It was Christmas 1961. I was teaching in a small town where my third graders eagerly 1 the great day of gifts giving.
Each day all the children except one girl produced some new wonder to be hung from the ceiling. Through it all she remained 2, watching from afar, seemingly miles away. I wondered what had happened to this once so 3 but now so suddenly withdrawn child. I hoped the festivities would 4 her. But nothing did. We made cards and gifts for everyone. As my gift to them, I made each of my students a little bag. Of course, I knew they had each made something for me.
The day of gift-giving finally came. We oohed and aahed over our handiwork as the presents were 5. Through it all, she sat quietly watching. I had made a special bag for her, red and green with white lace, hoping very much to see her 6. She opened the package so slowly and carefully. I waited but she 7. I had not cracked the wall of 8 she had built around herself.
After school the children left in little groups. She lingered when I sat down to catch my breath. 9, she came to me with outstretched hands, 10 a small white box, unwrapped and slightly soiled, as though it had been held many times by 11, childish hands. "For me?" I asked with a weak smile. She said nothing, but nodded. I opened it 12. There inside, a shiny glass marble hung from a faded golden chain. In a flash I knew — she had made it for her mother who died just three weeks before and would never again hear her childish joys or sorrows.
She took the chain in both her hands, reached forward, and 13 the simple clasp(扣环) at the back of my neck. I looked down at the gift, then back at the giver. I 14 it when I whispered, "Oh, Maria, it is so beautiful. She would have loved it." She stumbled into my arms and we wept together. And for that brief moment I became her mother, for she had given me the greatest gift of all: 15.
