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Sylvester and his magic pebble
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Sylvester wished all of the following except
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Sylvester and his magic pebble
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Sylvester Duncan lived with his mother and father at Acorn Road in Oatsdale. One of his hobbies was collecting pebbles of unusual shape and color.
On a rainy Saturday during vacation he found a quite extraordinary one. It was flaming red, shiny, and perfectly round, like a marble. As he was studying this remarkable pebble, he began to shiver, probably from excitement, and the rain felt cold on his back, “I wish it would stop raining,” he said.
To his great surprise the rain stopped. It didn’t stop gradually as rains usually do, it CEASED. The drops vanished on the way down, the clouds disappeared, everything was dry, and the sun was shining as if rain had never existed.
In all his young life Sylvester had never had a wish gratified so quickly. It struck him that magic must be at work, and he guessed that the magic must be in the remarkable-looking red pebble.(where indeed it was.) to make a test, he put the pebble on the ground and said, “I wish it would rain again.” Nothing happened. But when he said the same thing holding the pebble in his hoof, the sky turned black, there was lightning and a clap of thunder, and the rain came shooting down.
“What a lucky day this is!” thought Sylvester. “From now on I can have anything I want. My father and mother can have anything they want. My relatives, my friends, and anybody at all can have everything any body wants!”
He wished the sunshine back in the sky, and he wished a wart on his left hind fetlock would disappear, and it did, and he started home, eager to amaze his father and mother with his magic pebble. He could hardly wait to see their faces. Maybe they wouldn’t even believe him at first.
As he was crossing Strawberry Hill, thinking of some of the many, many things he could wish for, he was startled to see a mean, hungry lion looking right at him from behind some tall grass. He was frightened. If he hadn’t been so frightened, he could have made the lion disappear, or he could have wished himself safe at home with his father and mother.
He could have wished the lion would turn into a butterfly or a daisy or a gnat. He could have wished many things, but he panicked and couldn’t t think carefully.
“I wish I were a rock,” he said, and he became a rock.
The lion came bounding over, sniffed the rock a hundred times, walked around and around it, and went away confused, perplexed, puzzled, and bewildered. “I saw that little donkey as clear as day. Maybe I’m going crazy,” he muttered.
And there was Sylvester, a rock on Strawberry Hill, with the magic pebble lying right beside him on the ground, and he was unable to pick it up. “Oh, how I wish I were myself again,” he thought, but nothing happened. He had to be touching the pebble to make the magic work, but there was nothing he could do about it.
His thoughts began to race like mad. He was scared and worried. Being helpless, he felt hopeless. He imagined all the possibilities, and eventually he realized that his only chance of becoming himself again was for someone to find the red pebble and to wish that the rock next to it would be a donkey. Someone would surely find the red pebble—it was so bright and shiny—but what on earth would make them wish that a rock were a donkey? The chance was one in a billion at best.
Sylvester fell asleep. What else could he do? Night came with many stars.
Meanwhile, back at home, Mr. and Mrs. Duncan paced the floor, frantic with worry. Sylvester had never come home later than dinner time. Where could he be? They stayed up all night wondering what had happened, expecting that Sylvester would surely turn up by morning. But he didn’t, of course. Mrs. Duncan cried a lot and MR. Duncan did his best to soothe her. Both longed to have their dear son with them.
“I will never scold Sylvester again as long as I live,” said Mrs. Duncan, “no matter what he does.”
At dawn, they went about inquiring of all the neighbors.
They talked to all the children—the puppies, the kittens, the colts, the piglets. No one had seen Sylvester since the day before yesterday.
They went to police. The police could not find their child.
All the dogs in Oatsdale went searching for him. They sniffed behind every rock and tree and blade of grass, into every nook and gully of the neighborhood and beyond, but found not a scent of him. They sniffed the rock on Strawberry Hill, but it smelled like a rock. It didn’t smell like Sylvester.
After a month of searching the same places over and over again, and inquiring of the same animals over and over again, Mr. and Mrs. Duncan no longer knew what to do. They concluded that something dreadful must have happened and that they would probably never see their son again. (though all the time he was less than a mile away.)
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明夕何夕
明夕何夕
1129天前
可爱!好喜欢这种画风!
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