There is a extract tale about a great teacher:




The night before last,just before dinner,while my father was looking through the evening paper,he suddenly let out a cry of surprise.Later the explained:"I had thought that he had died at least twenty years ago.But can you believe that my first teacher,Mr Crossett,is still living?He is eighty-four years old and yesterday the Department of Education gave him a medal for having completed sixty years of teaching.Sixty years! Can you imagin-e it ?He gave up teaching only two years ago. He lives in Delevile,which is only about an hour's ride from here. Henry, tomorrow is Saturday. Let's drive over there in the afternoon and say hello to him."
The next afternoon my father and I drove over to Delevile to see Mr Crossett. Everyone in the town knew him so we had no trouble in finding his h-ouse. When he came to the door, my father recognized him at once although, of course, he was now a very old man.
"Mr Crossett,"said my father, " will you permit an old pupil to shake hands with you ?"
Mr Crossett looked at us curiously.
"An old pupil? I'm sorry but .... your name?"
My father told him his name---Albert Borden,the year in which he had studied,and the name of the school.
The old man drooped his head and began to murmur to himself my father's name.Suddenly he looked up.
"Albert Borden? Your father was an engineer,and you lived very near the school."
"Exactly," said my father,shaking the old man's hand.
Later my father and Mr Crossett talked for about half an hour of things and persons they remembered in the school.The old man's hands shook constantly,and he explained to my father how this shaking had begun two years before, and how he had been forced to give up his taching because of this. Otherwise he would still be working,because his heart and soul were still in the schoolroom with his students. He went to a closet and after a moment brought out a package,marked with name and date. Out of the package he drew a paper and gave it to my father.It was marked with my father's name and with the month and the year. It was one of my father's own copybook exercises! Mr Crossett thus kept a record of all his old students. My father read the exercise and tears came to his eyey.
On the way hom my father told me of an incident that took place on his first day at school in Mr Crossett's class.During the course of the lesson Mr Crossett noticed that one of the students looked sick and feverish. He walked to the student's desk and put his hand on the child's forehead. While his back was turned another student in the class got up from his seat,and began to make faces just to make the other students laugh. Mr Crossett turned rapidly and glared at the student.
"Don't do that again." he said quietly but firmly. Then he went back to his desk and went to with the lesson. After a while he put down his book, looked at the student in silence for several minutes,then said:
"My friends, we have to spend this year together and we must try to spend it together happily. You should study hard and be good students. I do not want you simply to promise me with words that you will be good. I want you to show me with your hearts that here we are all part of one big family. I want to be proud of you."
At this moment the bell rang announcing the end of class. One by one the students got up from their seats and left the room quietly. The boy who had made faces, however, went up to Mr Crossett's desk and in a trembling voice said:
" I'm sorry,sir!"
Mr Crossett patted him affectionately on the head and said:
"Do not think any more about it, my son. Here we are all good friends."

heihei,the stroy be from the textbook3  what is my class book some years ago.