Last July, my 12-year-old car died on California's Santa Ana Freeway. It was an hour before sunset, and I was 25 miles from home. I couldn't reach anyone to pick me up, so I decided to take a bus. Not knowing the routes, I figured I'd just head east. A bus pulled up, and I asked the driver how far she was going. “Four more lights,” she said. There was another bus I could take from there. This clearly was going to be a long night. She dropped me off at the end of her route and told me which bus to look for. After waiting 30 minutes, I began to think about a very expensive taxi ride home. Then a bus pulled up. There was no lighted number above its windshield ( 挡风玻璃 ). It was out of service. But the door opened, and I was surprised to find that it was the same driver. “I just can't leave you here,” she said. “This isn't the nicest place. I'll give you a ride home.” “You'll drive me home in the bus?” I asked, perplexed ( 困惑 ). “No, I'll take you in my car,” she said. “It's a long way,” I protested. “Come on, ” she said. “I have nothing else to do.” As we drove from the station in her car, she began telling me a story. A few days earlier, her brother had run out of gas. A good Samaritan picked him up, took him to a service station and then back to his car. “I'm just passing the favor along, ” she said. When I offered her money as a thank-you, she wouldn't hear of it. “That wouldn't make it a favor, ” she said. “Just do something nice for somebody. Pass it along.”