，要是你不介意的话，”在温迪追上我的时候，我恼火地对她说，“今天我想一个人待着。”
她的脸色似乎比平时更苍白，上气不接下气的。“为什么？”她问。
我转向她叫道：“因为我妈妈死了！”随即便想到，天啊，我为什么要对一个小孩子说这些话呢？
“哦，”她轻声地说，“那今天不是一个好日子了。”
“对。昨天也是，前天也是……噢，你走开！”
“痛苦吗？”
“什么痛苦？”我被她惹怒了，也被自己惹怒了。
“她死的时候。”
“当然痛苦！”我厉声说到，然后径自走开了。
大约一个月后，我再次来到海滩的时候，她已不在那儿了。我感到内疚和羞愧，而且我承认我想她了。于是，我散步后向那栋避暑别墅走去，敲响了门。
一个蜜色头发的年轻女人打开了门。
“你好，”我说。“我是露丝•彼得森。我今天很想见你的小女儿，想问问她在哪儿。”
“哦，对，彼得森太太，请进。温迪经常提起你。恐怕我让她烦着你了。要是她让你觉得烦，请接受我的道歉。”
“一点也不会。她是个让人开心的孩子。”我说。那一刻我突然意识到自己的确是这么想的。
“她在哪儿呢？”
“温迪上星期去世了，彼得森太太。她患有白血病。也许她没对你提过吧。”
我吓得哑口无言，伸手摸索着椅子，透不过气来。
“她爱这个海滩，所以当她说要来的时候，我们无法拒绝。她在这儿似乎好多了，过了许多她说很快乐的日子。但最近几个星期，她的状况急剧恶化……”她的声音颤抖起来。“她给你留了一些东西……但愿我还能找得着。可否请你稍等一会儿？我去找找看。”
我傻傻地点了点头，心里却迅速地寻求着一些话，什么都行，可以回答这个可爱的年轻女人。她递给我一个信封，上面用幼稚的粗体字写着“P太太”。信封里面是一幅色彩明亮的蜡笔画—黄色的海滩，蓝色的海，还有一只褐色的鸟儿。底下精心写上了一行字：“鹬鸟送你快乐。”我泪水盈眶，一颗早已忘记了爱的心豁然开朗。
我伸手抱住温迪的母亲。“对不起，对不起，对不起……”我一遍又一遍地呢喃，与她相拥而泣。
我把这幅珍贵的小画装裱起来，现在就挂在我的书房里。
画上那六个字—她用短短的生命一年写出一个字—对我讲述着和谐、勇气，还有不求回报的爱。这是一份礼物，来自拥有一对海蓝眼睛的孩子—她给了我 “爱”这份厚礼。