One September night a family had gathered round their fireplace. Up the chimney roared the fire, and brightened the room with its broad flames. The faces of the father and mother had a sober gladness; the children laughed; and the aged grandmother sat knitting in the warmest place. This family of mountaineers was situated in the Notch of the White Hills, where the wind was sharp throughout the year, and pitilessly cold in the winter. Not just that, but a mountain towered above their heads, so steep, that the stones would often roll down its sides and wake the whole house at midnight.

Though they lived in such a remote place, these people held daily conversation with the world. Some travelers, would pause here and pay only for food and accommodation, but meet with a homely kindness beyond all price. When the footsteps were heard, therefore, between the outer door and the inner one, the whole family rose up, grandmother, children, and all, as if about to welcome someone who belonged to them, and whose fate was linked with theirs.

The door was opened by a young man. His face at first wore the sad expression, almost hopelessness, but soon brightened up when he saw the kindly warmth of his reception. He felt his heart spring forward to meet them all, from the old woman, who wiped a chair with her apron, to the little child that held out its arms to him.

“Ah, this fire is the right thing!” cried he, “The biting wind almost froze me. But when I saw this good fire, and all your cheerful faces, I felt as if you were waiting for my arrival. So I shall sit down, and make myself at home.”

After supper, the young man talked freely, feeling himself a member of the family. He was of a proud, yet lonely spirit, so trusting others was not easy for him. However, that night, the educated youth poured out his heart before the simple mountaineers.

When school started in August,I threw myself into everything I did, including playing volleyball. I decided to become beautiful, or at least skinny. I stopped eating completely.Soon I began losing weight, which thrilled me, and I even grew to love the tiredness and lightheadedness(头晕）that came with my poor diet , for those feelings meant that I was winning .

One day my coach, Coach Smith, felt something was wrong with my health. She talked with me about my eating and was angry that I wouldn't listen to her when she tried to make me eat. She tried to persuade me and so we fought constantly. Then my hunger started to affect my performance . I was so tired that practice and games were becoming a struggle. One afternoon Coach Smith asked me what I had eaten and I told her nothing yet. She looked at me, with disappointment in her eyes, knowing she couldn't make me stop, and walked away.

Several weeks later I attended a dinner for our volleyball team.I stood there as my coach managed to say something nice about me.I realised that I had ruined my senior year by being disrespectful, and I had ruined hers as well. So that evening I wrote her a letter apologising and thanking her.

Then one Saturday, as I was reading in the library, I felt someone gently take my arm and say softly,"Jones,how are you doing?"I looked up and saw the familiar face."Thanks for the letter,"she said."It meant a lot."

When I think of a coach,I think of someone who gives instruction-not a friend. But Coach Smith is different, she dealt with my problem in a determined way even though I hated her for it.I didn't deserve her kindness,but she gave it anyway.I will forever be grateful for her help , and now for her friendship .