记叙文类（I）★★
Watching some children trying to catch butterflies one hot August afternoon, I was reminded of an incident in my own childhood．When I was a boy of 12 in South Carolina, something happened to me that cured me forever of wanting to put any wild creature in a cage.
We lived on the edge of a wood, and every evening at dusk the mockingbirds would come and rest in the trees and sing. There isn’t a musical instrument made by man that can produce a more beautiful sound than the song of the mockingbird.