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After a long struggle； the battle was won。 Dr。 Kelly requested the business office to pass the final bill to him for approval。 He looked at it and then wrote something on the side。 The bill was sent to her room。 She was afraid to open it because she was positive that it would take the rest of her life to pay it off。 Finally she looked； and the note on the side of the bill caught her attention。 She read these words，
“Paid in full with one glass of milk。”
（Signed） Dr。 Howard Kelly
Tears of joy flooded her eyes as she prayed silently； “Thank You； God。 Your love has spread through human hearts and hands。”
感恩的心
史蒂夫？古迪尔
感恩节就要到了，一年级的老师给学生们布置了一个有趣的作业，画一幅他们感谢某物或某人的图画。
虽然大多数同学或许要考虑一下家庭条件问题，但仍然有许多同学准备了火鸡和其他传统的节庆点心来庆祝节日。对于这些，老师认为，这是大多数同学艺术创作的主题。确实如此。
但是，有一个非常与众不同的男孩，名叫道格拉斯，他画了一幅很特别的画。在老师眼中，他是一个悲惨、脆弱、不幸的孩子。其他小朋友在课间休息时间做游戏时，他很可能就站在老师的身旁。在他那忧郁的双眼背后，人们看到的是心灵最深处的哀伤。
是的，他的画很特别。当老师要求画一幅感谢某物或某人的图画时，他画了一只手。其他什么都没有。仅仅是一只空空的手。他的这幅抽象画引起了其他同学的想象。这只手会是谁的呢？有一个孩子猜那是农民伯伯的手，因为他们养火鸡。另一个孩子猜是警察叔叔的手，因为他们保护和照顾人们。讨论仍在继续，指导老师几乎忘了这位年轻的画家。
当孩子们去关注其他作业时，老师来到了道格拉斯的课桌旁，弯下腰，问他那只手是谁的。小男孩转过脸去，低声地说：“老师，是您的手。”
她回忆过去，曾经牵着他的手一起散步，就像牵着其他同学的手一样。曾经，她多次说：“道格拉斯，牵着我的手，一起出去散散步。”或是，“让我给你示范如何握铅笔。”或是，“让我们一起做事。”于是，道格拉斯对老师的这双手充满了感激。
老师拭去眼中的泪水，继续她的课程。
事实上，人们很少说“谢谢”。但是，他们会将那双援助之手铭记于心。
The Hand
Steve Goodier
Thanksgiving Day was near。 The first grade teacher gave her class a fun assignment—to draw a picture of something for which they were thankful。
Most of the class might be considered economically disadvantaged； but still many would celebrate the holiday with turkey and other traditional goodies of the season。 These； the teacher thought； would be the subjects of most of her student’s art。 And they were。
But Douglas made a different kind of picture。 Douglas was a different kind of boy。 He was the teacher’s true child of misery； frail and unhappy。 As other children played at recess； Douglas was likely to stand close by her side。 One could only guess at the pain Douglas felt behind those sad eyes。
Yes； his picture was different。 When asked to draw a picture of something for which he was thankful； he drew a hand。 Nothing else。 Just an empty hand。
His abstract image captured the imagination of his peers。 Whose hand could it be？ One child guessed it was the hand of a farmer； because farmers raise turkeys。 Another suggested a police officer； because the police protect and care for people。 And so the discussion went—until the teacher almost forgot the young artist himself。
When the children had gone on to other assignments； she paused at Douglas’ desk； bent down； and asked him whose hand it was。 The little boy looked away and murmured； “It’s yours； teacher。”
She recalled the times she had taken his hand and walked with him here and there； as she had the other students。 How often had she said； “Take my hand； Douglas； we’ll go outside。” Or； “Let me show you how to hold your pencil。” Or； “Let’s do this together。” Douglas was most thankful for his teacher’s hand。
Brushing aside a tear； she went on with her work。
In fact； people might not always say “thanks”。 But they’ll remember the hand that reaches out。
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树下的男孩（1）
大卫？科尔曼&凯文？兰德尔
在大一生活结束的那个短暂的暑假里，我受邀到密歇根州一所大学主办的高中领导才能夏令营担任辅导员一职。我曾参加过很多大学的教育活动，因此便欣然接受了这次机会。
在第一天的营地生活中，我利用一个小时的时间尽力使气氛缓和，强迫大家互动起来。就在这个时候，我第一次注意到那个树下的男孩。他很弱小，明显的局促和羞怯令他看起来更为虚弱无力。距离他只有50英尺远的地方，两百个热衷于露营的孩子蹦跳着、打闹着、开着玩笑、不断交谈着；然而那个树下的男孩，看起来去哪里都可以，只要别待在这里。他表现出来的让人绝望的孤独，像是要拒我于千里之外。我想起资深辅导员的指点：要给那些感觉受到忽略的队员以特别关注。
我向那个男孩走过去，打招呼说：“你好，我叫凯文，是营里的辅导员。很高兴认识你。你好吗？”他发出了颤抖的、局促不安的声音，很不情愿地回答我：“是的，我还好。”我平静地问他是不是想参加活动，结识一些新朋友。他静静地答道：“不，这真的不是我想做的事情。”
我可以感觉到，他身处一个全新的世界，这里的一切都与他无关。然而，不知道什么原因，我却知道鼓励他也不是什么好方法。他需要的不是激励的谈话，而是一位朋友。一段沉默过后，我和树下男孩的第一次互动也宣告结束。
第二天的午饭时间，我为200个新朋友高声领唱夏令营之歌。队员们满怀热情地唱了起来。穿过嘈杂、活跃的人群，我的目光定格在那个坐在树下的孤独的男孩，他正向窗外凝望着。我差点忘了正在领唱的歌词。只要抓住机会，我就会试着再次接近他，我像上一次那样问道：“你现在怎么样，还好吗？”他又一次答道：“是的，我还好。我只是真的不想做这些事情。”从餐厅走出来的时候，我明白，要想打开他的心扉，需要付出比我之前预料的更多的时间和努力。
那天夜里，在每天晚上例行的辅导员会议上，我把自己对他的忧虑说了出来，并向同事们介绍了他给我留下的印象，请他们对他多加留意，尽量多花一点时间来陪陪他。
在夏令营的日子比我所知道的其他任何时候过得都要快，年年如此。不知不觉，星期三已渐渐成为夏令营的最后一夜，而我陪伴他们直到曲终人散。学生们与新结识的“挚友”纵情享受这最后的时刻，他们今后或许再也不会相遇。
正当我看着队员们分享临别时光的时候，我突然看到了生命中最动人的一幕。那位曾一脸茫然地对着餐厅窗外凝望的树下男孩，此时脱去了衬衫，正在热情狂舞。当他与两个女孩开始跳舞时，他吸引了整个舞场的目光。我看着他与人们亲密地度过这意味深长的时光，而就在几天之前，他却连看他们一眼也不愿意，我简直不敢相信这是同一个人。
大二的时候，在一个十月的午夜，我放下手中的化学书，接了一个电话，听筒里传出一个陌生、轻柔、很有礼貌的声音：“您是凯文吗？”
“我就是凯文，请问您是谁？”
“我是汤姆？约翰逊的妈妈。您是否对领导才能夏令营的汤米还有印象？”
那个树下男孩，我怎么会不记得呢？
“哦，当然记得，”我回答，“他可是一个很可爱的年轻人。他还好吗？”
在长时间的停顿过后，约翰逊夫人说：“这个星期，当我的汤米放学回家时，被一辆汽车撞了，就这样走了。”我感到十分震惊，对汤米的辞世表示哀悼。
“我只是想打电话告诉您，”她说，“因为汤米曾多次提到您。我想让您知道，这个秋天，他信心十足地回到学校，结交了新朋友，成绩也提高了，甚至还出去和女孩子约会过几次。我想谢谢您，您对他的改变起了很大作用。近来几个月是他生命中最美好的时光。”
树下的男孩（2）
刹那间，我才明白，每天奉献一点是多么容易。你或许从不知道，每一点善意的举动会给别人带来多大的影响。我尽可能多地讲述这个故事，并试着说服其他人留心他们的“树下男孩”。
The Boy under the Tree
David Coleman & Kevin Randall
In the summer recess between freshman and sophomore years in college； I was invited to be an instructor at a highschool leadership camp hosted by a college in Michigan。 I was already highly involved in most campus activities； and I jumped at the opportunity。
About an hour into the first day of camp； amid the frenzy of icebreakers and forced interactions； I first noticed the boy under the tree。 He was small and skinny； and his obvious disfort and shyness made him appear frail and fragile。 Only fifty feet away； two hundred eager campers were bumping bodies； playing； joking and meeting each other； but the boy under the tree seemed to want to be anywhere other than where he was。 The desperate loneliness he radiated almost stopped me from approaching him； but I remembered the instructions from the senior staff to stay alert for campers who might feel left out。
As I walked toward him； I said；“Hi； my name is Kevin； and I’m one of the counselors。 It’s nice to meet you。 How are you？” In a shaky； sheepish voice he reluctantly answered； “Okay； I guess。” I calmly asked him if he wanted to join the activities and meet some new people。 He quietly replied； “No； this is not really my thing。”
I could sense that he was in a new world； that this whole experience was foreign to him。 But I somehow knew it wouldn’t be right to push him； either。 He didn’t need a pep talk； he needed a friend。 After several silent moments； my first interaction with the boy under the tree was over。
At lunch the next day； I found myself leading camp songs at the top of my lungs for two hundred of my new friends。 The campers eagerly participated。 My gaze wandered over the mass of noise and movement and was caught by the image of the boy from under the tree； sitting alone； staring out the window。 I nearly forgot the words to the song I was supposed to be leading。 At my first opportunity； I tried again； with the same questions as before； “How are you doing？ Are you okay？” To which he again replied； “Yeah； I’m all right。 I just don’t really get into this stuff。” As I left the cafeteria； I realized this was going to take more time and effort than I had thought—if it was even possible to get through to him at all。
That evening at our