A Little Hero

“ Oh dear! I 1)was/wish I could be one of them,” said Tom to himself. He had been reading a
book about 2)knights/nights and heroes, who rode through the woods slaying dragons and
setting beautiful princesses free. Wouldn’t it have been so much fun to wear a helmet and
armour, 3)carrying/carried a long lance, and riding a splendid horse! But there are no dragons
nowadays, and knights wear black coats like other men. I wish I had lived long ago!”.

Tom was just an everyday boy, rather short for his age and someone stout. His hair was red and
stiff, and his frank, jolly face was freckled all over.

The sun was shining brightly into the room and the 4)lives/leaves were peeping shyly and
whispering softly, as if to say, “Never mind about all heroes or wicked dragons! Come out and
play.”

Tom jumped from his 5)sit/seat, put on his cap and set off down the road toward the village, as
fast as he could spin the wheels of his bicycle. In the village it was the quietest hour of the day.
Shopkeepers were taking their early tea and school children had gone off to play in the fields.
There was not a living thing to be seen except, at the far 6)and/end of the street, a nursemaid
with a pram and a small child trotting by her side.

All at once, away in a distance, along the road, Tom caught sight of a horse galloping toward
him, as if it was running a race with the wind. There was no 7)reader/rider on its back. Its eyes
were staring, its side was panting, the bit had fallen from its mouth, and the reins were loose
upon its hot neck. Just then the child stepped off the pavement to cross the street, right in the
8)path/pad of the horse. The nurse-maid was looking in at a shop window and so didn’t miss the
little girl from her side.

The horse was coming closer. If it were not stopped, it 9)wood/would knock down the little girl.
There was nobody to help her, except Tom. Without waiting a moment, the brave lad
10)road/rode on at full speed on his bicycle. It was a race now between the run-away horse and
the brave boy; and the boy 11win/won. For, just as 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 Tom down, and
trampled his bicycle as it set off again on its wild race. The nursemaid, who was 12)no/now in
13)great/greet fright, first scolded and then petted the child until she sobbed, but there was no
one to notice the brave boy, who limped home slowly an in 14)pen/pain. His face was hurt, his
clothes were torn, and he dragged his broken bicycle—the bicycle that only a few weeks before
had been new and the 15)price/pride of his heart.

“ It was nothing at all, Mother,” said Tom when he reached home. “ I couldn’t let the girl be
trampled by a run-away horse, could I? Besides, there was nobody else.” This was all that Tom
told his mother. But mothers know many things about their little boys and girls that the boys and
girls do not always care to tell.

Tom did not get a 16)pedal/medal for his brave action and there was not a word about it in the
newspaper. That very evening, however, his father took the bicycle to the village to be mended.
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. But Tom thought there was a smile not far
behind then tears. Then she smoothed his rough hair with her soft hand, kissed him, and called
him her own dear little hero.