For a herder (放牧人) in Africa, the hardest part of the job is searching for cattle lost in the bush. But for Andrew, a herder at a farm in Zimbabwe, it's not a problem. Once he spots Toro, he knows the rest of the herd is nearby. That’s because Toro isn’t an ordinary member of the herd. He's a giraffe. In hot weather, cattle rest in the shade under his belly. And because of his height, Toro can spot lions long before they come close to the herd.

Toro's unusual situation came about after his mother was killed by lions. Toro survived the attack, but he was left with no one to protect him or give him milk. About two days later, some herders spotted and rescued him. With the permission of the Department of Wildlife, the herders moved Toro to Andrew's farm. Since giraffes and cattle are both plant-eating animals that live in groups, their behaviors are much the same. Toro was accepted into the herd and wandered among the cattle as they ate grass.

Toro doesn't always behave like the other members of his new herd. Like many kinds of animals, cattle compete for dominance (支配). Standing more than 13 feet tall, Toro is more than three times taller than the biggest bull, But Toro never tries to be ''the boss. ''He is very used to their company, '' Andrew said. When the herd enters the kraal (家畜栏), the cows and bulls push each other. ''But thanks to his height, Toro does not need to join the mess, '' said Andrew.

When asked if Toro would ever be returned to the wild, Munetsi, an officer of the Department of Wildlife said no. ''In the wild, he would find it difficult to be accepted into another herd or defend himself from predators (猎食者),'' he added. ''He seems very much at home and is respected by the cattle.''

As much as seventy years ago, in the city of Boston, there lived a small girl who had the naughty habit of running away.

Her parents, Mr. and Mrs. Alcott, from first to last, had had a good many frights about this flyaway Louisa. Once when she was only two years old they were traveling with her on a steamboat, and she darted away, in some moment when no one was noticing her, and crawled into the engine-room to watch the machinery. Of course her clothes were all grease and dirt, and she might have been caught in the machinery and hurt.

Except for this one fault, Louisa was a good child, so she felt much ashamed that she had caused her mother, whom she loved dearly, so much worry. She made up her mind that she would never frighten her so again. No-she would cure herself of the running-away habit!

After that, whenever she felt the least desire to slip out of the house without asking permission, she would hurry to her own little room and shut the door tight. To keep her mind from bad plans she would shut her eyes and make up stories-think them all out, hers, you know. Then, when some of them seemed pretty good, she would write them down so that she would not forget them. By and by she found she liked making stories better than anything she had ever done in her life

Her mother sometimes wondered why Louisa grew so fond of staying in her little chamber the head of the stairs, all of a sudden, but was pleased that the runaway child had changed into such a quiet, like-to-stay-at-home girl.

It was a long time before Louisa dared to mention the stories and rhymes she had hidden in her desk but finally she told her mother about them, and when Mrs. Alcott had read them, she advised her to keep on writing. Louisa did so and became one of the best American story-tellers. She wrote a number of books, and if you begin with Lulu's Library, you will want to read Little Men and Little Women and all the books that dear Louisa Alcott ever wrote

When I was growing up, we were not an “I love you” family. We certainly found such affection lovely. We just didn’t do it.

I was thinking about all of this on Saturday at my daughter Katie’s recital (演奏会). I had never insisted she do anything in her free time except learn how to play the piano. I carried this from childhood. My parents couldn’t afford these lessons. My daughter mostly accepted this demand with good humor. This has meant, through the years, that our house has been filled with a few muddled (混乱的) complaints mixed with versions of songs.

The day of the recital, I was listening to Katie practice The Entertainer, and one note was not good. I don’t know how to play the piano, but I did say, “Hey, Katie, maybe you should hold that note just a bit longer.” Then she played it again and again. I realized that I had done something unintended — I was making her think too much just a few hours before her recital.

So I told her not to worry about it, but it was too late. She kept at it for a little while longer until finally I said that she’d played it perfectly. I didn’t think we ever isolated that note; I felt pretty bad for even bringing it up.

Then it was time for recital. Katie was the first one to perform. She was dressed well. As I watched her play The Entertainer, all I could think was how grown-up she had become, and that I had already missed the four-, five-, six-year-old versions of her.

She got to the end of the song, and she reached the note we had talked about. And she held it. She held it so long that for an instant it broke her timing on the rest of the song. Then she finished the song, and she looked right at me. Then I hugged her. My parents are right. You don’t have to say the words “I love you”. Sometimes one note will do.