Read the article and select the best answer. Article: There was once an ant that was very thirsty. It ran here and there looking for some water but could not find any. Then suddenly, when the ant was almost ready to die of thirst, a large drop of water fell on it. The ant drank the water, which saved its life. The water was actually a tear from a young girl who was crying. Because of her sadness, the tear had magical qualities and suddenly the ant could speak the language of human beings. The ant looked up and saw the young girl sitting in front of a huge pile of seeds. "Why are you sad?" asked the ant. "I'm the prisoner of a giant." the girl told the ant. " He won't let me go until I've made three separate heaps of grain, barley and rye out of this huge pile of seeds in which they are all mixed together." "That will take you a month!" the ant said, looking at the huge pile of seeds. "I know," the girl cried, "and if I haven't finished by tomorrow, the giant will eat me for his supper!" "Don't cry," the ant said, "my friends and I will help you." Soon thousands of ants were at work, separating the three kinds of seeds. The next morning, when the giant saw that the work had been done, he let the girl go. Thus it was one of her tears that saved her life. Question: Why was the young girl crying? Options: A: Because of her sadness. B: Because she saw the ant. C: Because the giant would let her go. D: Because the giant had given her an impossible job to do.
D

Read the article and select the best answer. Article: The cars were honking on the road one morning as I was walking to the park. I walked on and soon found the cause -- a little taxi that had got stuck in the middle of the road. There was sweat on the driver's face as he tried to start the engine again and again -- nothing happened. "No petrol," I said to myself and then found myself getting angry. "Why doesn't the fool move his taxi to the side?" I thought, so did all the others who honked and shouted. He got up tiredly, and the passenger in the taxi got out. He was a young man in a white shirt, who watched the driver try to push it to the side. "Stupid guy!" I said. "Can't he lend a helping hand? " I watched as the poor driver pushed it to the side. Cars, buses and trucks went past cursing ( ) the poor man. The young man took another taxi and went off. The taxi driver began mending his taxi. "Stupid passenger!" I said to him. "He didn't help you!" The taxi driver slowly got up. "Sir!" he asked, "Did you?" I looked at him guiltily, then looked away, and walked away fast, asking myself, "Did I help the poor man push his taxi?" What had I been doing as the traffic jam took place? How had I helped deal with the problem? Did I help the poor man push his taxi? I'd done my bit, with my mouth. But never had I moved to solve the problem. I was shocked with guilt as I heard him asking, "Sir! Did you?" Question: Why did a traffic jam happen on the road when the author was walking to the park? Options: A: There was too much traffic in the street. B: Truck drivers attempted to go ahead of others. C: A taxi driver couldn't start his engine. D: A young man wasn't good at driving.
C

Read the article and select the best answer. Article: When I was growing up,I was embarrassed to be seen with my father. He was badly crippled ,and when we would walk together,his hand on my arm for balance,people would stare,I would be ashamed of the unwanted attention. It was difficult to walk together--and because of that,we didn't say much as we went along. But as we started out,he always said,"You set the pace. I will try to follow you." Our usual walk was to or from the subway,which was how he got to work. He went to work sick,and even in bad weather. He almost never missed a day,and would make it to the office even if others could not. It was a matter of pride for him. When snow or ice was on the ground,it was impossible for him to walk,even with help. At such times my sister or I would pull him through the streets of Brooklyn,N.Y.,on a child's sleigh to the subway entrance. Once there,he would try to grasp handrail until he reached the lower steps that the warmer tunnel air kept ice free. In Manhattan the subway station was the basement of his office building,and he would not have to go outside again until we met him in Brooklyn on his way home. When I think of it now,I am surprised at how much courage it must have taken for a grown man to suffer from shame and disability. And I am also surprised at how he did it--without bitterness or complaint. He never talked about himself as an object of pity,nor did he show any envy of the more fortunate or able. What he looked for in others was a "good heart",and if he found one,the owner was good enough for him. Now that I am older,I believe that is a proper standard by which to judge people,even though I still don't know exactly what a "good heart" is. But I know the times I don't have one myself. He has been away for many years now,but I think of him often. I wonder if he sensed my reluctance to be seen with him during our walks. If he did,I am sorry I never told him how sorry I was,how unworthy I was,how I regretted it. I think of him when I complain about my troubles,when I am envious of another's good... Question: As a disabled man,his father _ . Options: A: didn't work very hard B: didn't go to work from time to time C: hated those who had good fortune D: was happy and satisfied,and never lost hope
D