It was a lovely 1 afternoon. My classmates and I were playing happily on the playground when I let out a 2 , "OW! OW! Something in my shoe is biting me."
Everyone was shocked by the cry. They took me into a classroom and3 take off my shoe. "Which foot is it?" one asked. "Let us have a look."
Suddenly, I remembered the holes in my socks. My family was very poor during those years. I wore welfare socks, which 4 only a little, but those cheap welfare socks didn't 5 long. Soon there were holes at the bottom.
I refused to take off my shoe. I couldn't 6 others seeing the holes in my sock. I tried to7 my tears. Yet, each time the thing in my shoe bit me, tears raced down my face.
My teacher, Miss Diane, hurried into the 8 . "What's wrong?" she asked.
"Something is biting her right foot,9 she doesn't let us take off her shoe," one of my classmates answered.
Miss Diane lived next door to me. She knew 10 about my family. She put both hands on my shaking shoulders and looked into my painful and hopeless eyes.
"Oh, yes, it must be a sock-eating ant," she said,11 she had already seen the thing inside the shoe. "I had a bite from one of those ants. By the time I took my shoe off, it had eaten 12 the whole bottom of my sock." My classmates nodded while they were listening to the teacher 13 , although they all looked a little puzzled.
Miss Diane took off my right shoe and sock and shoot them over the dustbin. Two red ants 14 into it.
"Just like what I thought, the ants have eaten part of her sock." When she placed an alcohol (酒精) cotton ball on the bites, she added, "You are such a brave girl to take so many bites."
The alcohol made me feet cool on the hot afternoon and a little girl's 15 was saved by the "sock–eating ant" story.
