Peter, a 5-year-old boy, showed such great interest in seashells that he would rush to pick them up with his 3-year-old sister, Shirley. They screamed out their joy as Peter collected his treasure into his pockets. For Peter, sea shells lay shining on the peaceful beach, waiting for him, just like stars twinkling (闪烁) in the sky. As waves touched them, they seemed to be flowers blooming (绽放) in gentle wind.

One day, Peter was wandering through a market with Shirley with some shells in his pocket. Suddenly Peter found his younger sister was lagging (落后) behind. He stopped and looked back, finding Shirley standing in front of a toy shop and staring at something with great interest. The boy went back to her and asked, “What do you want?” Shirley pointed at the doll, wearing a smile on her innocent face. Peter held his younger sister’s tiny hand, walking into the shop. He tiptoed (踮起脚尖) to reach for the doll, and like fulfilling an elder brother’s duty, gave the precious doll to Shirley. Holding tightly the doll, the sister was very happy.

The shopkeeper was watching everything and enjoyed seeing the mature (成熟的) behavior of the boy. Now the boy came to the counter and asked the shopkeeper, “How much does this doll cost, Sir?” The shopkeeper was a cool man, who had suffered from something in his life. So he asked the boy with love, “Well, what can you pay?” Peter reached into his clothes for money that was intended for these two little kids’ breakfast. Having counted the money, Peter put it with care on the counter, asking again, “Sir, is it enough for my little sister’s doll?” The amusing scene just in front of the shopkeeper eventually brought a smile to his face. Shaking his head slightly, he replied, “My boy, I am afraid it seems not to be enough.”

Like many Californians, Ryan Honary, 12, has a personal experience with wildfires. As a student at Pegasus School in Huntington, he was with his father at an Arizona tennis tournament when he saw wildfires raging across his home state on TV. “The hills that were burning looked just like the hills behind my house,” Ryan recalls. “I called my mom and asked if she was okay.” Once he knew that she was, he asked his dad why wildfires got out of control so often. “We’re planning to send people to Mars but we can’t detect wildfires,” Ryan says.

That’s when Ryan decided to create a way to detect wildfires early. He linked together a series of Raspberry Pi computers. Some of these tiny units were fitted to detect smoke, fire and humidity (湿度). Their sensors sent data wirelessly to another Raspberry Pi. This slightly bigger computer served as a mini meteorolbgical station (气象站).

Ryan brought his entire system to a park and tested it by holding the fire from a lighter in front of each sensor. When these sensed a fire, they informed the mini station. It then alerted an app that Ryan built for his phone. While creating that app, Ryan talked with Mohammed Kachuee, who is a graduate student at the University of California, Los Angeles. Kachuee helped Ryan use machine learning to train his app with data from the large 2018 Camp Fire. The app took lessons from how this fire had traveled over time. Using those data, the app “learned” to predict how fire at future events might spread.

Someday, Ryan hopes his sensors might be deployed throughout his state. “Five of the worst fires in California just happened in the last three months,” he notes. “So it’s pretty obvious that global warming and climate change are just making the fire problems worse.”

The girl stopped and looked as if she might run away in surprise, but instead stood there regarding Montag with eyes so dark and shining and alive that he felt he had said something quite wonderful. But he knew his mouth had only moved to say hello.

“Of course,” he said, “you’re our new neighbor, aren’t you?”

“And you must be”—she raised her eyes from his professional symbols “— the fireman.” Her voice trailed off.

“How strangely you say that.”

“I’d—I’d have known it with my eyes shut,” she said, slowly.

“What—the smell of kerosene? My wife always complains,” he laughed. “You never wash it off completely.”

“No, you don’t,” she said, in awe.

He felt the girl’s nervousness and laughed, “Kerosene, is nothing but perfume to me.” Then he continued, “What are you doing out so late wandering around? How old are you?”

There was only the girl walking with him now, her face bright as snow in the moonlight, and he knew she was working his questions around, seeking the best answers she could possibly give.

“Well,” she said, “I’m seventeen and I’m crazy. My uncle says the two always go together. When people ask your age, he said, always say seventeen and insane. Isn’t this a nice time of night to walk? I like to smell things and look at things, and sometimes stay up all night walking, and watch the sun rise.”

They walked on again in silence and finally she said, thoughtfully, “You know, I’m not afraid of you at all.”

He was surprised. “Why should you be?”

“So many people are afraid of firemen, I mean. But you’re just a man, after all ... Do you mind if I ask? How long have you worked at being a fireman?”

“Since I was twenty, ten years ago.”

“Do you ever read any of the books you burn?”

He laughed. “That’s against the law! It’s fine work. Monday burn Millay, Wednesday Whitman, Friday Faulkner, burn them to ashes, then burn the ashes. That’s our official slogan.”