“Oh
dear! I 1) was/wash I could be of them,” said Tom to himself. He had been
reading a book about 2) knight/night and heroes, who rode through the wood
slaying and setting beautiful princess free. “Wouldn’t it have been so fun to
wear helmet and armor, 3) carrying/crying a long lance, and ride a splendid
horse? But there are no dragon nowadays, and knight wear black coat like other
men. I wish I had lived a long ago!”
Tom
was just an everyday boy and rather short for his age. The sun was shining
brightly into the room; and the 4)lives/leaves were peeping shyly and
whispering softly as if wanted to say, “Never mind about old heroes or wicked
dragon! Come out and play.”
From
jumped from his 5) sit/seat, put up his cap and set off down the road towards
the village on his bicycle. In the village it was the quietest hour of the day.
There was not a living thing to be seen except at a far 6) and/end of the
street, a nursemaid with a mail-cart, and a small child trotting by her side.
All
at once, away in the distance, Tom caught sight of a horse coming toward him at
a gallop. There was no 7) reader/rider on his back. Just then, the child
stepped off the pavement to cross the street, right in the 8) path/pad of the
horse. The nursemaid was looking in at a shop window, and so did miss the
little girl from her side.
The
horse was coming near. If it were not stopped, it 9) wood would knock down the
little girl and there was no body to help her except Tom. Without waiting a
moment, the brave lad 10) road/rode on at full speed. It was race now between
run-away horse and brave boy; and the boy 11) won’t/won. For just at the
horse’s hoofs were coming down upon the little girl, Tom leaped off his
bicycle, and pushed himself in front of her.
The
horse turned aside for an instant, then reared and plunged. It knocked down
Tom, and trampled over the bicycle as it set off again on its wild race. The
nursemaid, who was 12) no now in a 13) great/greet fight, first scolded and
then petted the child, until she sobbed. But there was no one to notice the
brave boy, who limped home slowly and in 14) pain/pen. His face was hurt, his
clothes was torn, and he dragged his broken bicycle –that only a few week
before had been new –end the15) price/pride of his heart.
Tom
did not get a 16) pedal/medal for his brave actions. As Tom’s mother 17) robbed/rubbed
his stiff shoulder, and smeared some ointment on his scratched cheeks, she
looked at him with wet eyes, then she smoothed his rough hair with her soft
hand, kissed him, and called him her own dear little hero.
