Leveled Texts for Classic Fiction: Fantasy and Science Fiction [1 ed.] 9781433384011, 9781425809843

Citation preview

Fantasy Science Fiction

Collected and Leveled by Stephanie Paris

Contributing Author

Publishing Credits

Wendy Conklin, M.S.

Dona Herweck Rice, Editor-in-Chief; Robin Erickson, Production Director; Lee Aucoin, Creative Director; Timothy J. Bradley, Illustration Manager; Sara Johnson, M.S.Ed., Senior Editor; Evelyn Garcia, Associate Education Editor; Grace Alba, Designer; Corinne Burton, M.A.Ed., Publisher

Image Credits All images Shutterstock

Standards © 2004 Mid-continent Research for Education and Learning (McREL) © 2010 National Governors Association Center for Best Practices and Council of Chief State School Officers (CCSS)

Shell Education 5301 Oceanus Drive Huntington Beach, CA 92649 http://www.shelleducation.com ISBN 978-1-4258-0984-3 © 2013 Shell Educational Publishing, Inc.

The classroom teacher may reproduce copies of materials in this book for classroom use only. The reproduction of any part for an entire school or school system is strictly prohibited. No part of this publication may be transmitted, stored, or recorded in any form without written permission from the publisher.

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Table of Contents What Is Fiction? . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5 The Importance of Using Fiction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 6 Elements of Fiction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 10 A Closer Look at Fantasy and Science Fiction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 12 Leveled Texts to Differentiate Instruction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 14 Teaching Suggestions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 17 How to Use This Book . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 23 Correlation to Standards . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 27 Setting Passages . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 31 Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 31 The Wonderful Wizard of Oz . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 39 The Adventures of Peter Pan . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 47 Character Passages . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 55 A Princess of Mars . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 55 Frankenstein, or the Modern Prometheus . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 63 The Lost World . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 71 The Wind in the Willows . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 79 Plot Passages . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 87 A Journey into the Center of the Earth . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 87 The Jungle Book . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 95 The Legend of Sleepy Hollow . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 103 The Time Machine . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 111 Language Usage Passages . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 119 The Tale of Peter Rabbit . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 119 The Story of Doctor Dolittle . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 127 The Secret Garden . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 135 Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea: An Underwater Tour of the World . . . . . . . . . . . . . 143 References Cited . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 151 Digital Resources . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 152

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What Is Fiction? Fiction is the work of imaginative narration. In other words, it is something that is made, as opposed to something that has happened or something that is discovered. It helps bring our imaginations to life, since it offers an escape into a world where everything happens for a reason—nothing is by chance. Fiction includes three main elements: plot (sequence), character, and setting (place). Each event occurs in a logical order, and somehow, the conflict is resolved. Fiction promises a resolution in the end, and so the reader waits for resolution as the characters change, grow, and survive experiences. We are drawn to fiction because it is very close to the story of our lives. Fiction suggests that our own stories will have meaning and a resolution in the end. Perhaps that might be the reason why we love fiction—it delivers what it promises. Fiction compels its readers to care about the characters whether they are loyal friends or conniving enemies. Readers dream about the characters and mourn their heartaches. Readers might feel that they know a fictional character’s story intimately because he or she reminds them of a friend or family member. Additionally, the place described in the story might feel like a real place the reader has visited or would like to visit.

Fiction vs. Nonfiction Fiction is literature that stems from the imagination and includes genres such as mystery, adventure, fairy tales, and fantasy. Fiction can include facts, but the story is not true in its entirety. Facts are often exaggerated or manipulated to suit an author’s intent for the story. Realistic fiction uses plausible characters and storylines, but the people do not really exist and/ or the events narrated did not ever really take place. In addition, fiction is descriptive, elaborate, and designed to entertain. It allows readers to make their own interpretations based on the text. Nonfiction includes a wide variety of writing styles that deal exclusively with real events, people, places, and things such as biographies, cookbooks, historical records, and scientific reports. Nonfiction is literature based on facts or perceived facts. In literature form, nonfiction deals with events that have actually taken place and relies on existing facts. Nonfiction writing is entirely fact-based. It states only enough to establish a fact or idea and is meant to be informative. Nonfiction is typically direct, clear, and simple in its message. Despite the differences, both fiction and nonfiction have a benefit and purpose for all readers.

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The Importance of Using Fiction Reading fiction has many benefits: It stimulates the imagination, promotes creative thinking, increases vocabulary, and improves writing skills. However, “students often hold negative attitudes about reading because of dull textbooks or being forced to read” (Bean 2000). Fiction books can stimulate imagination. It is easy to get carried away with the character Percy Jackson as he battles the gods in The Lightning Thief (Riordan 2005). Readers can visualize what the author depicts. Researcher Keith Oatley (2009) states that fiction allows individuals to stimulate the minds of others in a sense of expanding on how characters might be feeling and what they might be thinking. When one reads fiction, one cannot help but visualize the nonexistent characters and places of the story. Lisa Zunshine (2006) has emphasized that fiction allows readers to engage in a theory-of-mind ability that helps them practice what the characters experience. Since the work of fiction is indirect, it requires analysis if one is to get beyond the surface of the story. On the surface, one can view Moby Dick (Melville 1851) as an adventure story about a man hunting a whale. On closer examination and interpretation, the novel might be seen as a portrayal of good and evil. When a reader examines, interprets, and analyzes a work of fiction, he or she is promoting creative thinking. Creativity is a priceless commodity, as it facilitates problem solving, inventions, and creations of all kinds, and promotes personal satisfaction as well. Reading fiction also helps readers build their vocabularies. Readers cannot help but learn a myriad of new words in Lemony Snicket’s A Series of Unfortunate Events (1999). Word knowledge and reading comprehension go hand in hand. In fact, “vocabulary knowledge is one of the best predictors of reading achievement” (Richek 2005). Further, “vocabulary knowledge promotes reading fluency, boosts reading comprehension, improves academic achievement, and enhances thinking and communication” (Bromley 2004). Most researchers believe that students have the ability to add between 2,000 to 3,000 new words each school year, and by fifth grade, that number can be as high as 10,000 new words in their reading alone (Nagy and Anderson 1984). By exposing students to a variety of reading selections, educators can encourage students to promote the vocabulary growth that they need to be successful. Finally, reading fictional text has a strong impact on students’ ability as writers. According to Gay Su Pinnell (1988), “As children read and write, they make the connections that form their basic understandings about both….There is ample evidence to suggest that the processes are inseparable and that teachers should examine pedagogy in the light of these interrelationships.” Many of the elements students encounter while reading fiction can transition into their writing abilities.

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The Importance of Using Fiction

(cont.)

Text Complexity Text complexity refers to reading and comprehending various texts with increasing complexity as students progress through school and within their reading development. The Common Core State Standards (2010) state that “by the time they [students] complete the core, students must be able to read and comprehend independently and proficiently the kinds of complex texts commonly found in college and careers.” In other words, by the time students complete high school, they must be able to read and comprehend highly complex texts, so students must consistently increase the level of complexity tackled at each grade level. Text complexity relies on the following combination of quantitative and qualitative factors:

Quantitative Factors Word Frequency

This is how often a particular word appears in the text. If an unfamiliar high-frequency word appears in a text, chances are the student will have a difficult time understanding the meaning of the text.

Sentence Length

Long sentences and sentences with embedded clauses require a lot from a young reader.

Word Length

This is the number of syllables in a word. Longer words are not by definition hard to read, but certainly can be for young readers.

Text Length

This refers to the number of words within the text passage.

Text Cohesion

This is the overall structure of the text. A high-cohesion text guides readers by signaling relationships among sentences through repetition and concrete language. A low-cohesion text does not have such support.

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The Importance of Using Fiction

(cont.)

Qualitative Factors Level of Meaning or Purpose of Text

This refers to the objective and/or purpose for reading.

Structure

Texts that display low complexity are known for their simple structure. Texts that display high complexity are known for disruptions to predictable understandings.

Language Convention and Clarity

Texts that deviate from contemporary use of English tend to be more challenging to interpret.

Knowledge Demands

This refers to the background knowledge students are expected to have prior to reading a text. Texts that require students to possess a certain amount of previous knowledge are more complex than those that assume students have no prior knowledge.

(Adapted from the National Governors Association Center for Best Practices and Council of Chief State School Officers 2010) The use of qualitative and quantitative measures to assess text complexity is demonstrated in the expectation that educators possess the ability to match the appropriate texts to the appropriate students. The passages in Leveled Texts for Classic Fiction: Fantasy and Science Fiction vary in text complexity and will provide leveled versions of classic complex texts so that educators can scaffold students’ comprehension of these texts. Educators can choose passages for students to read based on the reading level as well as the qualitative and quantitative complexity factors in order to find texts that are “just right” instructionally.

Genres of Fiction There are many different fiction genres. The Leveled Texts for Classic Fiction series focuses on the following genres: adventure, fantasy and science fiction, mystery, historical fiction, mythology, humor, and Shakespeare. Adventure stories transport readers to exotic places like deserted islands, treacherous mountains, and the high seas. This genre is dominated by fast-paced action. The plot often focuses on a hero’s quest and features a posse that helps him or her achieve the goal. The story confronts the protagonist with events that disrupt his or her normal life and puts the character in danger. The story involves exploring and conquering the unknown accompanied by much physical action, excitement, and risk. The experience changes the protagonist in many ways.

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The Importance of Using Fiction

(cont.)

Fantasy and science fiction are closely related. Fantasy, like adventure, involves quests or journeys that the hero must undertake. Within fantasy, magic and the supernatural are central and are used to suggest universal truths. Events happen outside the laws that govern our universe. Science fiction also operates outside of the laws of physics but typically takes place in the future, space, another world, or an alternate dimension. Technology plays a strong role in this genre. Both science fiction and fantasy open up possibilities (such as living in outer space and talking to animals) because the boundaries of the real world cannot confine the story. Ideas are often expressed using symbols. Mystery contains intriguing characters with suspenseful plots and can often feel very realistic. The story revolves around a problem or puzzle to solve: Who did it? What is it? How did it happen? Something is unknown, or a crime needs to be solved. Authors give readers clues to the solution in a mystery, but they also distract the reader by intentionally misleading them. Historical fiction focuses on a time period from the past with the intent of offering insight into what it was like to live during that time. This genre incorporates historical research into the stories to make them feel believable. However, much of the story is fictionalized, whether it is conversations or characters. Often, these stories reveal that concerns from the past are still concerns. Historical fiction centers on historical events, periods, or figures. Myths are collections of sacred stories from ancient societies. Myths are ways to explain questions about the creation of the world, the gods, and human life. For example, mythological stories often explain why natural events like storms or floods occur or how the world and living things came to be in existence. Myths can be filled with adventures conflict, between humans, and gods with extraordinary powers. These gods possess emotions and personality traits that are similar to humans. Humor can include parody, joke books, spoofs, and twisted tales, among others. Humorous stories are written with the intent of being light-hearted and fun in order to make people laugh and to entertain. Often, these stories are written with satire and dry wit. Humorous stories also can have a very serious or dark side, but the ways in which the characters react and handle the situations make them humorous. Shakespeare’s plays can be classified in three genres: comedy, tragedy, and history. Shakespeare wrote his plays during the late 1500s and early 1600s, and performed many of them in the famous Globe Theater in London, England. Within each play is not just one coherent story but also a set of two or three stories that can be described as “plays within a play.” His plays offer multiple perspectives and contradictions to make the stories rich and interesting. Shakespeare is noted for his ability to bring thoughts to life. He used his imagination to adapt stories, history, and other plays to entertain his audiences.

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Elements of Fiction The many common characteristics found throughout fiction are known as the elements of fiction. Among such elements are point of view, character, setting, and plot. Leveled Texts for Classic Fiction concentrates on setting, plot, and character, with an emphasis on language usage. Language usage typically refers to the rules for making language. This series includes the following elements: personification, hyperbole, alliteration, onomatopoeia, imagery, symbolism, metaphor, and word choice. The table below provides a brief description of each.

Language Usage

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Definition

Example

Personification

Giving human traits to nonhuman things

The chair moaned when she sat down on it.

Hyperbole

Extreme exaggeration

He was so hungry, he could eat a horse.

Alliteration

Repetition of the beginning consonant sounds

She sold seashells by the seashore.

Onomatopoeia

Forming a word from the sound it makes

Knock-knock, woof, bang, sizzle, hiss

Imagery

Language that creates a meaningful visual experience for the reader

His socks filled the room with a smell similar to a wet dog on a hot day.

Symbolism

Using objects to represent something else

A heart represents love.

Metaphor

Comparison of two unrelated things

My father is the rock of our family.

Word Choice

Words that an author uses to make the story memorable and to capture the reader’s attention

In chapter two of Holes by Louis Sachar (2000), the author directly addresses the reader, saying, “The reader is probably asking….” The author predicts what the reader is wondering.

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Elements of Fiction

(cont.)

Setting is the where and when of a story’s action. Understanding setting is important to the interpretation of the story. The setting takes readers to other times and places. Setting plays a large part in what makes a story enjoyable for the reader. Plot forms the core of what the story is about and establishes the chain of events that unfolds in the story. Plot contains a character’s motivation and the subsequent cause and effect of the character’s actions. A plot diagram is an organizational tool that focuses on mapping out the events in a story. By mapping out the plot structure, students are able to visualize the key features of a story. The following is an example of a plot diagram:

Plot Diagram Climax

ng

li Fal tion

Exposition

Ac

Rising Action

Resolution

Characters are the people in the story. The protagonist is the main or leading character. He or she might be the narrator of the story. The antagonist is the force or character that acts against the protagonist. This antagonist is not always a person; it could be things such as weather, technology, or even a vehicle. Both the protagonist and antagonist can be considered dynamic, which means that they change or grow during the story as opposed to remaining static, or unchanging, characters. Readers engage with the text as they try to understand what motivates the characters to think and act as they do. Desires, values, and outside pressures all motivate characters’ actions and help to determine the story’s outcome.

© Shell Education

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A Closer Look at Fantasy and Science Fiction Fantasy and science fiction contains stories that cannot happen in real life. They are similar in the fact that events happen outside of the laws that govern our universe. Fantasy stories include unrealistic settings, talking animals, magic, and the supernatural. Often, they are set in medieval times and include fairy tales. Science fiction explores the question of “what if?” and is set outside of everyday reality in space, another world, or dimension. Technology can also play a large role. In this book you will find the following titles:

• Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland by Lewis Carroll • The Wonderful Wizard of Oz by L. Frank Baum • The Adventures of Peter Pan by J. M. Barrie

• A Princess of Mars by Edgar Rice Burroughs

• Frankenstein, or the Modern Prometheus by Mary Wollstonecraft (Godwin) Shelley • The Lost World by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle • The Wind in the Willows by Kenneth Grahme • A Journey into the Center of the Earth by Jules Verne • The Jungle Book by Rudyard Kipling • The Legend of Sleepy Hollow by Washington Irving • The Time Machine by H. G. Wells

• The Tale of Peter Rabbit by Beatrix Potter

• The Story of Doctor Dolittle by Hugh Lofting

• The Secret Garden by Frances Hodgson Burnett

• Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea: An Underwater Tour of the World by Jules Verne

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A Closer Look at Fantasy and Science Fiction (cont.)

Although there are many elements of fiction that can be studied in each passage of this book, the chart below outlines the strongest element portrayed in each passage.

Element of Fiction

Setting

Character

Plot

Language Usage

© Shell Education

Passage Title

• Excerpt from Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland



• Excerpt from The Wonderful Wizard of Oz



• Excerpt from The Adventures of Peter Pan



• Excerpt from A Princess of Mars



• Excerpt from Frankenstein, or the Modern Prometheus



• Excerpt from The Lost World



• Excerpt from The Wind in the Willows



• Excerpt from A Journey into the Center of the Earth



• Excerpt from The Jungle Book



• Excerpt from The Legend of Sleepy Hollow



• Excerpt from The Time Machine



• Excerpt from The Tale of Peter Rabbit



• Excerpt from The Story of Doctor Dolittle



• Excerpt from The Secret Garden



• Excerpt from Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea: An Underwater Tour of the World

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Leveled Texts to Differentiate Instruction Today’s classrooms contain diverse pools of learners. Above-level, on-level, below-level, and English language learners all come together to learn from one teacher in one classroom. The teacher is expected to meet their diverse needs. These students have different learning styles, come from different cultures, experience a variety of emotions, and have varied interests. And, they differ in academic readiness when it comes to reading. At times, the challenges teachers face can be overwhelming as they struggle to create learning environments that address the differences in their students while at the same time ensure that all students master the required grade-level objectives. What is differentiation? Tomlinson and Imbau say, “Differentiation is simply a teacher attending to the learning needs of a particular student or small group of students, rather than teaching a class as though all individuals in it were basically alike” (2010). Any teacher who keeps learners at the forefront of his or her instruction can successfully provide differentiation. The effective teacher asks, “What am I going to do to shape instruction to meet the needs of all my learners?” One method or methodology will not reach all students. Differentiation includes what is taught, how it is taught, and the products students create to show what they have learned. When differentiating curriculum, teachers become organizers of learning opportunities within the classroom environment. These opportunities are often referred to as content, process, and product.

• Content: Differentiating the content means to put more depth into the curriculum through organizing the curriculum concepts and structure of knowledge. • Process: Differentiating the process requires using varied instructional techniques and materials to enhance student learning. • Product: Cognitive development and students’ abilities to express themselves improves when products are differentiated.

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Leveled Texts to Differentiate Instruction (cont.)

Teachers should differentiate by content, process, and product according to students’ differences. These differences include student readiness, learning styles, and interests.

• Readiness: If a learning experience aligns closely with students’ previous skills and understanding of a topic, they will learn better. • Learning styles: Teachers should create assignments that allow students to complete work according to their personal preferences and styles. • Interests: If a topic sparks excitement in the learners, then students will become involved in learning and better remember what is taught.

Typically, reading teachers select different novels or texts that are leveled for their classrooms because only one book may either be too difficult or too easy for a particular group of students. One group of students will read one novel while another group reads another, and so on. What makes Leveled Texts for Classic Fiction: Fantasy and Science Fiction unique is that all students, regardless of reading level, can read the same selection from a story and can participate in wholeclass discussions about it. This is possible because each selection is leveled at four different reading levels to accommodate students’ reading abilities. Regardless of the reading level, all of the selections present the same content. Teachers can then focus on the same content standard or objective for the whole class, but individual students can access the content at their particular instructional levels rather than their frustration level and avoid the frustration of a selection at too high or low a level.

On Level

ELL Level Below Level © Shell Education

Above Level

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Leveled Texts to Differentiate Instruction (cont.)

Teachers should use the texts in this series to scaffold the content for their students. At the beginning of the year, students at the lowest reading levels may need focused teacher guidance. As the year progresses, teachers can begin giving students multiple levels of the same text to allow them to work independently at improving their comprehension. This means that each student will have a copy of the text at his or her independent reading level and at the instructional reading level. As students read the instructional-level texts, they can use the lower-leveled texts to better understand difficult vocabulary. By scaffolding the content in this way, teachers can support students as they move up through the reading levels and encourage them to work with texts that are closer to the grade level at which they will be tested. A teacher does not need to draw attention to the fact that the texts are leveled. Nor should they hide it. Teachers who want students to read the text together can use homogeneous groups and distribute the texts after students join the groups. Or, teachers can distribute copies of the appropriate level to each student by copying the pages and separating them by each level.

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Teaching Suggestions Strategies for Higher-Order Thinking Open-ended questions are a great way to infuse higher-order thinking skills into instruction. Open-ended questions have many appropriate answers and are exclusively dependent on the creativity of the student. Rarely do these questions have only one correct answer. It is up to the students to think and decide on their own what the answer should be. This is critical thinking at its very best. The following are some characteristics of open-ended questions:

• They ask students to think and reflect.

• They ask students to provide their feelings and opinions. • They make students responsible for the control of the conversation.

There are many reasons to prefer open-ended over closed-ended questions. First, students must know the facts of the story to answer open-ended questions. Any higher-order question by necessity will encompass lower-order, fact-based questions. For a student to be able to answer a what if question (which is an example of an open-ended question), he or she must know the content of the story (which is a lower-level fact). Open-ended questions also stimulate students to go beyond typical questions about a text. They spark real conversations about a text and are enriching. As a result, more students will be eager to participate in class discussions. In a more dynamic atmosphere, students will naturally make outside connections to the text, and there will be no need to force such connections. Some students may at first be resistant to open-ended questions because they are afraid to think creatively. Years of looking for the one correct answer may make many students fear failure and embarrassment if they get the “wrong” answer. It will take time for these students to feel at ease with these questions. Model how to answer such questions. Keep encouraging students to answer them. Most importantly, be patient. The following are some examples of open-ended questions:

• Why do you think the author selected this setting?



• What are some explanations for the character’s decisions?



• What are some lessons that this passage can teach us?



• How do the words set the mood or tone of this passage?

© Shell Education

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Teaching Suggestions

(cont.)

Strategies for Higher-Order Thinking (cont.) The tables below and on the following page are examples of open-ended questions and question stems that are specific to the elements of fiction covered in this series. Choose questions to challenge students to think more deeply about specific elements.

Setting

• In what ways did the setting…



• Describe the ways in which the author used setting to…



• What if the setting changed to…



• What are some possible explanations for selecting this setting?



• What would be a better setting for this story, and why is it better?



• Why did the author select this setting?



• What new element would you add to this setting to make it better?



• Explain several reasons why the characters fit well in this setting.



• Explain several reasons why the characters might fit better in a new setting.



• What makes this setting predictable or unpredictable?



• What setting would make the story more exciting? Explain.



• What setting would make the story dull? Explain.



• Why is the setting important to the story?

Character

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• What is the likelihood that the character will…



• Form a hypothesis about what might happen to the character if…



• In what ways did the character show his/her thoughts by his/her actions?



• How might you have done this differently than the character?



• What are some possible explanations for the character’s decisions about…



• Explain several reasons why the characters fit well in this setting.



• Explain several reasons why the characters don’t fit well in this setting.



• What are some ways you would improve this character’s description?



• Predict what the character will do next. Explain.



• What makes this character believable?



• For what reasons do you like or dislike this character?



• What makes this character memorable?



• What is the character thinking?

#50984—Leveled Texts for Classic Fiction: Fantasy and Science Fiction

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Teaching Suggestions

(cont.)

Strategies for Higher-Order Thinking (cont.) Plot

• How does this event affect…



• Predict the outcome…



• What other outcomes could have been possible, and why?



• What problems does this create?



• What is the likelihood…



• Propose a solution.



• Form a hypothesis.



• What is the theme of this story?



• What is the moral of this story?



• What lessons could this story teach us?



• How is this story similar to other stories you have read?



• How is this story similar to other movies you have watched?



• What sequel could result from this story?

Language Usage

• Describe the ways in which the author used language to…



• In what ways did language usage…



• What is the best description of…



• How would you have described this differently?



• What is a better way of describing this, and what makes it better?



• How can you improve upon the word selection…



• How can you improve upon the description of…



• What other words could be substituted for…



• What pictures do the words paint in your mind?



• How do the words set the mood or tone?



• Why would the author decide to use…



• What are some comparisons you could add to…



• In what ways could you add exaggeration to this sentence?

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Teaching Suggestions

(cont.)

Reading Strategies for Literature The college and career readiness anchor standards within the Common Core State Standards in reading (National Governors Association Center for Best Practices and Council of Chief State School Officers 2010) include understanding key ideas and details, recognizing craft and structure, and being able to integrate knowledge and ideas. The following two pages offer practical strategies for achieving these standards using the texts found in this book.

Identifying Key Ideas and Details

20



• Have students work together to create talking tableaux based on parts of the text that infer information. A tableau is a freeze-frame where students are asked to pose and explain the scene from the text they are depicting. As students stand still, they take turns breaking away from the tableau to tell what is being inferred at that moment and how they know this. While this strategy is good for all students, it is a strong activity for English language learners because they have an opportunity for encoding and decoding with language and actions.



• Theme is the lesson that the story teaches its readers. It can be applied to everyone, not just the characters in the story. Have students identify the theme and write about what happens that results in their conclusions. Ask students to make connections as to how they can apply the theme to their lives. Allow below-grade-level writers to record this information, use graphic organizers for structure, or illustrate their answers in order to make the information more concrete for them.



• Have students draw a picture of the character during an important scene in the story, and use thought bubbles to show the character’s secret thoughts based on specific details found in the text. This activity can benefit everyone, but it is very effective for below‑grade-level writers and English language learners. Offering students an opportunity to draw their answers provides them with a creative method to communicate their ideas.



• Have students create before-and-after pictures that show how the characters change over the course of the story. Encourage above-grade-level students to examine characters’ personality traits and how the characters’ thoughts change. This activity encourages students to think about the rationale behind the personality traits they assigned to each character.

#50984—Leveled Texts for Classic Fiction: Fantasy and Science Fiction

© Shell Education

Teaching Suggestions

(cont.)

Reading Strategies for Literature (cont.) Understanding Craft and Structure

• Ask students to identify academic vocabulary in the texts and to practice using the words in a meet-and-greet activity in the classroom, walking around and having conversations using them. This gives English language learners an opportunity to practice language acquisition in an authentic way.



• Have students create mini-posters that display the figurative language used in the story. This strategy encourages below-grade-level students to show what they have learned.



• Allow students to work in pairs to draw sets of stairs on large paper, and then write how each part of the story builds on the previous part and fits together to provide the overall structure of the story. Homogeneously partner students so that above-grade-level students will challenge one another.



• Select at least two or three texts, and have students compare the point of view from which the different stories are narrated. Then, have students change the point of view (e.g., if the story is written in first person, have students rewrite a paragraph in third person). This is a challenging activity specifically suited for on-grade-level and above‑grade-level students to stimulate higher-order thinking.



• Pose the following questions to students: What if the story is told from a different point of view? How does that change the story? Have students select another character’s point of view and brainstorm lists of possible changes. This higher-order thinking activity is open-ended and effective for on-level, above-level, below-level, and English language learners.

Integrating Knowledge and Ideas

• Show students a section from a movie, a play, or a reader’s theater about the story. Have students use graphic organizers to compare and contrast parts of the text with scenes from one of these other sources. Such visual displays support comprehension for below-level and English language learners.



• Have students locate several illustrations in the text, and then rate the illustrations based on their effective visuals. This higher-order thinking activity is open-ended and is great for on-level, below-level, above-level, and English language learners.



• Let students create playlists of at least five songs to go with the mood and tone of the story. Then instruct students to give an explanation for each chosen song. Musically inclined students tend to do very well with this type of activity. It also gives a reason for writing, which can engage below-grade-level writers.



• Have students partner up to create talk show segments that discuss similar themes found in the story. Each segment should last between one and two minutes and can be performed live or taped. Encourage students to use visuals, props, and other tools to make it real. Be sure to homogeneously group students for this activity and aid your below-level students so they can be successful. This activity allows for all students to bring their creative ideas to the table and positively contribute to the end result.

© Shell Education

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Teaching Suggestions

(cont.)

Fiction as a Model for Writing It is only natural that reading and writing go hand in hand in students’ literacy development. Both are important for functioning in the real world as adults. Established pieces of fiction, like the ones in this book, serve as models for how to write effectively. After students read the texts in this book, take time for writing instruction. Below are some ideas for writing mini‑lessons that can be taught using the texts from this book as writing exemplars.

How to Begin Writing a Story Instead of beginning a story with ‘Once upon a time’ or ‘Long, long ago,’ teach students to mimic the styles of well-known authors. As students begin writing projects, show them a variety of first sentences or paragraphs written by different authors. Discuss how these selections are unique. Encourage students to change or adapt the types of beginnings found in the models to make their own story hooks.

Using Good Word Choice Good word choice can make a significant difference in writing. Help students paint vivid word pictures by showing them examples within the passages found in this book. Instead of writing I live in a beautiful house, students can write I live in a yellow-framed house with black shutters and white pillars that support the wraparound porch. Encourage students to understand that writing is enriched with sensory descriptions that include what the characters smell, hear, taste, touch, and see. Make students aware of setting the emotional tone in their stories. For example, In an instant, the hair on the back of his neck stood up, the door creaked open, and a hand reached through. This example sets a scary mood. Hyperbole is also a great tool to use for effect in stories.

Character Names Can Have Meaning Students can use names to indicate clues about their characters’ personalities. Mrs. Strict could be a teacher, Dr. Molar could be a dentist, and Butch could be the class bully. Remind students that the dialogue between their characters should be real, not forced. Students should think about how people really talk and write dialogue using jargon and colorful words, for example, “Hey you little twerp, come back here!” yelled Brutus.

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How to Use This Book Classroom Management for Leveled Texts Determining your students’ instructional reading levels is the first step in the process of effectively managing the leveled-text passages. It is important to assess their reading abilities often so they do not get stuck on one level. Below are suggested ways to use this resource, as well as other resources available to you, to determine students’ reading levels. Running records: While your class is doing independent work, pull your below-grade-level students aside one at a time. Have them individually read aloud the lowest level of a text (the star level) as you record any errors they make on your own copy of the text. Assess their accuracy and fluency, mark the words they say incorrectly, and listen for fluent reading. Use your judgment to determine whether students seem frustrated as they read. If students read accurately and fluently and comprehend the material, move them up to the next level and repeat the process. Following the reading, ask comprehension questions to assess their understanding of the material. As a general guideline, students reading below 90 percent accuracy are likely to feel frustrated as they read. A variety of other published reading assessment tools are available to assess students’ reading levels with the running-records format. Refer to other resources: Another way to determine instructional reading levels is to check your students’ Individualized Education Plans; ask the school’s language development specialists and/or special education teachers; or review test scores. All of these resources can provide the additional information needed to determine students’ reading levels.

© Shell Education

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How to Use This Book

(cont.)

Distributing the Texts Some teachers wonder about how to distribute the different-leveled texts within the classroom. They worry that students will feel insulted or insecure if they do not get the same material as their neighbors. Prior to distributing the texts, make sure that the classroom environment is one in which all students learn at their individual instructional levels. It is important to make this clear. Otherwise, students may constantly ask why their work is different from another student’s work. Simply state that students will not be working on the same assignment every day and that their work may slightly vary to resolve students’ curiosity. In this approach, distribution of the texts can be very open and causal, just like passing out any other assignment. Teachers who would rather not have students aware of the differences in the texts can try the suggestions below:

24



• Make a pile in your hands from star to triangle. Put your finger between the circle and square levels. As you approach each student, pull from the top (star), above your finger (circle), below your finger (square), or the bottom (triangle), depending on each student’s level. If you do not hesitate too much in front of each desk, students will probably not notice.



• Begin the class period with an opening activity. Put the texts in different places around the room. As students work quietly, circulate and direct students to the right locations for retrieving the texts you want them to use.



• Organize the texts in small piles by seating arrangement so that when you arrive at a group of desks, you will have only the levels you need.

#50984—Leveled Texts for Classic Fiction: Fantasy and Science Fiction

© Shell Education

How to Use This Book

(cont.)

Components of the Product Each passage is derived from classic literary selections. Classics expose readers to cultural heritage or the literature of a culture. Classics improve understanding of the past and, in turn, understanding of the present. These selections from the past explain how we got to where we are today.

The Levels There are 15 passages in this book, each from a different work of classic fiction. Each passage is leveled to four different reading levels. The images and fonts used for each level within a work of fiction look the same. Behind each page number, you will see a shape. These shapes indicate the reading levels of each piece so that you can make sure students are working with the correct texts. The chart on the following page provides specific levels of each text.

1.5–2.2

3.0–3.5

5.0–5.5

6.5–7.2

Leveling Process The texts in this series are excerpts from classic pieces of literature. A reading specialist has reviewed each excerpt and leveled each one to create four distinct reading passages with unique levels.

Elements of Fiction Question Each text includes one comprehension question that directs the students to think about the chosen element of fiction for that passage. These questions are written at the appropriate reading level to allow all students to successfully participate in a whole‑class discussion. These questions are open-ended and designed to stimulate higher-order thinking.

Digital Resources The Digital Resources allow for easy access to all the reading passages in this book. Electronic PDF files as well as word files are included in the Digital Resources.

© Shell Education

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How to Use This Book Title

(cont.)

ELL Level

Below Level

On level

Above level

1.5–2.2

3.0–3.5

5.0–5.5

6.5–7.2

Setting Passages Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland

2.2

3.4

5.0

6.8*

The Wonderful Wizard of Oz

2.2

3.5

5.1

7.2*

The Adventures of Peter Pan

2.2

3.2

5.3*

6.5

A Princess of Mars

2.2

3.4

5.0

6.5*

Frankenstein, or the Modern Prometheus

2.2

3.3

5.4

7.1*

The Lost World

2.2

3.5

5.3*

6.5

The Wind in the Willows

1.8

3.0

5.0*

6.5

A Journey into the Center of the Earth

2.2

3.5

5.3*

6.8

The Jungle Book

2.0

3.5

5.5*

6.5

The Legend of Sleepy Hollow

2.2

3.5

5.4

7.1*

The Time Machine

2.2

3.4

5.4*

6.6

The Tale of Peter Rabbit

2.2

3.4

5.1*

6.5

The Story of Doctor Dolittle

2.2

3.5

5.1*

6.5

The Secret Garden

2.2

3.5

5.3

6.5*

Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea: An Underwater Tour of the World

2.2

3.4

5.2*

6.5

Character Passages

Plot Passages

Language Usage Passages

* The passages with an asterisk indicate the reading passage from the original work of fiction.

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Correlations to Standards Shell Education is committed to producing educational materials that are research and standards based. In this effort, we have correlated all our products to the academic standards of all 50 United States, the District of Columbia, the Department of Defense Dependent Schools, and all Canadian provinces.

How to Find Standards Correlations To print a customized correlations report of this product for your state, visit our website at http://www.shelleducation.com and follow the on-screen directions. If you require assistance in printing correlations reports, please contact Customer Service at 1-800-858-7339.

Purpose and Intent of Standards Legislation mandates that all states adopt academic standards that identify the skills students will learn in kindergarten through grade twelve. Many states also have standards for pre-K. This same legislation sets requirements to ensure the standards are detailed and comprehensive. Standards are designed to focus instruction and guide adoption of curricula. Standards are statements that describe the criteria necessary for students to meet specific academic goals. They define the knowledge, skills, and content students should acquire at each level. Standards are also used to develop standardized tests to evaluate students’ academic progress. Teachers are required to demonstrate how their lessons meet state standards. State standards are used in the development of all our products, so educators can be assured they meet the academic requirements of each state.

McREL Compendium We use the Mid-continent Research for Education and Learning (McREL) Compendium to create standards correlations. Each year, McREL analyzes state standards and revises the compendium. By following this procedure, McREL is able to produce a general compilation of national standards. Each lesson in this product is based on one or more McREL standards. The chart on the following pages lists each standard taught in this product and the page numbers for the corresponding lessons.

TESOL Standards The lessons in this book promote English language development for English language learners. The standards listed on the following pages support the language objectives presented throughout the lessons.

Common Core State Standards The texts in this book are aligned to the Common Core State Standards (CCSS). The standards correlation can be found on pages 28–29.

© Shell Education

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Correlations to Standards

(cont.)

Correlation to Common Core State Standards The passages in this book are aligned to the Common Core State Standards (CCSS). Students who meet these standards develop the skills in reading that are the foundation for any creative and purposeful expression in language.

Grade(s)

Standard

3

RL.3.10—By the end of year, independently and proficiently read and comprehend literature, including stories, dramas, and poetry, at the high end of the grades 2–3 text-complexity band

4–5

RL.4.10–5.10—By the end of the year, proficiently read and comprehend literature, including stories, dramas, and poetry, in the grades 4–5 text‑complexity band, with scaffolding as needed at the high end of the range

6–8

RL.6.10–8.10—By the end of the year, proficiently read and comprehend literature, including stories, dramas, and poems, in the grades 6–8 textcomplexity band, with scaffolding as needed at the high end of the range.

As outlined by the Common Core State Standards, teachers are “free to provide students with whatever tools and knowledge their professional judgment and experience identify as most helpful for meeting the goals set out in the standards.” Bearing this in mind, teachers are encouraged to use the recommendations indicated in the chart below in order to meet additional CCSS Reading Standards that require further instruction.

Standard RL.3.1–5.1— Key Ideas and Details

RL.3.2–5.2—

Additional Instruction • Ask and answer questions to demonstrate understanding of a text. • Refer to details and examples in a text. • Quote accurately from a text when explaining what the text says.

Key Ideas and Details

• Recount stories to determine the central message, lesson, or moral and explain how it is conveyed. • Determine a theme of a story from details in the text.

RL.3.3–5.3—

• Describe in depth a character, setting, or event in a story.

Key Ideas and Details RL.6.1–8.1—

• Cite textual evidence to support analysis of what the text says.

Key Ideas and Details RL.6.2–8.2— Key Ideas and Details

• Determine a theme or central idea of a text and analyze its development over the course of the text.

RL.6.3–8.3—

• Analyze how particular elements of a story or drama interact.

Key Ideas and Details

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Correlations to Standards

(cont.)

Correlation to Common Core State Standards (cont.) Additional Instruction (cont.)

Standard RL.3.4–8.4—

• Determine the meaning of words and phrases as they are used in the text.

Craft and Structure RL.3.5–5.5— Craft and Structure

• Refer to parts of stories when writing or speaking about a text. • Explain the overall structure of a story.

RL.3.6–8.6—

• Distinguish and describe point of view within the story.

Craft and Structure RL.6.5–8.5—

• Analyze and compare and contrast the overall structure of a story.

Craft and Structure RL.3.7–5.7— Integration of Knowledge and Ideas

• Explain how specific aspects of a text’s illustrations contribute to what is conveyed by the words in a story. • Compare and contrast the themes, settings, and plots of stories.

RL.3.9–8.9— Integration of Knowledge and Ideas

Correlation to McREL Standards Standard

Page(s)

5.1—Previews text (3–5)

all

5.1—Establishes and adjusts purposes for reading (6–8)

all

5.2—Establishes and adjusts purposes for reading (3–5)

all

5.3—Makes, confirms, and revises simple predictions about what will be found in a text (3–5)

all

5.3—Uses a variety of strategies to extend reading vocabulary (6–8)

all

5.4—Uses specific strategies to clear up confusing parts of a text (6–8)

all

5.5—Use a variety of context clues to decode unknown words (3–5)

all

5.5—Understands specific devices an author uses to accomplish his or her purpose (6–8)

all

5.6—Reflects on what has been learned after reading and formulates ideas, opinions, and personal responses to texts (6–8)

all

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Correlation to Standards

(cont.)

Correlation to McREL Standards (cont.) Standard

Page(s)

5.7—Understands level-appropriate reading vocabulary (3–5)

all

5.8—Monitors own reading strategies and makes modifications as needed (3–5)

all

5.10—Understands the author’s purpose or point of view (3–5)

all

6.1—Reads a variety of literary passages and texts (3–5, 6–8)

all

6.2—Knows the defining characteristics and structural elements of a variety of literary genres (3–5, 6–8)

all

6.3—Understands the basic concept of plot (3–5)

all

6.3—Understands complex elements of plot development (6–8)

all

6.4—Understands similarities and differences within and among literary works from various genres and cultures (3–5)

all

6.4—Understands elements of character development (6–8)

all

6.5—Understands elements of character development in literary works (3–5)

all

6.7—Understands the ways in which language is used in literary texts (3–5)

all

Correlation to TESOL Standards Standard

30

Page(s)

2.1—Students will use English to interact in the classroom

all

2.2—Students will use English to obtain, process, construct, and provide subject matter information in spoken and written form

all

2.3—Students will use appropriate learning strategies to construct and apply academic knowledge

all

#50984—Leveled Texts for Classic Fiction: Fantasy and Science Fiction

© Shell Education

Excerpt from

Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland by Lewis Carroll

The rabbit-hole went straight like a tunnel for some way. Then it dipped suddenly down. It was so sudden that Alice had not a moment to think about stopping herself. She found herself falling down a very deep well. Either the well was very deep, or she fell very slowly. For she had plenty of time as she went down. She could look about her. And she could wonder what would happen next. First, she tried to look down. She wanted to see what was coming next. But it was too dark. Then she looked at the sides of the well. She saw that they were filled with cupboards and book shelves. Here and there were maps and pictures hung on pegs. She took down a jar from one of the shelves. It said ‘ORANGE MARMALADE.’ But it was empty. She was disappointed. But, she did not want to drop the jar. She was afraid it might kill somebody. So, she managed to put it into a cupboard as she fell past it. ‘Well!’ thought Alice to herself, ‘after such a fall as this, I won’t worry about falling down stairs! How brave they’ll all think me at home! Why, I wouldn’t say anything even if I fell off the top of the house!’ (Which was very likely true.) Down, down, down. Would the fall never come to an end! ‘I wonder how many miles I’ve fallen now?’ she said aloud. ‘I must be getting close to the center of the earth. That would be four thousand miles down, I think.’ (For, you see, Alice had learnt several things like this at school. Of course, this was not a very good opportunity for showing off her knowledge. There was no one to listen to her. Still it was good practice to say it over.) ‘Yes, that’s about the right distance. But then I wonder what Latitude or Longitude I’ve got to?’ (Alice had no idea what Latitude was. She didn’t know Longitude either. But she thought they were nice grand words to say.)

© Shell Education

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Down, down, down. There was nothing else to do. So Alice soon began talking again. ‘Dinah’ll miss me very much tonight, I think!’ (Dinah was the cat.) ‘I hope they’ll remember her. They should give her a saucer of milk at tea-time. Dinah my dear! I wish you were down here with me! There are no mice in the air. But you might catch a bat. And that’s like a mouse, you know. But do cats eat bats, I wonder?’ And here Alice began to get rather sleepy. She went on talking to herself. She said in a dreamy sort of way, ‘Do cats eat bats? Do cats eat bats?’ Sometimes she would say ‘Do bats eat cats?’ You see, she couldn’t answer either question. So, it didn’t matter which way she put it. She felt that she was dozing off. And she had just started to dream. She was walking hand in hand with Dinah. She had been saying to her very earnestly, ‘Now Dinah, tell me the truth. Did you ever eat a bat?’ Then suddenly, thump! thump! Down she came. She landed on a heap of sticks and dry leaves. The fall was over. Alice was not a bit hurt. She jumped up. She got on to her feet in a moment. She looked up. But it was all dark overhead. Before her was another long passage. The White Rabbit was still in sight. He was hurrying down it. There was not a moment to be lost! Away went Alice like the wind! She was just in time to hear it say, as it turned a corner, ‘Oh my ears and whiskers, how late it’s getting!’ She was close behind it when she turned the corner. But the Rabbit was not there. She found herself in a long, low hall. It was lit up by a row of lamps hanging from the roof. There were doors all round the hall. But they were all locked. And when Alice had been all the way down one side and up the other, trying every door, she walked sadly down the middle. She was wondering how she was ever to get out again. Suddenly she came upon a little three-legged table. It was made of solid glass. There was nothing on it except a tiny golden key. Alice’s first thought was that it might belong to one of the doors of the hall. But, alas! Either the locks were too large, or the key was too small. But at any rate, it would not open any of them. But, on the second time round, she came upon a low curtain she had not noticed before. Behind it was a little door about fifteen inches high. She tried the little golden key in the lock. To her great delight it fitted!

Element Focus: Setting What makes this setting predictable or unpredictable?

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Excerpt from

Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland by Lewis Carroll

The rabbit-hole went straight on like a tunnel for some way. Then it dipped suddenly down. It was so sudden that Alice had not a moment to think about stopping herself before she found herself falling down a very deep well. Either the well was very deep, or she fell very slowly. For she had plenty of time as she went down to look about her and to wonder what was going to happen next. First, she tried to look down and make out what she was coming to. But it was too dark to see anything. Then she looked at the sides of the well. She noticed that they were filled with cupboards and book shelves. Here and there she saw maps and pictures hung upon pegs. She took down a jar from one of the shelves as she passed. It was labeled ‘ORANGE MARMALADE.’ But to her great disappointment it was empty. She did not like to drop the jar for fear of killing somebody. So, she managed to put it into one of the cupboards as she fell past it. ‘Well!’ thought Alice to herself, ‘after such a fall as this, I shall think nothing of tumbling down stairs! How brave they’ll all think me at home! Why, I wouldn’t say anything about it, even if I fell off the top of the house!’ (Which was very likely true.) Down, down, down. Would the fall never come to an end! ‘I wonder how many miles I’ve fallen by now?’ she said aloud. ‘I must be getting somewhere near the center of the earth. Let me see: that would be four thousand miles down, I think.’ (For, you see, Alice had learnt several things of this sort in her lessons in the schoolroom. Of course, this was not a very good opportunity for showing off her knowledge, as there was no one to listen to her. Still, it was good practice to say it over.) ‘Yes, that’s about the right distance. But then I wonder what latitude or longitude I’ve got to?’ (Alice had no idea what latitude was or longitude either. But she thought they were nice grand words to say.) © Shell Education

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Down, down, down. There was nothing else to do. So Alice soon began talking again. ‘Dinah’ll miss me very much tonight, I should think!’ (Dinah was the cat.) ‘I hope they’ll remember her saucer of milk at tea-time. Dinah my dear! I wish you were down here with me! There are no mice in the air, I’m afraid. But you might catch a bat. And that’s like a mouse, you know. But do cats eat bats, I wonder?’ And here Alice began to get rather sleepy. She went on saying to herself, in a dreamy sort of way, ‘Do cats eat bats? Do cats eat bats?’ Sometimes she would say ‘Do bats eat cats?’ For, you see, she couldn’t answer either question. So, it didn’t much matter which way she put it. She felt that she was dozing off. And she had just begun to dream that she was walking hand in hand with Dinah. She had been saying to her very earnestly, ‘Now, Dinah, tell me the truth. Did you ever eat a bat?’ Then suddenly, thump! thump! Down she came upon a heap of sticks and dry leaves. The fall was over. Alice was not a bit hurt. And she jumped up on to her feet in a moment. She looked up, but it was all dark overhead. Before her was another long passage, and the White Rabbit was still in sight, hurrying down it. There was not a moment to be lost! Away went Alice like the wind, and was just in time to hear it say, as it turned a corner, ‘Oh my ears and whiskers, how late it’s getting!’ She was close behind it when she turned the corner. But the Rabbit was no longer to be seen. She found herself in a long, low hall, which was lit up by a row of lamps hanging from the roof. There were doors all round the hall, but they were all locked. And when Alice had been all the way down one side and up the other, trying every door, she walked sadly down the middle, wondering how she was ever to get out again. Suddenly she came upon a little three-legged table, all made of solid glass. There was nothing on it except a tiny golden key, and Alice’s first thought was that it might belong to one of the doors of the hall. But, alas! Either the locks were too large, or the key was too small. But at any rate, it would not open any of them. However, on the second time round, she came upon a low curtain she had not noticed before. Behind it was a little door about fifteen inches high. She tried the little golden key in the lock, and to her great delight it fitted!

Element Focus: Setting What are several ways that this passage shows that Wonderland does not exist with the same rules as our normal world?

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Excerpt from

Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland by Lewis Carroll

The rabbit-hole went straight on like a tunnel for some way. Then it dipped suddenly down. It was so sudden that Alice had not a moment to think about stopping herself before she found herself falling down a very deep well. Either the well was very deep, or she fell very slowly. For she had plenty of time as she went down to look about her and to wonder what was going to happen next. First, she tried to look down and make out what she was coming to. But it was too dark to see anything. Then she looked at the sides of the well, and noticed that they were filled with cupboards and book shelves. Here and there she saw maps and pictures hung upon pegs. She took down a jar from one of the shelves as she passed. It was labeled ‘ORANGE MARMALADE,’ but to her great disappointment, it was empty. She did not like to drop the jar for fear of killing somebody, so she managed to put it into one of the cupboards as she fell past it. ‘Well!’ thought Alice to herself, ‘after such a fall as this, I shall think nothing of tumbling down stairs! How brave they’ll all think me at home! Why, I wouldn’t say anything about it, even if I fell off the top of the house!’ (Which was very likely true.) Down, down, down. Would the fall never come to an end! ‘I wonder how many miles I’ve fallen by this time?’ she said aloud. ‘I must be getting somewhere near the center of the earth. Let me see: that would be four thousand miles down, I think—’ (for, you see, Alice had learnt several things of this sort in her lessons in the schoolroom. And though this was not a very good opportunity for showing off her knowledge, as there was no one to listen to her, still it was good practice to say it over) ‘—yes, that’s about the right distance—but then I wonder what latitude or longitude I’ve got to?’ (Alice had no idea what latitude was, or longitude either, but thought they were nice grand words to say.) © Shell Education

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Down, down, down. There was nothing else to do. So Alice soon began talking again. ‘Dinah’ll miss me very much tonight, I should think!’ (Dinah was the cat.) ‘I hope they’ll remember her saucer of milk at tea-time. Dinah my dear! I wish you were down here with me! There are no mice in the air, I’m afraid. But you might catch a bat, and that’s like a mouse, you know. But do cats eat bats, I wonder?’ And here Alice began to get rather sleepy, and went on saying to herself, in a dreamy sort of way, ‘Do cats eat bats? Do cats eat bats?’ and sometimes, ‘Do bats eat cats?’ for, you see, as she couldn’t answer either question, it didn’t much matter which way she put it. She felt that she was dozing off, and had just begun to dream that she was walking hand in hand with Dinah, and saying to her very earnestly, ‘Now, Dinah, tell me the truth: did you ever eat a bat?’ when suddenly, thump! thump! Down she came upon a heap of sticks and dry leaves, and the fall was over. Alice was not a bit hurt. And she jumped up on to her feet in a moment. She looked up, but it was all dark overhead. Before her was another long passage, and the White Rabbit was still in sight, hurrying down it. There was not a moment to be lost! Away went Alice like the wind, and was just in time to hear it say, as it turned a corner, ‘Oh my ears and whiskers, how late it’s getting!’ She was close behind it when she turned the corner. But the Rabbit was no longer to be seen. She found herself in a long, low hall, which was lit up by a row of lamps hanging from the roof. There were doors all round the hall, but they were all locked. And when Alice had been all the way down one side and up the other, trying every door, she walked sadly down the middle, wondering how she was ever to get out again. Suddenly she came upon a little three-legged table, all made of solid glass; there was nothing on it except a tiny golden key, and Alice’s first thought was that it might belong to one of the doors of the hall; but, alas! Either the locks were too large, or the key was too small, but at any rate, it would not open any of them. However, on the second time round, she came upon a low curtain she had not noticed before, and behind it was a little door about fifteen inches high: she tried the little golden key in the lock, and to her great delight it fitted!

Element Focus: Setting Explain why Alice fits well in this setting.

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Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland by Lewis Carroll

The rabbit-hole went straight on like a tunnel for some way, and then dipped suddenly down, so suddenly that Alice had not a moment to think about stopping herself before she found herself falling down a very deep well. Either the well was very deep, or she fell very slowly, for she had plenty of time as she went down to look about her and to wonder what was going to happen next. First, she tried to look down and make out what she was coming to, but it was too dark to see anything; then she looked at the sides of the well, and noticed that they were filled with cupboards and book-shelves; here and there she saw maps and pictures hung upon pegs. She took down a jar from one of the shelves as she passed; it was labeled ‘ORANGE MARMALADE,’ but to her great disappointment it was empty: she did not like to drop the jar for fear of killing somebody, so she managed to put it into one of the cupboards as she fell past it. ‘Well!’ thought Alice to herself, ‘after such a fall as this, I shall think nothing of tumbling down stairs! How brave they’ll all think me at home! Why, I wouldn’t say anything about it, even if I fell off the top of the house!’ (Which was very likely true.) Down, down, down. Would the fall never come to an end! ‘I wonder how many miles I’ve fallen by this time?’ she said aloud. ‘I must be getting somewhere near the center of the earth. Let me see: that would be four thousand miles down, I think—’ (for, you see, Alice had learnt several things of this sort in her lessons in the schoolroom, and though this was not a very good opportunity for showing off her knowledge, as there was no one to listen to her, still it was good practice to say it over) ‘—yes, that’s about the right distance—but then I wonder what latitude or longitude I’ve got to?’ (Alice had no idea what latitude was, or longitude either, but thought they were nice grand words to say.) © Shell Education

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Down, down, down. There was nothing else to do, so Alice soon began talking again. ‘Dinah’ll miss me very much tonight, I should think!’ (Dinah was the cat.) ‘I hope they’ll remember her saucer of milk at tea-time. Dinah my dear! I wish you were down here with me! There are no mice in the air, I’m afraid, but you might catch a bat, and that’s very like a mouse, you know. But do cats eat bats, I wonder?’ And here Alice began to get rather sleepy, and went on saying to herself, in a dreamy sort of way, ‘Do cats eat bats? Do cats eat bats?’ and sometimes, ‘Do bats eat cats?’ for, you see, as she couldn’t answer either question, it didn’t much matter which way she put it. She felt that she was dozing off, and had just begun to dream that she was walking hand in hand with Dinah, and saying to her very earnestly, ‘Now, Dinah, tell me the truth: did you ever eat a bat?’ when suddenly, thump! thump! Down she came upon a heap of sticks and dry leaves, and the fall was over. .

Alice was not a bit hurt, and she jumped up on to her feet in a moment: she looked up, but it was all dark overhead; before her was another long passage, and the White Rabbit was still in sight, hurrying down it. There was not a moment to be lost: away went Alice like the wind, and was just in time to hear it say, as it turned a corner, ‘Oh my ears and whiskers, how late it’s getting!’ She was close behind it when she turned the corner, but the Rabbit was no longer to be seen: she found herself in a long, low hall, which was lit up by a row of lamps hanging from the roof. There were doors all round the hall, but they were all locked; and when Alice had been all the way down one side and up the other, trying every door, she walked sadly down the middle, wondering how she was ever to get out again. Suddenly she came upon a little three-legged table, all made of solid glass; there was nothing on it except a tiny golden key, and Alice’s first thought was that it might belong to one of the doors of the hall; but, alas! Either the locks were too large, or the key was too small, but at any rate it would not open any of them. However, on the second time round, she came upon a low curtain she had not noticed before, and behind it was a little door about fifteen inches high: she tried the little golden key in the lock, and to her great delight it fitted!

Element Focus: Setting What new element would you add to this setting to make it better?

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Excerpt from

The Wonderful Wizard of Oz by L. Frank Baum In front of them was the end of the road of yellow brick. There was a big gate. There were emeralds all over it. They glittered in the sun. They were very bright! Even the painted eyes of the Scarecrow were dazzled by them. Before them stood a little man. He was about the same size as the Munchkins. His clothes were all green. Even his skin was greenish. At his side was a large green box. The man saw Dorothy. He saw her strange friends. He asked, “What do you wish in the Emerald City?” “We came here to see the Great Oz,” said Dorothy. The man was surprised. He sat down. He wanted to think it over. “It has been many years since anyone asked me to see Oz,” he said. He was shaking his head. He was puzzled. He said, “He is powerful. And he is terrible. He might be angry if you bother him. Is it something unimportant or foolish? He could destroy you all in a flash.” “But it is not a foolish errand. It is not unimportant,” replied the Scarecrow. “It is important. And we have been told that Oz is a good Wizard.” “So he is,” said the green man. “He rules the Emerald City. He does it wisely. He does it well. But, he can be quite terrible to dishonest people. And, he does not like to be bothered by curious people, either. Few have ever dared ask to see his face. I am the Guardian of the Gates. You ask to see the Great Oz. So I must take you to his Palace. But first, you must put on the glasses.” “Why?” asked Dorothy. “Without them the brightness of the Emerald City would blind you. Even those who live in the City must wear glasses. We wear them night and day. They are all locked on. Oz ordered this when the City was first built. I have the only key that will unlock them.” He opened the big box. Dorothy saw that it was filled with glasses. They were of every size and shape. Each had green lenses. The Guardian of the Gates found a pair that would fit Dorothy. He put them over her eyes. There were two golden bands on them. The bands went around the back of her head. The bands were © Shell Education

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locked by a little key. The green man wore the key at the end of a chain around his neck. Dorothy could not take the glasses off had she wished. But of course, she did not wish. She did not want to be blinded. So she said nothing. Then the green man fitted glasses for the Scarecrow. He put some on the Tin Woodman. And he put them on the Lion. There were even some for little Toto. All the glasses were locked with the key. Then the man put on his own glasses. He told them he was ready to show them to the Palace. He got a big golden key. It was on a peg on the wall. He opened another gate. They all followed him into the streets of the Emerald City. Their eyes were protected by the green glasses. But at first, Dorothy and her friends were dazzled! The wonderful City was very bright. The streets were lined with beautiful houses. Each was built of green marble. Sparkling emeralds were everywhere. They walked over a pavement. It was made of the same green marble. Where the blocks were joined together were rows of emeralds. They were set close together. They glittered in the bright sun. The window panes were green glass. Even the sky above the City had a green tint. And the rays of the sun were green. There were many people walking about. There were men, women, and children. They were all dressed in green clothes. Each had greenish skin. They looked at Dorothy and her odd group. They had wondering eyes. The children all ran away. They hid behind their mothers when they saw the Lion. No one spoke to them. Many shops stood in the street. Dorothy saw that everything in them was green. Green candy and green popcorn were for sale. There were green shoes. There were green hats. There were green clothes of all sorts. At one place, a man was selling green lemonade. Children bought it. Dorothy could see that they paid for it with green pennies. There seemed to be no horses. There were no animals of any kind. The men carried things around in little green carts. They pushed these carts in front of them. Everyone seemed happy and contented and prosperous.

Element Focus: Setting Describe the Emerald City. Why must everyone wear glasses?

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Excerpt from

The Wonderful Wizard of Oz by L. Frank Baum In front of them was the end of the road of yellow brick. There was a big gate. It was all studded with emeralds that glittered in the sun. They were so bright that even the painted eyes of the Scarecrow were dazzled by their glow. Before them stood a little man. He was about the same size as the Munchkins. He was clothed all in green from his head to his feet. Even his skin was of a greenish tint. At his side was a large green box. When he saw Dorothy and her friends, the man asked, “What do you wish in the Emerald City?” “We came here to see the Great Oz,” said Dorothy. The man was surprised at this answer. He sat down to think it over. “It has been many years since anyone asked me to see Oz,” he said. He was shaking his head in puzzlement. “He is powerful. And he is terrible. He might be angry if you bother him with something unimportant or foolish. He could destroy you all in an instant.” “But it is not a foolish errand. Nor is it an unimportant one,” replied the Scarecrow. “It is important. And we have been told that Oz is a good Wizard.” “So he is,” said the green man. “He rules the Emerald City wisely and well. But, he can be quite terrible to dishonest people. And, he does not like to be bothered by curious people, either. Few have ever dared ask to see his face. I am the Guardian of the Gates. Since you demand to see the Great Oz, I must take you to his Palace. But first, you must put on the glasses.” “Why?” asked Dorothy. “Because if you did not wear glasses, the brightness of the Emerald City would blind you. Even those who live in the City must wear glasses night and day. The glasses are all locked on. Oz ordered this when the City was first built. I have the only key that will unlock them.” He opened the big box. Dorothy saw that it was filled with glasses. They were of every size and shape. All of them had green lenses in them. The Guardian of the Gates found a pair that would just fit Dorothy. He put them over her eyes. There © Shell Education

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were two golden bands fastened to them. These bands went around the back of her head. The bands were locked together by a little key. The Guardian of the Gates wore this key at the end of a chain around his neck. When they were on, Dorothy could not take the glasses off had she wished. But of course, she did not wish to be blinded by the glare of the Emerald City. So she said nothing. Then the green man fitted glasses for the Scarecrow and the Tin Woodman and the Lion. There were even some for little Toto. All were locked fast with the key. Then the Guardian of the Gates put on his own glasses. He told them he was ready to show them to the Palace. He took a big golden key from a peg on the wall. And he opened another gate. They all followed him into the streets of the Emerald City. Even with eyes protected by the green glasses, Dorothy and her friends were at first dazzled by the brilliancy of the wonderful City. The streets were lined with beautiful houses. Each was built of green marble and studded everywhere with sparkling emeralds. They walked over a pavement of the same green marble. Where the blocks were joined together were rows of emeralds, set closely, and glittering in the brightness of the sun. The window panes were of green glass. Even the sky above the City had a green tint, and the rays of the sun were green. There were many people—men, women, and children—walking about. They were all dressed in green clothes. Each had greenish skin. They looked at Dorothy and her odd group with wondering eyes. The children all ran away and hid behind their mothers when they saw the Lion. No one spoke to them. Many shops stood in the street. Dorothy saw that everything in them was green. Green candy and green popcorn were for sale. There were green shoes, green hats, and green clothes of all sorts. At one place, a man was selling green lemonade. When the children bought it, Dorothy could see that they paid for it with green pennies. There seemed to be neither horses nor animals of any kind. The men carried things around in little green carts, which they pushed before them. Everyone seemed happy and contented and prosperous.

Element Focus: Setting Describe the ways that the Emerald City is different from where you live.

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Excerpt from

The Wonderful Wizard of Oz by L. Frank Baum In front of them was the end of the road of yellow brick. There was a big gate, all studded with emeralds that glittered so in the sun that even the painted eyes of the Scarecrow were dazzled by their brilliancy. Before them stood a little man about the same size as the Munchkins. He was clothed all in green from his head to his feet. Even his skin was of a greenish tint. At his side was a large green box. When he saw Dorothy and her companions, the man asked, “What do you wish in the Emerald City?” “We came here to see the Great Oz,” said Dorothy. The man was so surprised at this answer that he sat down to think it over. “It has been many years since anyone asked me to see Oz,” he said, shaking his head in perplexity. “He is powerful and terrible. And if you come on an idle or foolish errand to bother the wise reflections of the Great Wizard, he might be angry and destroy you all in an instant.” “But it is not a foolish errand, nor an idle one,” replied the Scarecrow. “It is important. And we have been told that Oz is a good Wizard.” “So he is,” said the green man. “He rules the Emerald City wisely and well. But to those who are not honest, or who approach him from curiosity, he is most terrible. Few have ever dared ask to see his face. I am the Guardian of the Gates, and since you demand to see the Great Oz, I must take you to his Palace. But first, you must put on the spectacles.” “Why?” asked Dorothy. “Because if you did not wear spectacles, the brightness and glory of the Emerald City would blind you. Even those who live in the City must wear spectacles night and day. They are all locked on. Oz so ordered it when the City was first built. I have the only key that will unlock them.” He opened the big box, and Dorothy saw that it was filled with spectacles. They were of every size and shape. All of them had green glasses in them. The Guardian of the Gates found a pair that would just fit Dorothy and put them over her eyes. © Shell Education

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There were two golden bands fastened to them that passed around the back of her head, where they were locked together by a little key that was at the end of a chain the Guardian of the Gates wore around his neck. When they were on, Dorothy could not take them off had she wished. But of course, she did not wish to be blinded by the glare of the Emerald City. So she said nothing. Then the green man fitted spectacles for the Scarecrow and the Tin Woodman and the Lion, and even on little Toto. All were locked fast with the key. Then the Guardian of the Gates put on his own glasses. He told them he was ready to show them to the Palace. Taking a big golden key from a peg on the wall, he opened another gate. They all followed him through the portal into the streets of the Emerald City. Even with eyes protected by the green spectacles, Dorothy and her friends were at first dazzled by the brilliancy of the wonderful City. The streets were lined with beautiful houses. Each was built of green marble and studded everywhere with sparkling emeralds. They walked over a pavement of the same green marble. Where the blocks were joined together were rows of emeralds, set closely, and glittering in the brightness of the sun. The window panes were of green glass. Even the sky above the City had a green tint, and the rays of the sun were green. There were many people—men, women, and children—walking about. They were all dressed in green clothes and had greenish skin. They looked at Dorothy and her strangely assorted company with wondering eyes. And the children all ran away and hid behind their mothers when they saw the Lion. No one spoke to them. Many shops stood in the street, and Dorothy saw that everything in them was green. Green candy and green popcorn were offered for sale, as well as green shoes, green hats, and green clothes of all sorts. At one place, a man was selling green lemonade, and when the children bought it, Dorothy could see that they paid for it with green pennies. There seemed to be no horses nor animals of any kind; the men carried things around in little green carts, which they pushed before them. Everyone seemed happy and contented and prosperous.

Element Focus: Setting Explain several reasons why the Emerald City is both a wonderful and an intimidating place. What might be some possible explanations for the greenness of the city?

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Excerpt from

The Wonderful Wizard of Oz by L. Frank Baum In front of them, and at the end of the road of yellow brick, was a big gate, all studded with emeralds that glittered so in the sun that even the painted eyes of the Scarecrow were dazzled by their brilliancy. Before them stood a little man about the same size as the Munchkins. He was clothed all in green, from his head to his feet, and even his skin was of a greenish tint. At his side was a large green box. When he saw Dorothy and her companions the man asked, “What do you wish in the Emerald City?” “We came here to see the Great Oz,” said Dorothy. The man was so surprised at this answer that he sat down to think it over. “It has been many years since anyone asked me to see Oz,” he said, shaking his head in perplexity. “He is powerful and terrible, and if you come on an idle or foolish errand to bother the wise reflections of the Great Wizard, he might be angry and destroy you all in an instant.” “But it is not a foolish errand, nor an idle one,” replied the Scarecrow, “it is important. And we have been told that Oz is a good Wizard.” “So he is,” said the green man, “and he rules the Emerald City wisely and well. But to those who are not honest, or who approach him from curiosity, he is most terrible, and few have ever dared ask to see his face. I am the Guardian of the Gates, and since you demand to see the Great Oz I must take you to his Palace. But first you must put on the spectacles.” “Why?” asked Dorothy. “Because if you did not wear spectacles the brightness and glory of the Emerald City would blind you. Even those who live in the City must wear spectacles night and day. They are all locked on, for Oz so ordered it when the City was first built, and I have the only key that will unlock them.” He opened the big box, and Dorothy saw that it was filled with spectacles of every size and shape. All of them had green glasses in them. The Guardian of the Gates found a pair that would just fit Dorothy and put them over her eyes. There were two © Shell Education

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golden bands fastened to them that passed around the back of her head, where they were locked together by a little key that was at the end of a chain the Guardian of the Gates wore around his neck. When they were on, Dorothy could not take them off had she wished, but of course she did not wish to be blinded by the glare of the Emerald City, so she said nothing. Then the green man fitted spectacles for the Scarecrow and the Tin Woodman and the Lion, and even on little Toto; and all were locked fast with the key. Then the Guardian of the Gates put on his own glasses and told them he was ready to show them to the Palace. Taking a big golden key from a peg on the wall, he opened another gate, and they all followed him through the portal into the streets of the Emerald City. Even with eyes protected by the green spectacles, Dorothy and her friends were at first dazzled by the brilliancy of the wonderful City. The streets were lined with beautiful houses all built of green marble and studded everywhere with sparkling emeralds. They walked over a pavement of the same green marble, and where the blocks were joined together were rows of emeralds, set closely, and glittering in the brightness of the sun. The window panes were of green glass; even the sky above the City had a green tint, and the rays of the sun were green. There were many people—men, women, and children—walking about, and these were all dressed in green clothes and had greenish skins. They looked at Dorothy and her strangely assorted company with wondering eyes, and the children all ran away and hid behind their mothers when they saw the Lion; but no one spoke to them. Many shops stood in the street, and Dorothy saw that everything in them was green. Green candy and green popcorn were offered for sale, as well as green shoes, green hats, and green clothes of all sorts. At one place a man was selling green lemonade, and when the children bought it Dorothy could see that they paid for it with green pennies. There seemed to be no horses nor animals of any kind; the men carried things around in little green carts, which they pushed before them. Everyone seemed happy and contented and prosperous.

Element Focus: Setting Explain several reasons why a visitor to Oz might be both impressed and intimidated by the Emerald City.

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Excerpt from

The Adventures of Peter Pan by J. M. Barrie They would have slept longer. But Peter tired quickly of sleeping. Soon he would cry in his captain voice, “We get off here.” Sometimes they had tiffs. But, mostly, they had fun. And, they drew near the Neverland. After many moons, they did reach it. And, they had been going pretty straight all the time. This was not so much because of Peter or Tink. It was more because the island was looking for them. That is the only way anyone can find those magic shores. “There it is,” said Peter calmly. “Where? Where?” “Where all the arrows are pointing.” Indeed a million golden arrows were pointing the island out to the children. Each arrow was from their friend the sun. The sun wanted them to be sure to find their way. For, soon the sun would be leaving them for the night. Wendy and John and Michael stood on tiptoe in the air. They stretched to get their first sight of the island. It was strange. But, they all recognized it at once. To them, it was not something long dreamed of and seen at last. Until they grew afraid, they greeted it as a familiar friend. They felt as if they were returning home for the holidays. “John, there’s the lagoon.” “Wendy, look at the turtles! They are burying their eggs in the sand.” “I say, John, I see your flamingo with the broken leg!” “Look, Michael! There’s your cave!” “John, what’s that in the brushwood?” “It’s a wolf with her whelps. Wendy, I do believe that’s your little whelp!” “There’s my boat, John. Her sides are bashed in!” “No, it isn’t. Why, we burned your boat.” © Shell Education

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“That’s her, though.” “Where?” “There, just across the Mysterious River.” “I see now.” Peter was a little annoyed with them for knowing so much. If he wanted to lord it over them soon he would triumph. For have I not told you that soon fear fell upon them? It came as the arrows went. The island was left in gloom. In the old days at home, the Neverland had always looked a little dark and threatening by bedtime. Then unexplored patches rose up in the dark. Black shadows moved about in them. The roar of the beasts of prey was quite different now. And above all, you lost the certainty that you would win. You were quite glad that the night lights were on. You even liked Nana to say that this was just the mantelpiece over here. Neverland was all make believe. Of course, the Neverland had been make believe in those days. But it was real now. And there were no night lights. And it was getting darker every moment. And where was Nana?

Element Focus: Setting Describe the Neverland. How might you have described it differently if it were your story?

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Excerpt from

The Adventures of Peter Pan by J. M. Barrie Indeed they would have slept longer. But Peter tired quickly of sleeping. Soon he would cry in his captain voice, “We get off here.” So with occasional tiffs, but on the whole rollicking, they drew near the Neverland. For after many moons, they did reach it. And, what is more, they had been going pretty straight all the time. This was not perhaps so much owing to the guidance of Peter or Tink as because the island was looking for them. It is the only way that anyone may sight those magic shores. “There it is,” said Peter calmly. “Where, where?” “Where all the arrows are pointing.” Indeed a million golden arrows were pointing the island out to the children. Each arrow was directed by their friend the sun. The sun wanted them to be sure of their way before leaving them for the night. Wendy and John and Michael stood on tiptoe in the air. They wanted to get their first sight of the island. Strange to say, they all recognized it at once. And it was not as something long dreamed of and seen at last. Until fear fell upon them, they hailed it as a familiar friend. They felt as if they were returning home for the holidays. “John, there’s the lagoon.” “Wendy, look at the turtles! They are burying their eggs in the sand.” “I say, John, I see your flamingo with the broken leg!” “Look, Michael, there’s your cave!” “John, what’s that in the brushwood?” “It’s a wolf with her whelps. Wendy, I do believe that’s your little whelp!” “There’s my boat, John. Her sides are stove in!” “No, it isn’t. Why, we burned your boat.” © Shell Education

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“That’s her, at any rate.” “Where?” “There, just across the Mysterious River.” “I see now.” Peter was a little annoyed with them for knowing so much. But if he wanted to lord it over them his triumph was at hand. For have I not told you that soon fear fell upon them? It came as the arrows went. The island was left in gloom. In the old days at home, the Neverland had always begun to look a little dark and threatening by bedtime. Then unexplored patches arose in the dark and spread. Black shadows moved about in them. The roar of the beasts of prey was quite different now. And above all, you lost the certainty that you would win. You were quite glad that the night lights were on. You even liked Nana to say that this was just the mantelpiece over here, and that the Neverland was all make believe. Of course, the Neverland had been make believe in those days. It was real now, and there were no night lights, and it was getting darker every moment. Where was Nana?

Element Focus: Setting Why do you think the children already knew what the Neverland looked like. How would the Neverland appear if you were to see it?

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Excerpt from

The Adventures of Peter Pan by J. M. Barrie Indeed they would have slept longer, but Peter tired quickly of sleeping, and soon he would cry in his captain voice, “We get off here.” So with occasional tiffs, but on the whole rollicking, they drew near the Neverland; for after many moons they did reach it, and, what is more, they had been going pretty straight all the time, not perhaps so much owing to the guidance of Peter or Tink as because the island was looking for them. It is only thus that any one may sight those magic shores. “There it is,” said Peter calmly. “Where, where?” “Where all the arrows are pointing.” Indeed a million golden arrows were pointing it out to the children, all directed by their friend the sun, who wanted them to be sure of their way before leaving them for the night. Wendy and John and Michael stood on tiptoe in the air to get their first sight of the island. Strange to say, they all recognized it at once, and until fear fell upon them they hailed it, not as something long dreamt of and seen at last, but as a familiar friend to whom they were returning home for the holidays. “John, there’s the lagoon.” “Wendy, look at the turtles burying their eggs in the sand.” “I say, John, I see your flamingo with the broken leg!” “Look, Michael, there’s your cave!” “John, what’s that in the brushwood?” “It’s a wolf with her whelps. Wendy, I do believe that’s your little whelp!” “There’s my boat, John, with her sides stove in!” “No, it isn’t. Why, we burned your boat.”

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“That’s her, at any rate.” “Where?” “There, just across the Mysterious River.” “I see now.” Peter was a little annoyed with them for knowing so much, but if he wanted to lord it over them his triumph was at hand, for have I not told you that anon fear fell upon them? It came as the arrows went, leaving the island in gloom. In the old days at home the Neverland had always begun to look a little dark and threatening by bedtime. Then unexplored patches arose in it and spread, black shadows moved about in them, the roar of the beasts of prey was quite different now, and above all, you lost the certainty that you would win. You were quite glad that the night lights were on. You even liked Nana to say that this was just the mantelpiece over here, and that the Neverland was all make believe. Of course the Neverland had been make believe in those days, but it was real now, and there were no night-lights, and it was getting darker every moment, and where was Nana?

Element Focus: Setting How is the Neverland different for the children during the day than during the night?

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The Adventures of Peter Pan by J. M. Barrie Indeed they would contentedly have slept longer, but Peter tired rapidly of sleeping, and presently he would bellow loudly in his captain voice, “We get off here.” So with occasional tiffs, but on the whole rollicking, they approached the Neverland; for after many moons they did reach it, and, what is perhaps surprising, they had been going reasonably straight the entire time, not perhaps so much owing to the expert guidance of Peter or Tink as because the island was searching for them. It is only thus that anyone may sight those magic shores. “There it is,” declared Peter calmly. “Where, where?” they demanded with unsuppressed excitement. “Where all the arrows are pointing.” Indeed a million golden arrows were pointing it out to the children, all directed by their friend the sun, who wanted to ensure that they were certain of their way before leaving them for the night. Wendy and John and Michael stretched on tiptoe in the air to get their first glimpse of the island. Strange to say, they all recognized it immediately, and until fear descended upon them, they hailed it, not as something long dreamt of and viewed solidly at last, but as a familiar friend to whom they were returning home for the holidays. “John, there’s the lagoon.” “Wendy, look at the turtles burying their eggs in the sand.” “I say, John, I see your flamingo with the broken leg!” “Look, Michael, there’s your cave!” “John, what’s that in the brushwood?” “It’s a wolf with her whelps. Wendy, I do believe that’s your little whelp!” “There’s my boat, John, with her sides stove in!” “No, it isn’t. Why, we burned your boat.” © Shell Education

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“That’s her, nonetheless.” “Where do you see her?” “There, just across the Mysterious River.” “Ah, I see now.” Peter was a little annoyed with them for being so well informed in advance, but if he wanted to lord it over them, his triumph was approaching, for have I not told you that anon fear fell upon them? It came as the arrows went, abandoning the island to an ever deepening gloom. In the old days at home, the Neverland had always begun to look a little dark and threatening by bedtime. Then unexplored patches arose in it and spread, ebony shadows moved about in them, the roar of the beasts of prey was quite different now, and above all, you lost the certainty that you would win. You were quite glad that the night lights were lit. You even liked Nana to say that this was just the mantelpiece over here, and that the Neverland was entirely make believe. Of course, the Neverland had been make believe in those days, but it was real now, and there were no night-lights, and it was getting darker every moment, and where was Nana?

Element Focus: Setting Explain several reasons why the children feel differently about the Neverland during the day than at night.

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A Princess of Mars by Edgar Rice Burroughs “In the name of my first ancestor, then,” she said, “where are you from? You are like my people. But, you are not like them. You speak my language. But I heard you say that you had just learned it. All Barsoomians speak the same tongue! All speak the same from the ice-clad south to the ice-clad north. However, the written languages differ. Only in the valley Dor do we hear that different language is spoken. This is where the river Iss empties into the lost sea of Korus. There is no record of anyone coming back up the river Iss. That only happens in our old legends. None come from the shores of Korus in the valley of Dor. Do not tell me that you have returned! They would kill you horribly. They would kill you anywhere on Barsoom if it were true. Tell me it is not!” Her eyes were filled with a strange, weird light. Her voice was pleading. Her little hands reached up upon my breast. They pressed against me. It was as if she were trying to pull a denial from my very heart. “I do not know your customs, Dejah Thoris. But I am from Virginia. There a gentleman does not lie to save himself. I am not from Dor. I have never seen the mysterious Iss. The lost sea of Korus is unknown to me. Do you believe me?” And then it struck me. I was very anxious. I wanted her to believe me. I did not fear what would happen. It did not matter if people thought that I had come back from their heaven or hell, or whatever it was. Why was it, then! Why should I care what she thought? I looked down at her. Her beautiful face looked at me. Her wonderful eyes showed her deep soul. My eyes met hers. And, I knew why. I shook.

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A wave of the same feeling seemed to shake. She pulled away from me. She sighed. Her eyes were earnest. Her beautiful face was turned up to mine. She whispered. “I believe you, John Carter. I do not know what a ‘gentleman’ is. I have never heard of Virginia. But on Barsoom no man lies. If he does not wish to speak the truth, he is silent. Where is this Virginia? Where is your country, John Carter?” she asked. I heard this fair name of my fair land. It seemed it had never sounded more beautiful than as it fell from those perfect lips on that long ago day. “I am of another world,” I said. “I come from the great planet Earth. It goes about our common sun. It is next within the orbit of your Barsoom. We know it as Mars. I cannot tell you how I came here. I do not know. But here I am. Being here has let me serve you. So, I am glad that I am here.” She gazed at me with troubled eyes. She looked long and questioningly. It was difficult to believe my statement. This I well knew. I could only hope that she would, because I badly wanted her to trust me. I needed her respect. I did not want to have to tell her anything of my origins. But no man could look into her deep eyes and refuse her slightest wish. Finally she smiled. She stood and said: “I shall have to believe, even though I cannot understand. I can readily see that you are not of the Barsoom of today. You are like us. But, you are different. Why should I trouble my poor head with such a problem? My heart tells me that I believe because I wish to believe!”

Element Focus: Character Who is telling the story? How can you tell?

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A Princess of Mars by Edgar Rice Burroughs “In the name of my first ancestor, then,” she continued, “where may you be from? You are like my people. But, you are not like them. You speak my language. But I heard you say that you had learned it recently. All Barsoomians speak the same tongue! Their language is the same from the ice-clad south to the ice-clad north. However, their written languages differ. Only in the valley Dor is there supposed to be a different language spoken. This is where the river Iss empties into the lost sea of Korus. There is no record of a Barsoomian returning from the river Iss. That only happens in the legends of our ancestors. None come from the shores of Korus in the valley of Dor. Do not tell me that you have returned! They would kill you horribly anywhere on Barsoom if that were true. Tell me it is not!” Her eyes were filled with a strange, weird light. Her voice was pleading. Her little hands reached up upon my breast. They were pressed against me. It was as though she were trying to wring a denial from my very heart. “I do not know your customs, Dejah Thoris. But I am from Virginia. There a gentleman does not lie to save himself. I am not of Dor. I have never seen the mysterious Iss. The lost sea of Korus is still lost to me. Do you believe me?” And then it struck me suddenly. I was very anxious. I wanted her to believe me. I did not fear what would happen if people believed that I had come back from their heaven or hell, or whatever it was. What worried me, then! Why should I care what she thought? I looked down at her. Her beautiful face looked up at me. Her wonderful eyes showed the very depth of her soul. As my eyes met hers, I knew why. I shuddered.

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A wave of like feeling seemed to shake her. She drew away from me. She sighed. And, with her earnest, beautiful face turned up to mine, she whispered. “I believe you, John Carter. I do not know what a ‘gentleman’ is. Nor have I ever heard of Virginia. But on Barsoom no man lies. If he does not wish to speak the truth, he is silent. Where is this Virginia? Where is your country, John Carter?” she asked. And it seemed that this fair name of my fair land had never sounded more beautiful than as it came from her perfect lips on that long ago. “I am of another world,” I answered. “I come from the great planet Earth. It revolves about our common sun and is next within the orbit of your Barsoom, which we know as Mars. How I came here, I cannot tell you. I do not know. But here I am, and since my presence has permitted me to serve Dejah Thoris, I am glad that I am here.” She gazed at me with troubled eyes, long and questioningly. I knew that it was difficult for her to believe my statement. I could only hope that she would, however, because I wanted her confidence and respect. I would much rather not have told her anything of my origins. But no man could look into the depth of her eyes and refuse her slightest wish. Finally she smiled, and, rising, said: “I shall have to believe even though I cannot understand. I can readily perceive that you are not of the Barsoom of today. You are like us, yet different—but why should I trouble my poor head with such a problem, when my heart tells me that I believe because I wish to believe!”

Element Focus: Character Describe how the narrator views the other character in the passage.

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A Princess of Mars by Edgar Rice Burroughs “In the name of my first ancestor, then,” she continued, “where may you be from? You are like my people. But, you are unlike them. You speak my language. But I heard you tell Tars Tarkas that you had but learned it recently. All Barsoomians speak the same tongue! All speak it from the ice-clad south to the ice-clad north. However, their written languages differ. Only in the valley Dor, where the river Iss empties into the lost sea of Korus, is there supposed to be a different language spoken. And, except in the legends of our ancestors, there is no record of a Barsoomian returning from the river Iss, from the shores of Korus in the valley of Dor. Do not tell me that you have thus returned! They would kill you horribly anywhere upon the surface of Barsoom if that were true. Tell me it is not!” Her eyes were filled with a strange, weird light. Her voice was pleading, and her little hands reached up upon my breast. They were pressed against me as though to wring a denial from my very heart. “I do not know your customs, Dejah Thoris. But in my own Virginia, a gentleman does not lie to save himself. I am not of Dor. I have never seen the mysterious Iss. The lost sea of Korus is still lost, so far as I am concerned. Do you believe me?” And then it struck me suddenly that I was very anxious that she should believe me. It was not that I feared the results which would follow a general belief that I had returned from the Barsoomian heaven or hell, or whatever it was. Why was it, then! Why should I care what she thought? I looked down at her. Her beautiful face was upturned, and her wonderful eyes opened up the very depth of her soul. As my eyes met hers I knew why, and—I shuddered.

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A similar wave of feeling seemed to stir her. She drew away from me with a sigh, and with her earnest, beautiful face turned up to mine, she whispered: “I believe you, John Carter. I do not know what a ‘gentleman’ is, nor have I ever heard before of Virginia. But on Barsoom no man lies. If he does not wish to speak the truth, he is silent. Where is this Virginia, your country, John Carter?” she asked, and it seemed that this fair name of my fair land had never sounded more beautiful than as it fell from those perfect lips on that far-gone day. “I am of another world,” I answered. “I come from the great planet Earth. It revolves about our common sun and is next within the orbit of your Barsoom, which we know as Mars. How I came here, I cannot tell you. I do not know. But here I am, and since my presence has permitted me to serve Dejah Thoris, I am glad that I am here.” She gazed at me with troubled eyes, long and questioningly. That it was difficult to believe my statement I well knew. Nor could I hope that she would do so, however much I craved her confidence and respect. I would much rather not have told her anything of my origins. But no man could look into the depth of those eyes and refuse her slightest request. Finally she smiled, and, rising, said: “I shall have to believe, even though I cannot understand. I can readily perceive that you are not of the Barsoom of today. You are like us, yet different—but why should I trouble my poor head with such a problem, when my heart tells me that I believe because I wish to believe!”

Element Focus: Character Describe three ways that this passage might be different if it were told from the point of view of Dejah Thoris, the Martian princess, instead of John Carter, the Earth man.

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A Princess of Mars by Edgar Rice Burroughs “In the name of my first ancestor, then,” she continued, “where may you be from? You are like unto my people, and yet so unlike. You speak my language, and yet I heard you tell Tars Tarkas that you had but learned it recently. All Barsoomians speak the same tongue from the ice-clad south to the ice-clad north, though their written languages differ. Only in the valley Dor, where the river Iss empties into the lost sea of Korus, is there supposed to be a different language spoken, and, except in the legends of our ancestors, there is no record of a Barsoomian returning up the river Iss, from the shores of Korus in the valley of Dor. Do not tell me that you have thus returned! They would kill you horribly anywhere upon the surface of Barsoom if that were true; tell me it is not!” Her eyes were filled with a strange, weird light; her voice was pleading, and her little hands, reached up upon my breast, were pressed against me as though to wring a denial from my very heart. “I do not know your customs, Dejah Thoris, but in my own Virginia a gentleman does not lie to save himself; I am not of Dor; I have never seen the mysterious Iss; the lost sea of Korus is still lost, so far as I am concerned. Do you believe me?” And then it struck me suddenly that I was very anxious that she should believe me. It was not that I feared the results which would follow a general belief that I had returned from the Barsoomian heaven or hell, or whatever it was. Why was it, then! Why should I care what she thought? I looked down at her; her beautiful face upturned, and her wonderful eyes opening up the very depth of her soul; and as my eyes met hers I knew why, and—I shuddered.

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A similar wave of feeling seemed to stir her; she drew away from me with a sigh, and with her earnest, beautiful face turned up to mine, she whispered: “I believe you, John Carter; I do not know what a ‘gentleman’ is, nor have I ever heard before of Virginia; but on Barsoom no man lies; if he does not wish to speak the truth he is silent. Where is this Virginia, your country, John Carter?” she asked, and it seemed that this fair name of my fair land had never sounded more beautiful than as it fell from those perfect lips on that far-gone day. “I am of another world,” I answered, “the great planet Earth, which revolves about our common sun and next within the orbit of your Barsoom, which we know as Mars. How I came here I cannot tell you, for I do not know; but here I am, and since my presence has permitted me to serve Dejah Thoris I am glad that I am here.” She gazed at me with troubled eyes, long and questioningly. That it was difficult to believe my statement I well knew, nor could I hope that she would do so however much I craved her confidence and respect. I would much rather not have told her anything of my antecedents, but no man could look into the depth of those eyes and refuse her slightest behest. Finally she smiled, and, rising, said: “I shall have to believe even though I cannot understand. I can readily perceive that you are not of the Barsoom of today; you are like us, yet different—but why should I trouble my poor head with such a problem, when my heart tells me that I believe because I wish to believe!”

Element Focus: Character In what ways does the author’s choice to tell the story from the point of view of the Earth man, John Carter, affect the way a reader might view Mars? How might this change if the story were told from the perspective of Dejah Thoris, the Martian princess?

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Frankenstein, or the Modern Prometheus by Mary Wollstonecraft (Godwin) Shelley It was a dreary night in November. That is when I finished my work. I was so anxious that I almost hurt. I gathered the instruments of life around me. I hoped to spark life into the lifeless thing that lay at my feet. It was already one in the morning. The rain struck gloomily against the window. My candle was nearly out. By the glow of its dim light, I saw the dull yellow eye of the creature open. The creature breathed hard. It gave a jerky motion. It twitched its limbs. How can I describe my feelings at this disaster? How can I describe this wretch? I had worked so long and hard to form him. His limbs were the right sizes. And I had chosen his beautiful features. Beautiful! Great God! His yellow skin barely covered his muscles and arteries. His hair was wavy, shiny black. His teeth were pearly white. But these pretty things only made his face more ugly. His watery eyes seemed almost the same color as their brown-white sockets. They sank into his shriveled face and straight black lips. The many twists of life do not change as often as human emotions. I had worked hard for nearly two years. My work had one purpose. I wanted to give life into a lifeless body. For this I had given up rest. I had given up my own health. I wanted it with passion. But now I had finished. The beauty of the dream was gone. Breathless horror filled my heart. I was disgusted. I could not stand to be near the thing I had made. I rushed out of the room. I paced my bedroom for a long time. I could not sleep. Finally, I was so tired that it overcame the other feelings. I threw myself on the bed in my clothes. I just wanted to forget for a few moments. But I could not forget. I did sleep. But I had the wildest dreams. I thought I saw Elizabeth. She was in the bloom of health! She was walking in the streets of Ingolstadt. I was delighted! I was surprised! I hugged her! I went to kiss her lips. But, they turned the blue color of death. Her face changed. I thought that I held the corpse of my dead mother. She was wrapped in a cloth. I saw the grave-worms crawling in the folds of the flannel. I awoke with horror. A cold dew covered my forehead. My teeth chattered. Every muscle was tight. The light of the yellow moon was dim. It forced its way through the window shutters.

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But, I could see. I saw the wretch. I saw the miserable monster that I had created. He held up the curtain of the bed. His eyes, if eyes they may be called, looked at me. His jaws opened. He muttered some unclear sounds. A grin wrinkled his cheeks. He might have spoken. But I did not hear. One hand was stretched out. He seemed to be trying to stop me. But I escaped. I rushed downstairs. The courtyard of the house was safe. I stayed there the rest of the night. I walked up and down. I was completely upset. I was listening closely. My ears caught each sound. I feared that each sound came from the demon corpse, that awful thing I had made come to life. Oh! No living person could stand the horror of that face. If you gave a mummy movement, it would not be so ugly. I had seen him unfinished. He was ugly then. But then those muscles and joints were given motion. It became a horrible thing. Even Dante could not have imagined a thing like this. I spent the night very nervous. Sometimes my pulse beat hard and fast. I felt it jerk through every artery. Sometimes, I nearly sank to the ground. I was exhausted and weak. The horror was mixed with other emotions. I felt bitter and disappointed. My dreams had been my food and rest for so long! But now they had become a hell to me. And the change was so fast! The defeat was so complete!

Element Focus: Character Is this story told in the first person, second person, or third person? How can you tell?

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Frankenstein, or the Modern Prometheus by Mary Wollstonecraft (Godwin) Shelley It was on a dreary night of November that I saw the result of my work. I was so anxious that I was almost in pain. I collected the instruments of life around me. I hoped to spark life into the lifeless thing that lay at my feet. It was already one in the morning. The rain pattered gloomly against the panes. My candle was nearly out. By the glimmer of its half-glowing light, I saw the dull yellow eye of the creature open. Then, it breathed hard. A motion twitched its limbs. How can I describe my emotions at this catastrophe? How can I describe the wretch whom I had worked so long and hard to form? His limbs were in proportion. And I had chosen beautiful features. Beautiful! Great God! His yellow skin barely covered the muscles and arteries beneath. His hair was of a lustrous black. It flowed. His teeth were pearly white. But these pretty things only made his watery eyes. These seemed almost of the same color as the dun‑white sockets in which they were set. They blended into his shriveled complexion and straight black lips. The many twists of life do not change as often as the emotions of human nature. I had worked hard for nearly two years. My work had one purpose. I wanted to give life into a lifeless body. For this I had sacrificed rest. I had given up my own health. I wanted it with passion. Now I had finished. The beauty of the dream vanished. Breathless horror and disgust filled my heart. I could not stand to be near the thing I created. I rushed out. I paced my bed-chamber for a long time. I could not sleep. Finally, weariness defeated the mixed emotions I was feeling. I threw myself on the bed in my clothes. I wanted a few moments of forgetfulness. But forgetting was in vain. I slept, indeed. But I was troubled by the wildest dreams. I thought I saw Elizabeth. She was in the bloom of health, walking in the streets of Ingolstadt. Delighted and surprised, I embraced her! But as I kissed her lips, they became blue with the hue of death. Her features changed. I thought that I held the corpse of my dead mother. A shroud enveloped her form. I saw the grave-worms crawling in the folds of the flannel. I awoke with horror. Cold dew covered my forehead. My teeth chattered. Every muscle was tight. I could see the dim and yellow light of the moon. It shone through the window shutters.

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I beheld the wretch—the miserable monster whom I had created. He held up the curtain of the bed. His eyes, if eyes they may be called, stared at me. His jaws opened. And he muttered some strange sounds. A grin wrinkled his cheeks. He might have spoken. But I did not hear. One hand was stretched out, seemingly to detain me. But I escaped. I rushed downstairs. And I found safety in the courtyard of the house. I stayed there during the rest of the night. I walked up and down. I was very agitated. I was listening attentively. My ears heard and feared each sound as if each sound was the approach of the demon corpse which I had made come so miserably to life. Oh! No mortal could withstand the horror of that face. A mummy again given movement could not be as hideous as that wretch. I had gazed on him while unfinished. He was ugly then. But when those muscles and joints were given motion, it became a horrible thing. Even Dante could not have conceived such a thing as this. I passed the night wretchedly. Sometimes my pulse beat so hard and fast that I felt it jerk through every artery. Other times, I nearly sank to the ground through exhaustion and extreme weakness. The horror mixed with my other emotions. I, too, felt bitter of disappointment. My dreams had been my food and enjoyment for so long! But now they had become a hell to me. And the change was so rapid! The overthrow was so complete!

Element Focus: Character Explain why the author may have chosen to tell the story in the first person voice of Dr. Frankenstein. Do you think this was a good choice? Explain your answer.

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Excerpt from

Frankenstein, or the Modern Prometheus by Mary Wollstonecraft (Godwin) Shelley It was on a dreary night of November that I beheld the accomplishment of my toils. With an anxiety that almost amounted to agony, I collected the instruments of life around me. I hoped to infuse a spark of being into the lifeless thing that lay at my feet. It was already one in the morning. The rain pattered dismally against the panes. My candle was nearly burnt out, when, by the glimmer of the half-extinguished light, I saw the dull yellow eye of the creature open. It breathed hard. A convulsive motion agitated its limbs. How can I describe my emotions at this catastrophe? How can I describe the wretch whom with such infinite pains and care I had worked to form? His limbs were in proportion. And I had selected his features as beautiful. Beautiful! Great God! His yellow skin scarcely covered the work of muscles and arteries beneath. His hair was of a lustrous black and flowing. His teeth were of a pearly whiteness. But these luxuriances only formed a more horrid contrast with his watery eyes. These seemed almost of the same color as the dun-white sockets in which they were set, his shriveled complexion and straight black lips. The different accidents of life are not so changeable as the feelings of human nature. I had worked hard for nearly two years. My effort had the sole purpose of infusing life into an inanimate body. For this I had deprived myself of rest and health. I had desired it with a strength that far exceeded moderation. But now I had finished. The beauty of the dream vanished. Breathless horror and disgust filled my heart. Unable to endure being near the thing I had created, I rushed out of the room. I continued a long time pacing my bed-chamber. I was unable to compose my mind to sleep. At length, weariness overtook the tumult I had before endured. I threw myself on the bed in my clothes, seeking a few moments of forgetfulness. But it was in vain. I slept, indeed. But I was disturbed by the wildest dreams. I thought I saw Elizabeth, in the bloom of health, walking in the streets of Ingolstadt. Delighted and surprised, I embraced her! But as I pressed the first kiss on her lips, they became livid with the hue of death. Her features appeared to change, and I thought that I held the corpse of my dead mother in my arms. A shroud enclosed her form. I saw the grave-worms crawling in the folds of the flannel. I started from my sleep with horror. A cold dew covered my forehead, my teeth chattered, and every limb tightened. I could see the dim and yellow light of the moon, as it forced its way through the window shutters. © Shell Education

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I beheld the wretch—the miserable monster whom I had created. He held up the curtain of the bed. His eyes, if eyes they may be called, were fixed on me. His jaws opened, and he muttered some inarticulate sounds, while a grin wrinkled his cheeks. He might have spoken, but I did not hear. One hand was stretched out, seemingly to detain me. But I escaped and rushed downstairs. I took refuge in the courtyard belonging to the house which I inhabited. There I remained during the rest of the night, walking up and down in the greatest agitation, listening attentively, catching and fearing each sound as if it were to announce the approach of the demoniacal corpse to which I had so miserably given life. Oh! No mortal could support the horror of that countenance. A mummy again emdued with animation could not be so hideous as that wretch. I had gazed on him while unfinished; he was ugly then, but when those muscles and joints were rendered capable of motion, it became a thing such as even Dante could not have conceived. I passed the night wretchedly. Sometimes my pulse beat so quickly and hardly that I felt the palpitation of every artery. At others, I nearly sank to the ground through languor and extreme weakness. Mingled with this horror, I felt the bitterness of disappointment. Dreams that had been my food and pleasant rest for so long a space were now become a hell to me; and the change was so rapid, the overthrow so complete!

Element Focus: Character What if this story were told by an impartial narrator instead of in the voice of Dr. Frankenstein? Would that change the way the reader experiences the tale? Explain.

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Excerpt from

Frankenstein, or the Modern Prometheus by Mary Wollstonecraft (Godwin) Shelley It was on a dreary night of November that I beheld the accomplishment of my toils. With an anxiety that almost amounted to agony, I collected the instruments of life around me, that I might infuse a spark of being into the lifeless thing that lay at my feet. It was already one in the morning. The rain pattered dismally against the panes, and my candle was nearly burnt out, when, by the glimmer of the half-extinguished light, I saw the dull yellow eye of the creature open. It breathed hard, and a convulsive motion agitated its limbs. How can I describe my emotions at this catastrophe, or how delineate the wretch whom with such infinite pains and care I had endeavored to form? His limbs were in proportion, and I had selected his features as beautiful. Beautiful! Great God! His yellow skin scarcely covered the work of muscles and arteries beneath. His hair was of a lustrous black, and flowing; his teeth of a pearly whiteness; but these luxuriances only formed a more horrid contrast with his watery eyes, that seemed almost of the same color as the dun-white sockets in which they were set, his shriveled complexion and straight black lips. The different accidents of life are not so changeable as the feelings of human nature. I had worked hard for nearly two years, for the sole purpose of infusing life into an inanimate body. For this I had deprived myself of rest and health. I had desired it with an ardor that far exceeded moderation. But now that I had finished, the beauty of the dream vanished, and breathless horror and disgust filled my heart. Unable to endure the aspect of the being I had created, I rushed out of the room and continued a long time traversing my bed-chamber, unable to compose my mind to sleep. At length lassitude succeeded to the tumult I had before endured, and I threw myself on the bed in my clothes, endeavoring to seek a few moments of forgetfulness. But it was in vain; I slept, indeed, but I was disturbed by the wildest dreams. I thought I saw Elizabeth, in the bloom of health, walking in the streets of Ingolstadt. Delighted and surprised, I embraced her, but as I imprinted the first kiss on her lips, they became livid with the hue of death; her features appeared to change, and I thought that I held the corpse of my dead mother in my arms; a shroud enveloped her form, and I saw the grave-worms crawling in the folds of the flannel. I started from my sleep with horror; a cold dew covered my forehead, my teeth chattered, and every limb became convulsed; when, by the dim and yellow light of the moon, as it forced its way through the window shutters. © Shell Education

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I beheld the wretch—the miserable monster whom I had created. He held up the curtain of the bed; and his eyes, if eyes they may be called, were fixed on me. His jaws opened, and he muttered some inarticulate sounds, while a grin wrinkled his cheeks. He might have spoken, but I did not hear. One hand was stretched out, seemingly to detain me, but I escaped and rushed downstairs. I took refuge in the courtyard belonging to the house which I inhabited, where I remained during the rest of the night, walking up and down in the greatest agitation, listening attentively, catching and fearing each sound as if it were to announce the approach of the demoniacal corpse to which I had so miserably given life. Oh! No mortal could support the horror of that countenance. A mummy again endued with animation could not be so hideous as that wretch. I had gazed on him while unfinished; he was ugly then, but when those muscles and joints were rendered capable of motion, it became a thing such as even Dante could not have conceived. I passed the night wretchedly. Sometimes my pulse beat so quickly and hardly that I felt the palpitation of every artery. At others, I nearly sank to the ground through languor and extreme weakness. Mingled with this horror, I felt the bitterness of disappointment. Dreams that had been my food and pleasant rest for so long a space were now become a hell to me; and the change was so rapid, the overthrow so complete!

Element Focus: Character In what ways does telling the tale in the first person voice of Dr. Frankenstein allow the author to more fully explore the issue of humans tinkering with life and death?

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The Lost World by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle The door was opened. I saw an odd, swarthy, dried-up person. He was of uncertain age. He wore a dark pilot jacket. And he had brown leather boots. I found afterwards that he was the driver. He replaced a string of runaway butlers. He looked me up and down. He looked at me with a searching, light blue eye. “Expected?” he asked. “An appointment.” “Got your letter?” I showed the envelope. “Right!” He seemed to be a person of few words. I followed him down the hall. Then a small woman suddenly appeared. She stepped out from the dining room door. She was bright. She was lively. And she had dark eyes. She seemed more French than English. “One moment,” she said. “You can wait, Austin. Step in here, sir. May I ask if you have met my husband before?” “No, madam. I have not.” “Then I apologize to you in advance. I must tell you that he is a perfectly impossible person. He is absolutely impossible. I think you should know now. Then you will be more ready to put up with him.” “It is most kind of you, madam.” “Get quickly out of the room if he seems violent. Don’t wait to argue with him. Several people have been hurt doing that. That causes a public scandal. It makes us all look bad. I hope you didn’t want to see him about South America?” I could not lie to a lady.

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“Dear me! That is his most dangerous subject. You won’t believe a word he says. I’m sure I don’t wonder. But don’t tell him so. It makes him very violent. Pretend to believe him. You may get through all right. Remember, he believes it himself. Of that you may be sure. A more honest man never lived. Don’t wait any longer. He may suspect. If you find him dangerous—really dangerous—ring the bell. Hold him off until I come. Even at his worst, I can usually control him.” With these comforting words, the lady handed me over to the quiet Austin. He had waited like a silent bronze statue during our short talk. I was taken to the end of the hall. There was a tap at a door. A bull’s bellow rang from within. Then I was face to face with the Professor. He sat in a turning chair. He was behind a wide table. The table was covered with books, maps, and diagrams. As I entered, his seat spun round to face me. I gasped. I was ready for something strange. But I was not ready for a huge personality. It was his size which took one’s breath away. Well, it was his size. And it was his imposing presence. His head was huge. It was the largest I have ever seen on a human being. If I had tried on his top hat, it would have slipped over my head. It would have fallen down on my shoulders. He had a face and beard like an Assyrian bull. The face was red. The beard was so black it was almost blue. It was spade-shaped. It hung down over his chest. His hair was strange. It was stuck down in front. It made a long, curving wisp. This covered his large forehead. The eyes were blue-gray. They looked from under big black eyebrows. The eyes were very clear. They were very critical. And they were very masterful. I could see a huge spread of shoulders. And he had a chest like a barrel. These were the parts I could see over the table. And there were two huge hands. These were covered with long, black hair. His voice was bellowing. It was roaring. It was rumbling. This was my first look at the notorious Professor Challenger. “Well?” said he. He gave me a rude stare. “What now?”

Element Focus: Character Is Professor Challenger a stereotype or a well-rounded character? Support your answer from the text.

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The Lost World by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle The door was opened by an odd, swarthy, dried-up person of uncertain age. He wore a dark pilot jacket and brown leather leggings. I found out later that he was the driver. He performed the duties of a string of fugitive butlers. He looked me up and down with a searching light blue eye. “Expected?” he asked. “An appointment.” “Got your letter?” I showed the envelope. “Right!” He seemed to be a person of few words. Following him down the hall a small woman suddenly interrupted me. She stepped out from behind the dining‑room door. She was a bright, vivacious, dark-eyed lady. She seemed more French than English. “One moment,” she said. “You can wait, Austin. Step in here, sir. May I ask if you have met my husband before?” “No, madam. I have not had the honor.” “Then I apologize to you in advance. I must tell you that he is a perfectly impossible person—absolutely impossible. If you are forewarned you will be the more ready to make allowances.” “It is most considerate of you, madam.” “Get quickly out of the room if he seems likely to be violent. Don’t wait to argue with him. Several people have been injured through doing that. Afterwards there is a public scandal. And it reflects upon me and all of us. I suppose it wasn’t about South America you wanted to see him?” I could not lie to a lady.

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“Dear me! That is his most dangerous subject. You won’t believe a word he says. I’m sure I don’t wonder. But don’t tell him so. It makes him very violent. Pretend to believe him. You may get through all right. Remember, he believes it himself. Of that you may be assured. A more honest man never lived. Don’t wait any longer or he may suspect. If you find him dangerous—really dangerous—ring the bell. Hold him off until I come. Even at his worst, I can usually control him.” With these encouraging words, the lady handed me over to the taciturn Austin. He had waited like a silent bronze statue during our short interview. I was taken to the end of the hall. There was a tap at a door. A bull’s bellow rang from within. Then I was face to face with the Professor. He sat in a turning chair behind a broad table. The table was covered with books, maps, and diagrams. As I entered, his seat spun round to face me. His appearance made me gasp. I was prepared for something strange. But I was not ready for so powerful a personality. It was his size which took one’s breath away. Well, it was his size and his imposing presence. His head was enormous. It was the largest I have ever seen upon a human being. I am sure that if I had tried on his top hat, it would have slipped over my head entirely. It would have fallen down on my shoulders. He had a face and beard that reminded me of an Assyrian bull. The face was red. The beard was so black it was almost blue. It was spade-shaped. It rippled down over his chest. His hair was strange. It was plastered down in front in a long, curving wisp. It covered his large forehead. The eyes were blue-gray. They rested under great black eyebrows. The eyes were very clear. They were very critical. And they were very masterful. A huge spread of shoulders and a chest like a barrel were the other parts of him I could see above the table. There were also two enormous hands covered with long, black hair. This and a bellowing, roaring, rumbling voice made up my first impression at the notorious Professor Challenger. “Well?” said he, with a most insolent stare. “What now?”

Element Focus: Character Describe Professor Challenger.

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The Lost World by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle The door was opened by an odd, swarthy, dried-up person of uncertain age, with a dark pilot jacket and brown leather gaiters. I found afterwards that he was the chauffeur, who filled the gaps left by a succession of fugitive butlers. He looked me up and down with a searching light blue eye. “Expected?” he asked. “An appointment.” “Got your letter?” I produced the envelope. “Right!” He seemed to be a person of few words. Following him down the passage I was suddenly interrupted by a small woman, who stepped out from what proved to be the dining room door. She was a bright, vivacious, dark-eyed lady, more French than English in her type. “One moment,” she said. “You can wait, Austin. Step in here, sir. May I ask if you have met my husband before?” “No, madam, I have not had the honor.” “Then I apologize to you in advance. I must tell you that he is a perfectly impossible person—absolutely impossible. If you are forewarned you will be the more ready to make allowances.” “It is most considerate of you, madam.” “Get quickly out of the room if he seems inclined to be violent. Don’t wait to argue with him. Several people have been injured through doing that. Afterwards there is a public scandal and it reflects upon me and all of us. I suppose it wasn’t about South America you wanted to see him?” I could not lie to a lady.

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“Dear me! That is his most dangerous subject. You won’t believe a word he says—I’m sure I don’t wonder. But don’t tell him so, for it makes him very violent. Pretend to believe him, and you may get through all right. Remember he believes it himself. Of that you may be assured. A more honest man never lived. Don’t wait any longer or he may suspect. If you find him dangerous—really dangerous—ring the bell and hold him off until I come. Even at his worst I can usually control him.” With these encouraging words the lady handed me over to the taciturn Austin, who had waited like a bronze statue of discretion during our short interview, and I was conducted to the end of the passage. There was a tap at a door, a bull’s bellow from within, and I was face to face with the Professor. He sat in a rotating chair behind a broad table, which was covered with books, maps, and diagrams. As I entered, his seat spun round to face me. His appearance made me gasp. I was prepared for something strange, but not for so overpowering a personality as this. It was his size which took one’s breath away—his size and his imposing presence. His head was enormous, the largest I have ever seen upon a human being. I am sure that his top-hat, had I ever ventured to don it, would have slipped over me entirely and rested on my shoulders. He had the face and beard which I associate with an Assyrian bull; the former florid, the latter so black as almost to have a suspicion of blue, spade-shaped and rippling down over his chest. The hair was peculiar, plastered down in front in a long, curving wisp over his massive forehead. The eyes were blue-gray under great black tufts, very clear, very critical, and very masterful. A huge spread of shoulders and a chest like a barrel were the other parts of him which appeared above the table, save for two enormous hands covered with long black hair. This and a bellowing, roaring, rumbling voice made up my first impression of the notorious Professor Challenger. “Well?” said he, with a most insolent stare. “What now?”

Element Focus: Character What makes Professor Challenger memorable?

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Excerpt from

The Lost World by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle The door was opened by an odd, swarthy, dried-up person of indeterminate age, sporting a dark pilot jacket and brown leather gaiters. I discovered afterwards that he was the chauffeur, who filled the gaps left by a successive parade of fugitive butlers. Presently, he looked me up and down with a searching, light blue eye. “Expected?” he inquired succinctly. “An appointment,” I replied. “Got your letter?” he further demanded. I produced the envelope for his inspection. “Right!” He was evidently a person of few words. Following him down the passage, I was suddenly interrupted by a petite woman, who stepped out from what proved to be the diningroom door. She was a bright, vivacious, dark-eyed lady, more French than English in her type. “One moment,” she said. “You can wait, Austin. Step in here, sir. May I ask if you have met my husband before?” “No, madam, I have not had the honor.” “Then I apologize to you in advance, for I must inform you that he is a perfectly impossible person—absolutely impossible. If you are forewarned, you will be the more ready to make allowances.” “It is most considerate of you, madam.” “Get quickly out of the room if he seems inclined to be violent. Under no circumstances should you wait to argue with him as several people have been injured through doing that, and afterwards there is a public scandal and it reflects upon me and all of us. I suppose it wasn’t about South America you wanted to see him?” I could not lie to a lady.

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“Dear me! That is his most dangerous subject. You won’t believe a word he says— I’m sure I don’t wonder. But don’t tell him so, for it makes him very violent. Pretend to believe him, and you may get through all right. Remember he believes it himself. Of that you may be assured because a more honest man never lived. Don’t wait any longer or he may suspect. If you find him dangerous—really dangerous—ring the bell and hold him off until I come. Even at his worst, I can usually control him.” With these encouraging words, the lady handed me over to the taciturn Austin, who had waited like a bronze statue of discretion during our short interview, and I was conducted to the end of the passage. There was a tap at a door, a bull’s bellow from within, and I was face to face with the Professor. He sat in a rotating chair behind a broad table, which was covered with books, maps, and diagrams. As I entered, his seat spun round to face me, and my first glimpse of his appearance made me gasp. I was prepared for something strange, but not for so overpowering a personality as this. It was his size which took one’s breath away—his size and his imposing presence. His head was enormous, the largest I have ever seen upon a human being. I am quite certain that his top-hat, had I ever ventured to don it, would have slipped over my cranium entirely and rested neatly on my shoulders. He had the face and beard which I associate with an Assyrian bull; the former florid, the latter so black as almost to have a suspicion of blue, spade-shaped and rippling down over his great chest. The hair was peculiar, plastered down in front in a long, curving wisp covering his massive forehead. The eyes were blue-gray orbs peering out from under great black tufts— very clear, very critical, and very masterful. A huge spread of shoulders and a chest like a barrel were the other parts of him which appeared above the table, save for two enormous hands covered with long, black hair. These things combined with a bellowing, roaring, rumbling voice made up my first impression of the notorious Professor Challenger. “Well?” demanded he, with a most insolent stare. “What now?”

Element Focus: Character Would you be afraid of the Professor? Why or why not?

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The Wind in the Willows by Kenneth Grahame “I wanted to ask you to take me to meet Mr. Toad. I’ve heard so much about him. I do so want to meet him.” “Why, of course,” said the kind Rat. He jumped to his feet. He forgot about poetry for the day. “Get the boat out. We’ll paddle up there at once. It’s never the wrong time to call on Toad. Early or late he’s always the same fellow. He is always friendly. He is always glad to see you. He is always sorry when you go!” “He must be a very nice animal,” said the Mole. He got into the boat and took the oars. The Rat sat comfortably in the stern. “He is the best of animals,” replied Rat. “He is so simple. He is so cheerful. And he is so affectionate. Maybe he’s not very clever. We can’t all be geniuses. And maybe he is boastful. And he is conceited. But he has got some great qualities, has Toady.” They rounded a bend in the river. They came in sight of a handsome, dignified old house. It was made of old red brick. There were well-kept lawns. The lawns reached down to the water’s edge. “There’s Toad Hall,” said the Rat. “That creek on the left leads to his boathouse. You see where the notice board says, ‘Private. No landing allowed.’ That is where we’ll leave the boat. The stables are over there to the right. That’s the dining hall you’re looking at now. It is very old, that is. Toad is rather rich, you know. This is one of the nicest houses in these parts. But we never tell that to Toad.” They got out of the boat. They walked across the bright, flowery lawns in search of Toad. They found him as he rested in a wicker garden chair. His face had a preoccupied look. There was a large map spread out on his knees.

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“Hooray!” he cried! He jumped up when he saw them. “This is great!” He shook the paws of both of them warmly. He didn’t wait to meet the Mole. “How KIND of you!” he went on. He was dancing round them. ‘I was just going to send a boat down the river for you, Ratty! I was going to give strict orders that you were to be carried up here at once. It didn’t matter what you were doing. I need you badly—both of you. Now what will you take? Come inside and have something! You don’t know how lucky it is that you turned up just now!” “Let’s sit quiet a bit, Toady!” said the Rat. He sat down in an easy chair. The Mole sat in a chair by his side. He made a polite remark about Toad’s ‘delightful residence.’ “Finest house on the whole river,” cried Toad loudly. “Or anywhere else, for that matter,” he added. The Rat nudged the Mole. Unfortunately, the Toad saw him do it. He turned very red. There was a moment’s painful silence. Then Toad laughed. “All right, Ratty,” he said. “It’s just how I am, you know. And it’s not such a very bad house, is it? You know you rather like it yourself. Now, look here. Let’s be sensible. You are the very animals I wanted. You’ve got to help me. It’s very important!” “It’s about your rowing, I guess,” said the Rat. “You’re getting on fairly well. Though you splash a lot still. You need to be patient. And if you get a good coach, you may—”

Element Focus: Character Rat tells us about Toad over the course of his dialogue with Mole. What are some things that Rat likes about Toad? What are some things that Rat criticizes about his friend?

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The Wind in the Willows by Kenneth Grahame “But what I wanted to ask you was, won’t you take me to meet Mr. Toad? I’ve heard so much about him. I do so want to make his acquaintance.” “Why, certainly,” said the friendly Rat. He jumped to his feet and dismissed poetry from his mind for the day. “Get the boat out. We’ll paddle up there at once. It’s never the wrong time to call on Toad. Early or late he’s always the same fellow. He is always friendly. He is always glad to see you. He is always sorry when you go!” “He must be a very nice animal,” said the Mole. He got into the boat and took the oars. The Rat settled himself comfortably in the stern. “He is indeed the best of animals,” replied Rat. “So simple, so good-natured, and so affectionate. Perhaps he’s not very clever. We can’t all be geniuses. And maybe he is both boastful and conceited. But he has got some great qualities, has Toady.” Rounding a bend in the river, they saw a handsome, dignified old house. It was made of soft-colored red brick. There were well-kept lawns reaching down to the water’s edge. “There’s Toad Hall,” said the Rat. “That creek on the left, where the notice-board says, ‘Private. No landing allowed,’ leads to his boathouse. That is where we’ll leave the boat. The stables are over there to the right. That’s the banqueting-hall you’re looking at now—very old, that is. Toad is rather rich, you know. This is really one of the nicest houses in these parts. But we never admit that to Toad.” They disembarked. They strolled across the gay flower-filled lawns in search of Toad. They presently found him as he rested in a wicker garden chair. His face had a preoccupied expression. There was a large map spread out on his knees.

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“Hooray!” he cried, jumping up on seeing them. “This is splendid!” He shook the paws of both of them warmly. He didn’t wait for an introduction to the Mole. “How KIND of you!” he went on, dancing round them. “I was just going to send a boat down the river for you, Ratty! I was going to give strict orders that you were to be carried up here at once, whatever you were doing. I want you badly—both of you. Now what will you take? Come inside and have something! You don’t know how lucky it is, your turning up just now!” “Let’s sit quiet a bit, Toady!” said the Rat, sitting himself on an easy chair. The Mole took another by the side of him and made some civil remark about Toad’s ‘delightful residence.’ “Finest house on the whole river,” cried Toad loudly. “Or anywhere else, for that matter,” he could not help adding. Here the Rat nudged the Mole. Unfortunately the Toad saw him do it. He turned very red. There was a moment’s painful silence. Then Toad burst out laughing. “All right, Ratty,” he said. “It’s only my way, you know. And it’s not such a very bad house, is it? You know you rather like it yourself. Now, look here. Let’s be smart. You are the very animals I wanted. You’ve got to help me. It’s most important!” “It’s about your rowing, I suppose,” said the Rat, with an innocent air. “You’re getting on fairly well. Though you splash a lot still. With a great deal of patience, and good coaching, you may——”

Element Focus: Character Much of Toad’s character is revealed through dialogue between the different animals. Describe Toad as his friend Rat sees him.

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The Wind in the Willows by Kenneth Grahame “But what I wanted to ask you was, won’t you take me to call on Mr. Toad? I’ve heard so much about him, and I do so want to make his acquaintance.” “Why, certainly,” said the good-natured Rat, jumping to his feet and dismissing poetry from his mind for the day. “Get the boat out, and we’ll paddle up there at once. It’s never the wrong time to call on Toad. Early or late he’s always the same fellow. Always good-tempered, always glad to see you, always sorry when you go!” “He must be a very nice animal,” observed the Mole, as he got into the boat and took the sculls, while the Rat settled himself comfortably in the stern. “He is indeed the best of animals,” replied Rat. “So simple, so good-natured, and so affectionate. Perhaps he’s not very clever—we can’t all be geniuses; and it may be that he is both boastful and conceited. But he has got some great qualities, has Toady.” Rounding a bend in the river, they came in sight of a handsome, dignified old house of mellowed red brick, with well-kept lawns reaching down to the water’s edge. “There’s Toad Hall,” said the Rat; “and that creek on the left, where the notice‑board says, ‘Private. No landing allowed,’ leads to his boathouse, where we’ll leave the boat. The stables are over to the right. That’s the banqueting-hall you’re looking at now—very old, that is. Toad is rather rich, you know, and this is really one of the nicest houses in these parts, though we never admit as much to Toad.” They disembarked, and strolled across the gay flower-decked lawns in search of Toad, whom they presently happened upon resting in a wicker garden-chair, with a preoccupied expression of face, and a large map spread out on his knees.

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“Hooray!” he cried, jumping up on seeing them, “this is splendid!” He shook the paws of both of them warmly, never waiting for an introduction to the Mole. “How KIND of you!” he went on, dancing round them. “I was just going to send a boat down the river for you, Ratty, with strict orders that you were to be fetched up here at once, whatever you were doing. I want you badly—both of you. Now what will you take? Come inside and have something! You don’t know how lucky it is, your turning up just now!” “Let’s sit quiet a bit, Toady!” said the Rat, throwing himself into an easy chair, while the Mole took another by the side of him and made some civil remark about Toad’s ‘delightful residence.’ “Finest house on the whole river,” cried Toad boisterously. “Or anywhere else, for that matter,” he could not help adding. Here the Rat nudged the Mole. Unfortunately the Toad saw him do it, and turned very red. There was a moment’s painful silence. Then Toad burst out laughing. “All right, Ratty,” he said. “It’s only my way, you know. And it’s not such a very bad house, is it? You know you rather like it yourself. Now, look here. Let’s be sensible. You are the very animals I wanted. You’ve got to help me. It’s most important!” “It’s about your rowing, I suppose,” said the Rat, with an innocent air. “You’re getting on fairly well, though you splash a good bit still. With a great deal of patience, and any quantity of coaching, you may——”

Element Focus: Character Describe three observations that the Rat makes about Toad that Toad then confirms about himself through his own dialogue.

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The Wind in the Willows by Kenneth Grahame “But what I wanted to inquire was, won’t you take me to call on Mr. Toad? I’ve heard so much about him, and I do so want to make his acquaintance.” “Why, certainly,” said the good-natured Rat, jumping to his feet and dismissing poetry from his mind for the day. “Go get the boat out, and we’ll paddle up there at once. It’s never the wrong time to call on Toad, since early or late, he’s always the same fellow. Always good‑tempered, always glad to see you, always sorry when you go!” “He must be a very nice animal,” observed the Mole, as he got into the boat and took the sculls, while the Rat settled himself comfortably in the stern. “He is indeed the best of animals,” replied Rat. “So simple, so good-natured, and so affectionate. Of course, he is perhaps not very clever—we can’t all be geniuses, and it may be that he is both boastful and conceited. But he has got some great qualities, has Toady.” Rounding a bend in the river, into their view swelled a handsome, dignified old house of mellowed red brick, with well-kept lawns reaching down to the water’s edge. “There’s Toad Hall,” declared the Rat; “that creek on the left, where the notice board says, ‘Private. No landing allowed,’ leads to his boat-house, which is where we’ll leave the boat. The stables are over there to the right, and that’s the banqueting‑hall you’re looking at now—very old, that is. Toad is rather rich, you know, and this is really one of the nicest houses in these parts, though we never admit as much to Toad.” They disembarked, and strolled lazily across the festive flower-decked lawns in search of Toad, whom they presently happened upon resting in a wicker garden chair, with a pre-occupied expression of face, and a large map spread out across his knees.

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“Hooray!” he cried, jumping up on seeing them, “this is more than splendid!” He shook the paws of both of them warmly, never waiting for an introduction to the Mole. “How surpassingly KIND of you!” he continued, dancing energetically round them. “I was just going to send a boat down the river for you, Ratty, with strict orders that you were to be fetched up here at once, whatever you were engaged in doing. I need your assistance badly—both of you. Now what refreshment will you take? Come inside and have something! You can’t imagine how lucky it is, your turning up just now!” “Let’s sit quiet a bit, Toady!” said the Rat, throwing himself restfully into an easy chair, while the Mole took another by the side of him and made some courteous remark about Toad’s ‘delightful residence.’ “Finest house on the whole river,” announced Toad boisterously. “Or anywhere else, for that matter,” he could not resist adding with obvious pride. Here the Rat nudged the Mole, and unfortunately the Toad saw him do it, and turned quite scarlet. There was a moment’s painful silence before Toad burst out laughing. “All right, Ratty,” he admitted sheepishly. “It’s only my way, you know. And it’s not such a very bad house, now is it? You know you rather like it yourself. Now, look here, let’s be sensible because you are the very animals I wanted. You’ve simply got to help me because it’s most important!” “It’s about your rowing, I suppose,” said the Rat, with an innocent air. “You’re getting on fairly well, though you splash a good bit still. With a great deal of patience, and any quantity of coaching, you may——”

Element Focus: Character For what reasons do you like or dislike Toad?

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A Journey into the Center of the Earth by Jules Verne “Go down, bold traveler! Go into the crater of the jokul of Sneffels. This is where the shadow of Scartaris touches before the kalends of July. You will find the center of the earth. This I have done, Arne Saknussemm.” My uncle read this. Then he gave a spring. It was like he had touched a Leyden jar. His boldness, his joy, and his belief were magnificent to see. He came and he went. He grabbed his head between both his hands. He pushed the chairs out of their places. He piled up his books. He even rattled his special lumps of flints together. He sent a kick here. He sent a thump there. At last his nerves calmed down. He was like a man tired by spending too much life force. He sank back into his chair. He was exhausted. “What time is it?” he asked after a few moments of silence. “Three o’clock,” I said. “Is it really? The dinner-hour is past. And I did not know it. I am half dead with hunger. Come on. And after dinner—” “Well?” “After dinner, pack up my trunk.” “What?” I cried. “And yours!” said the tireless Professor. He went into the diningroom.

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His words made me scared. But I didn’t show fear. I even put a good face on it. Only scientific arguments could have any weight with Professor Liedenbrock. Now there were good ones against going on such a trip. Go to the center of the earth! What nonsense! But I kept my arguments back. I would wait until the right moment. I thought about the idea of my dinner. The meal had not yet arrived. It is no use to tell of the rage and curses of my uncle at the empty table. Explanations were given. Martha was set free. She ran off to the market. She did her part well. In an hour, my hunger was fed. I was able to think again of this serious situation. During dinnertime, my uncle was almost merry. He told some smart jokes which never hurt anybody. Dessert was over. He called me into his study. I obeyed. He sat at one end of his table. I sat at the other. “Axel,” he said kindly. “You are a very smart young man. You have done me a big favor. I am tired out with the struggle. I was going to give up. Where should I have lost myself? None can tell. Never, my lad, shall I forget it. Your discovery will lead to glory! And you shall have your share.” “I am not sure of that, uncle,” I replied. “We have no proof that this paper is real.” “What! Don’t we know the book is real? We found the paper inside it!” “Yes. I admit that Saknussemm may have written this. But does it mean that he really made the trip? It may be that this paper is meant to mislead?” I almost regretted having said this last word. It dropped from me in an unguarded moment. The Professor bent his shaggy brows. I feared I was in serious trouble. Happily, nothing happened. A smile flitted across the lip of my severe companion. He answered: “That is what we shall see.”

Element Focus: Plot How did the Professor react to reading Arne Saknussemm’s note? What do you think will happen as a result?

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A Journey into the Center of the Earth by Jules Verne “Descend, bold traveler! Go into the crater of the jokul of Sneffels. This is where the shadow of Scartaris touches before the kalends of July. You will attain the center of the earth. This I have done, Arne Saknussemm.” In reading this, my uncle leaped up. It was as if he had touched a Leyden jar. His boldness, his joy, and his belief were magnificent to behold. He came and he went. He grabbed his head between both his hands. He pushed the chairs out of their places. He piled up his books. He even rattled his precious lumps of flints together. He sent a kick here. He sent a thump there. At last his nerves calmed down. He was like a man tired by spending too much great power. He sank back exhausted into his chair. “What o’clock is it?” he asked after a few moments of silence. “Three o’clock,” I replied. “Is it really? The dinner hour is past. And I did not know it. I am half dead with hunger. Come on. And after dinner—” “Well?” “After dinner, pack up my trunk.” “What?” I cried. “And yours!” replied the tireless Professor. He entered the dining room.

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At these words a shiver of fear ran through me. But I did not show it. I even decided to put a good face upon it. Scientific arguments alone could have any weight with Professor Liedenbrock. Now there were good ones against the practicality of such a journey. Penetrate to the center of the earth! What nonsense! But I kept my arguments in reserve for a suitable opportunity. And I interested myself in the prospect of my dinner, which had not yet arrived. It is no use to tell of the rage and imprecations of my uncle before the empty table. Explanations were given. Martha was set at liberty. She ran off to the market. She did her part so well that in an hour afterwards my hunger was fed. I was able to return to the contemplation of the seriousness of the situation. During all dinnertime, my uncle was almost merry. He told some of those smart jokes which never hurt anybody. Dessert was over, he called me into his study. I obeyed. He sat at one end of his table. I sat at the other. “Axel,” said he very mildly, “you are a very ingenious young man. You have done me a splendid favor. I had been wearied with the struggle. I was going to abandon the contest. Where should I have lost myself? None can tell. Never, my lad, shall I forget it. And you shall have your share in the glory to which your discovery will lead.” “I don’t feel so very sure of that, uncle,” I replied. “We have no proof that this document is real.” “What! Not of the book, inside which we have discovered it?” “Yes. I admit that Saknussemm may have written these lines. But does it mean that he has really made such a trip? And may it not be that this old paper is meant to mislead?” I almost regretted having said this last word. It dropped from me in an unguarded moment. The Professor bent his shaggy brows. I feared I had seriously put my own safety in danger. Happily no great harm came of it. A smile flitted across the lip of my severe companion. He answered: “That is what we shall see.”

Element Focus: Plot Describe how the Professor and his nephew react to the Arne Saknussemm’s note. What do you predict will happen as a result?

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A Journey into the Center of the Earth by Jules Verne “Descend, bold traveler, into the crater of the jokul of Sneffels, which the shadow of Scartaris touches before the kalends of July, and you will attain the center of the earth; which I have done, Arne Saknussemm.” In reading this, my uncle gave a spring as if he had touched a Leyden jar. His audacity, his joy, and his convictions were magnificent to behold. He came and he went; he seized his head between both his hands; he pushed the chairs out of their places, he piled up his books; incredible as it may seem, he rattled his precious nodules of flints together; he sent a kick here, a thump there. At last his nerves calmed down, and like a man exhausted by too lavish an expenditure of vital power, he sank back exhausted into his armchair. “What o’clock is it?” he asked after a few moments of silence. “Three o’clock,” I replied. “Is it really? The dinner‑hour is past, and I did not know it. I am half dead with hunger. Come on, and after dinner—” “Well?” “After dinner, pack up my trunk.” “What?” I cried. “And yours!” replied the indefatigable Professor, entering the dining room.

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At these words a cold shiver ran through me. Yet I controlled myself; I even resolved to put a good face upon it. Scientific arguments alone could have any weight with Professor Liedenbrock. Now there were good ones against the practicality of such a journey. Penetrate to the center of the earth! What nonsense! But I kept my dialectic battery in reserve for a suitable opportunity, and I interested myself in the prospect of my dinner, which was not yet forthcoming. It is no use to tell of the rage and imprecations of my uncle before the empty table. Explanations were given, Martha was set at liberty, ran off to the market, and did her part so well that in an hour afterwards my hunger was appeased, and I was able to return to the contemplation of the gravity of the situation. During all dinnertime my uncle was almost merry; he indulged in some of those learned jokes which never do anybody any harm. Dessert over, he beckoned me into his study. I obeyed; he sat at one end of his table, I at the other. “Axel,” said he very mildly; “you are a very ingenious young man, you have done me a splendid service, at a moment when, wearied out with the struggle, I was going to abandon the contest. Where should I have lost myself? None can tell. Never, my lad, shall I forget it; and you shall have your share in the glory to which your discovery will lead.” “I don’t feel so very sure of that, uncle,” I replied; “for we have no proof of the authenticity of this document.” “What! Not of the book, inside which we have discovered it?” “Granted. I admit that Saknussemm may have written these lines. But does it follow that he has really accomplished such a journey? And may it not be that this old parchment is intended to mislead?” I almost regretted having uttered this last word, which dropped from me in an unguarded moment. The Professor bent his shaggy brows, and I feared I had seriously compromised my own safety. Happily no great harm came of it. A smile flitted across the lip of my severe companion, and he answered: “That is what we shall see.”

Element Focus: Plot Predict the outcome of the Professor’s response to Arne Saknussemm’s note. What is the likelihood that the characters will successfully retrace Arne’s steps? Explain.

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A Journey into the Center of the Earth by Jules Verne “Descend, bold traveler, into the crater of the jokul of Sneffels, which the shadow of Scartaris touches before the kalends of July, and you will attain the center of the earth; which I have done, Arne Saknussemm.” In reading this, my uncle gave a spring as if he had touched a Leyden jar. His audacity, his joy, and his convictions were magnificent to behold. He came and he went; he seized his head between both his hands; he pushed the chairs out of their places, and he piled up his books; incredible as it may seem, he rattled his precious nodules of flints together; he sent a kick here, a thump there. At last his nerves calmed down, and like a man exhausted by too lavish an expenditure of vital power, he sank back exhausted into his armchair. “What o’clock is it?” he demanded after a few moments of silence. “Three o’clock,” I replied. “Is it really? The dinner‑hour is past, and I did not even realize it. I am half dead with hunger. Come on, and after dinner—” “Well?” I encouraged him to continue. “After dinner, pack up my trunk.” “What?” I cried with surprise and dismay. “And yours!” replied the indefatigable Professor, entering the dining room.

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At these words a cold shiver travelled through me, yet I controlled myself, resolving even to put a good face upon it. Scientific arguments alone could have any weight with Professor Liedenbrock, and presently there were powerfully rational ones against the practicability of such a journey. Penetrate to the center of the earth! What utter nonsense! But I kept my dialectic battery in reserve for a suitable opportunity, and I interested myself in the prospect of my dinner, which was not yet forthcoming. It is no use to tell of the rage and imprecations of my uncle before the empty table. Explanations were given, Martha was set at liberty, ran off to the market, and did her part so well that in an hour afterwards my hunger was appeased, and I was able to resume my contemplations on the gravity of this unusual situation. During all dinnertime, my uncle was almost merry, indulging in some of those learned jokes which never do anybody any harm. As soon as dessert had been consumed, he beckoned me into his study. I, obeying the summons, sat at one end of his table, he at the other. “Axel,” he began very mildly, “you are an ingenious young man, and you have done me a splendidly useful service, at a moment when, wearied out with the struggle, I was going to abandon the contest. None can tell where I should have lost myself without your intervention! Never, my lad, shall I forget it, and you shall have your share in the glory to which your discovery will lead.” “I don’t feel so very sure of that, uncle,” I replied; “for we have no proof of the authenticity of this document.” “What! Not of the book, inside which we have discovered it?” “Granted, I admit that Saknussemm may have written these lines. But I must persist, does it follow that he has really accomplished such a journey? And may it not be that this old parchment is intended to mislead?” I almost regretted having uttered this last word, which dropped from me in an unguarded moment. The Professor bent his shaggy brows, and I feared I had seriously compromised my own safety. Happily, no great harm came of it, as a smile flitted across the lip of my severe companion, and he answered: “That is what we shall see.”

Element Focus: Plot Form a hypothesis about how Arne Saknussemm’s note affects the characters in the story. What do you predict will happen as a result of their reading it?

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The Jungle Book by Rudyard Kipling “Be careful. I am Death!” It was Karait. He was the dusty brown snakeling that likes to lie on the dusty earth. His bite is as dangerous as the cobra’s. But he is so small. Nobody thinks of him. So, he does more harm to people. Rikki-tikki’s eyes grew red again. He danced up to Karait. He used the strange rocking, swaying motion that he got from his family. It looks very funny. But it is a balanced walk, so you can jump at any angle you please. This is a big help when dealing with snakes. Rikki-tikki did not know he was doing a much more dangerous thing than fighting Nag. For Karait is so small, and he can turn so quickly. Unless Rikki bit him close to the back of the head, he would get the return strike. He could turn and get bit in his eye or on his lip. But Rikki did not know this. His eyes were all red. He rocked back and forth. He was looking for a good place to hold. The snake struck out. Rikki jumped sideways. He tried to run in. But the wicked, little, dusty, gray head lashed at him. Karait struck close to Rikki’s shoulder. Rikki had to jump over the body. The head followed his heels close. Teddy shouted to the house. “Oh, look here! Our mongoose is killing a snake.” Teddy’s mother screamed. His father ran out with a stick. But he was too late. Karait had jumped out once too far. Rikki-tikki had sprung. He had jumped on the snake’s back. He had dropped his head far between his front legs. He had bitten Karait as high up on the back as he could. Then Rikki had rolled away. His bite paralyzed Karait. Rikki-tikki was just going to eat him up from the tail. This was the custom of his family at dinner. But, then he remembered. A full meal makes a slow mongoose. Rikki wanted all his strength. He needed all his quickness ready. So, he must keep himself thin. He went away for a dust bath. Teddy’s father beat the dead Karait. “What is the use of that?” thought Rikki-tikki. “I have settled it all.” Then Teddy’s mother picked him up from the dust and hugged him. She said that Rikki had saved Teddy from death. And Teddy’s father said that Rikki was a providence. Teddy looked on with big scared eyes. Rikki-tikki thought the fuss was funny. He did not understand it. Teddy’s mother might just as well have petted Teddy for playing in the dust. Rikki was just having fun.

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Teddy carried Rikki off to bed. He had Rikki sleep under his chin. Rikki-tikki was too well bred to bite or scratch. But soon Teddy was asleep. Rikki went off for his nightly walk round the house. In the dark, he found Chuchundra, the muskrat. The sad animal was creeping around by the wall. Chuchundra is a broken-hearted little beast. He whimpers and cheeps all the night. He is trying to make up his mind to run into the middle of the room. But he never gets there. “Don’t kill me,” said Chuchundra. He was almost weeping. “Rikki-tikki, don’t kill me!” “Do you think a snake-killer kills muskrats?” said Rikki-tikki scornfully. “Those who kill snakes get killed by snakes,” said Chuchundra. He cried more sadly than ever. “And how am I to be sure that Nag won’t mistake me for you in the dark?” “That won’t happen,” said Rikki-tikki. “But Nag is in the garden. I know you don’t go there.” “My cousin Chua, the rat, told me—” said Chuchundra. Then he stopped. “Told you what?” “H’sh! Nag is everywhere. You should have talked to Chua in the garden.” “I didn’t. So you must tell me. Quick, Chuchundra, or I’ll bite you!” Chuchundra sat down and cried. He cried till the tears rolled off his whiskers. “I am a very poor man,” he sobbed. “I never had spirit. I don’t even have enough to run out into the middle of the room. H’sh! I mustn’t tell you anything. Can’t you hear, Rikki-tikki?”

Element Focus: Plot This passage uses foreshadowing to give hints about things that will happen later. What do you predict will happen?

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The Jungle Book by Rudyard Kipling “Be careful. I am Death!” It was Karait, the dusty brown snakeling that chooses to lie on the dusty earth. His bite is as dangerous as the cobra’s. But he is so small that nobody thinks of him. So, he does more harm to people. Rikki-tikki’s eyes grew red again. He danced up to Karait with the peculiar rocking, swaying motion that he had inherited from his family. It looks very funny. But it is so perfectly balanced a gait that you can fly off from it at any angle you please. In dealing with snakes, this is an advantage. Rikki-tikki did not know that he was doing a much more dangerous thing than fighting Nag. For Karait is so small, and can turn so quickly, that unless Rikki bit him close to the back of the head, he would get the return stroke from the snake in his eye or his lip. But Rikki did not know this. His eyes were all red. He rocked back and forth, looking for a good place to hold. Karait struck out. Rikki jumped sideways and tried to run in. But the wicked, little, dusty, gray head lashed near his shoulder. Rikki had to jump over the body. The head followed his heels close. Teddy shouted to the house: “Oh, look here! Our mongoose is killing a snake.” Rikki-tikki heard a scream from Teddy’s mother. His father ran out with a stick. But by the time he came up, Karait had lunged out once too far. Rikki-tikki had sprung. He had jumped on the snake’s back and dropped his head far between his forelegs. Then he had bitten Karait as high up the back as he could get hold, and rolled away. That bite paralyzed Karait. Rikki-tikki was just going to eat him up from the tail, like his family did at dinner. But, then he remembered that a full meal makes a slow mongoose. Rikki wanted all his strength and quickness ready. So, he must keep himself thin. He went away for a dust bath under the castor-oil bushes. Teddy’s father beat the dead Karait. “What is the use of that?” thought Rikki-tikki. “I have settled it all.” Then Teddy’s mother picked him up from the dust and hugged him. She was crying that Rikki had saved Teddy from death. And Teddy’s father said that Rikki was a providence. Teddy looked on with big scared eyes. Rikki-tikki was rather amused at all the fuss, which he did not understand. Teddy’s mother might just as well have petted Teddy for playing in the dust. Rikki was thoroughly enjoying himself.

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Teddy carried Rikki off to bed. He insisted on Rikki-tikki sleeping under his chin. Rikki-tikki was too well bred to bite or scratch. But as soon as Teddy was asleep, he went off for his nightly walk round the house. In the dark, he ran up against Chuchundra, the muskrat, creeping around by the wall. Chuchundra is a broken‑hearted little beast. He whimpers and cheeps all the night. He is trying to make up his mind to run into the middle of the room. But he never gets there. “Don’t kill me,” said Chuchundra, almost weeping. “Rikki-tikki, don’t kill me!” “Do you think a snake-killer kills muskrats?” said Rikki-tikki scornfully. “Those who kill snakes get killed by snakes,” said Chuchundra. He cried more sorrowfully than ever. “And how am I to be sure that Nag won’t mistake me for you some dark night?” “There’s not the least danger,” said Rikki-tikki. “But Nag is in the garden. I know you don’t go there.” “My cousin Chua, the rat, told me—” said Chuchundra, and then he stopped. “Told you what?” “H’sh! Nag is everywhere, Rikki-tikki. You should have talked to Chua in the garden.” “I didn’t—so you must tell me. Quick, Chuchundra, or I’ll bite you!” Chuchundra sat down and cried till the tears rolled off his whiskers. “I am a very poor man,” he sobbed. “I never had bravery enough to run out into the middle of the room. H’sh! I mustn’t tell you anything. Can’t you hear, Rikki-tikki?”

Element Focus: Plot What other results might be possible and why?

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The Jungle Book by Rudyard Kipling “Be careful. I am Death!” It was Karait, the dusty brown snakeling that lies for choice on the dusty earth; and his bite is as dangerous as the cobra’s. But he is so small that nobody thinks of him, and so he does the more harm to people. Rikki-tikki’s eyes grew red again, and he danced up to Karait with the peculiar rocking, swaying motion that he had inherited from his family. It looks very funny, but it is so perfectly balanced a gait that you can fly off from it at any angle you please, and in dealing with snakes this is an advantage. If Rikki-tikki had only known, he was doing a much more dangerous thing than fighting Nag, for Karait is so small, and can turn so quickly, that unless Rikki bit him close to the back of the head, he would get the return stroke in his eye or his lip. But Rikki did not know. His eyes were all red, and he rocked back and forth, looking for a good place to hold. Karait struck out. Rikki jumped sideways and tried to run in, but the wicked little dusty gray head lashed within a fraction of his shoulder, and he had to jump over the body, and the head followed his heels close. Teddy shouted to the house: “Oh, look here! Our mongoose is killing a snake.” And Rikki-tikki heard a scream from Teddy’s mother. His father ran out with a stick, but by the time he came up, Karait had lunged out once too far, and Rikki-tikki had sprung, jumped on the snake’s back, dropped his head far between his forelegs, bitten as high up the back as he could get hold, and rolled away. That bite paralyzed Karait, and Rikki-tikki was just going to eat him up from the tail, after the custom of his family at dinner, when he remembered that a full meal makes a slow mongoose, and if he wanted all his strength and quickness ready, he must keep himself thin. He went away for a dust bath under the castor-oil bushes, while Teddy’s father beat the dead Karait. “What is the use of that?” thought Rikki-tikki. “I have settled it all;” and then Teddy’s mother picked him up from the dust and hugged him, crying that he had saved Teddy from death, and Teddy’s father said that he was a providence, and Teddy looked on with big scared eyes. Rikki-tikki was rather amused at all the fuss, which, of course, he did not understand. Teddy’s mother might just as well have petted Teddy for playing in the dust. Rikki was thoroughly enjoying himself.

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Teddy carried him off to bed, and insisted on Rikki-tikki sleeping under his chin. Rikki-tikki was too well bred to bite or scratch, but as soon as Teddy was asleep he went off for his nightly walk round the house, and in the dark he ran up against Chuchundra, the musk-rat, creeping around by the wall. Chuchundra is a broken‑hearted little beast. He whimpers and cheeps all the night, trying to make up his mind to run into the middle of the room. But he never gets there. “Don’t kill me,” said Chuchundra, almost weeping. “Rikki-tikki, don’t kill me!” “Do you think a snake-killer kills muskrats?” said Rikki-tikki scornfully. “Those who kill snakes get killed by snakes,” said Chuchundra, more sorrowfully than ever. “And how am I to be sure that Nag won’t mistake me for you some dark night?” “There’s not the least danger,” said Rikki-tikki. “But Nag is in the garden, and I know you don’t go there.” “My cousin Chua, the rat, told me—” said Chuchundra, and then he stopped. “Told you what?” “H’sh! Nag is everywhere, Rikki-tikki. You should have talked to Chua in the garden.” “I didn’t—so you must tell me. Quick, Chuchundra, or I’ll bite you!” Chuchundra sat down and cried till the tears rolled off his whiskers. “I am a very poor man,” he sobbed. “I never had spirit enough to run out into the middle of the room. H’sh! I mustn’t tell you anything. Can’t you hear, Rikki-tikki?”

Element Focus: Plot This passage foreshadows a future battle between Rikki and Nag, the cobra. Predict how that battle might progress.

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The Jungle Book by Rudyard Kipling “Be careful, for I am Death!” It was Karait, the dusty brown snakeling that prefers to lie on the dusty earth; and his bite is as venomous as the cobra’s. But he is so tiny that nobody thinks of him, and so he does the more harm to people. Rikki-tikki’s eyes grew crimson again as he danced up to Karait with the unusual rocking, swaying motion that he had inherited from his family. It looks very peculiar, but it is so perfectly balanced a gait that you can fly off from it at any angle you please, and in dealing with snakes this is a distinct advantage. If Rikki-tikki had been aware, he was doing a much more dangerous thing than fighting Nag, for Karait is so small and surprisingly agile, that unless Rikki bit him close to the back of the head, he would get the return stroke in his eye or his lip. But Rikki was unaware of this fact. His eyes were all red, and he rocked back and forth, looking for a good place to hold. Karait struck out. Rikki jumped sideways and tried to run in, but the wicked little dusty gray head lashed within a fraction of his shoulder, and he had to jump over the body, and the head followed his heels close. Teddy shouted to the house: “Oh, look here! Our mongoose is killing a snake.” And Rikki-tikki heard a scream from Teddy’s mother, while his father ran out with a stick. But by the time he came up, Karait had lunged out once too far, and Rikki-tikki had sprung, jumped on the snake’s back, dropped his head far between his forelegs, bitten as high up the back as he could get hold, and rolled away. That bite paralyzed Karait, and Rikkitikki was just going to eat him up from the tail, after the custom of his family at dinner, when he remembered that a full stomach makes a stodgy mongoose. If he wanted all his strength and quickness ready for the battle ahead, he must keep himself thin. He moved away for a dust bath under the castor-oil bushes, while Teddy’s father beat the dead Karait. “What is the use of that?” thought Rikki-tikki. “I have settled it all;” and then Teddy’s mother picked him up from the dust and hugged him, crying that he had saved Teddy from death, and Teddy’s father said that he was a providence, and Teddy observed the whole scene with big scared eyes. Rikki-tikki was rather amused at all the fuss, which, of course, he did not understand. Teddy’s mother might just as well have praised and patted Teddy for playing in the dust. Rikki was built for this sort of thing, and he was thoroughly enjoying himself. © Shell Education

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Teddy carried him off to bed, and insisted on Rikki-tikki sleeping under his chin. Rikki-tikki was too well bred to bite or scratch, but as soon as Teddy was sound asleep, he went off for his nightly constitutional round the house, and in the dark he ran up against Chuchundra, the muskrat, creeping around by the wall. Chuchundra is a broken-hearted little beast who whimpers and cheeps all the night, trying to make up his mind to run into the middle of the room. But he never manages to get there. “Don’t kill me,” begged Chuchundra, almost weeping. “Rikki-tikki, don’t kill me!” “Do you think a snake-killer kills muskrats?” chided Rikki-tikki scornfully. “Those who kill snakes get killed by snakes,” replied Chuchundra, more sorrowfully than ever. “And how am I to be certain that Nag won’t mistake me for you some dark night?” “There’s not the faintest bit of danger of that,” said Rikki-tikki. “But, even if there were, Nag is in the garden, and I know you don’t go there.” “My cousin Chua, the rat, told me—” said Chuchundra, and then he stopped. “Told you what?” demanded the mongoose quickly. “H’sh! Nag is everywhere, Rikki-tikki. You should have talked to Chua in the garden.” “I didn’t—so you must tell me. Be quick about it, Chuchundra, or I’ll bite you!” Chuchundra sat down and cried till the tears rolled off his whiskers. “I am a very poor man,” he sobbed. “I never even had spirit enough to run out into the middle of the room. H’sh! I mustn’t tell you anything, but can’t you hear, Rikki-tikki?”

Element Focus: Plot Given the foreshadowing in this passage, predict the sequence of events in a future battle between Rikki and Nag, the cobra.

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The Legend of Sleepy Hollow by Washington Irving

His fear made him reckless. He showered kicks and blows on Gunpowder, his horse. He moved suddenly. He hoped that in this way he could get away. But the ghost moved right with him. Away, then, they dashed! They charged through thick and thin. Stones flew! Sparks flashed at every jump. Ichabod’s thin clothes waved in the air. He stretched his long thin body over his horse’s head. In all ways he was trying to get away. They had now reached the road that turns off to Sleepy Hollow. But Gunpowder seemed captured by a demon. He would not go on that road. Instead he turned away. They plunged head-first downhill to the left. This road leads through a sandy hollow. It is shaded by trees for a quarter of a mile. There it crosses a bridge. This is the same one made famous in the goblin story. Just past that bridge raises a green hill. On the hill is the white church. The horse’s panic had been helpful. His unskilled rider got a boost in the chase. But then he got half way through the hollow. Then the straps of the saddle gave way! He felt it slipping from under him. He grabbed at it. He tried to hold the saddle on. But it did not work. He just had time to save himself. He held old Gunpowder round the neck. The saddle fell off. He heard it run over by his chaser. For a moment, he thought of Hans Van Ripper. He would be so angry! It was his Sunday saddle. But this was no time for little fears. The goblin was just behind him! And it was hard just to stay on the horse. He had no skill with riding at all! Sometimes he was slipping on one side. Sometimes he slid to another. And sometimes he was thumped against his horse’s backbone. This was violent. It hurt. He was afraid it would split him in two.

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He saw an opening in the trees! This cheered him. He hoped that the church bridge was close. He could see a ruffled image in the brook. It was a silver star! This told him that he was not mistaken. He saw the walls of the church. They were dimly glaring under the trees beyond. He remembered the place in the story. It was where Brom Bones’s ghostly competitor had disappeared. “If I can but reach that bridge,” thought Ichabod, “I am safe.” Just then he heard the black horse. It was panting and blowing close behind him. He imagined that he felt its hot breath. He gave his horse a jerking kick. Old Gunpowder sprang onto the bridge. He thundered over the loud planks. He reached the far side! And now Ichabod looked behind him. He remembered the rule in the stories. He wanted to see if his chaser would disappear. Would there be a flash of fire and anger? Just then he saw the goblin rising in his stirrups. It was throwing its head at him. Ichabod tried to dodge the horrible missile! But it was too late. It hit his skull with a tremendous crash. He tumbled head first into the dust. And Gunpowder, the black steed, and the goblin rider passed by like a whirlwind. The next morning the old horse was found. But, he did not have his saddle. The bridle was under his feet. He ate the grass at his master’s gate. Ichabod did not come to breakfast. Dinner-hour came, but no Ichabod. The boys gathered at the schoolhouse. They walked about the banks of the brook. But there was no schoolmaster. Hans Van Ripper now began to feel nervous. He worried about the fate of poor Ichabod, and his saddle. He sent a messenger on foot. After careful investigation, they found his traces. In one part of the road leading to the church was found the saddle. It had been trampled in the dirt. The tracks of horses’ hoofs deeply dented the road. They could see that these tracks had been made at a great speed. The tracks were traced to the bridge. Past that they came to the bank of a wide part of the brook. It was where the water ran deep and black. There was found the hat of the unfortunate Ichabod. Close beside it was a shattered pumpkin.

Element Focus: Plot How does the author make the story more tense as it builds toward the climax?

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Excerpt from

The Legend of Sleepy Hollow by Washington Irving

His terror made him desperate. He rained a shower of kicks and blows on Gunpowder, his horse. He hoped that if he moved suddenly, he could give his companion the slip. But the ghost moved right with him. Away, then, they dashed! They charged through thick and thin. Stones flew! Sparks flashed at every leap. Ichabod’s flimsy clothes fluttered in the air. He stretched his long thin body over his horse’s head, trying to get away. They had now reached the road which turns off to Sleepy Hollow. But Gunpowder seemed possessed with a demon. Instead of going on that road, he made an opposite turn. They plunged headlong downhill to the left. This road leads through a sandy hollow. It was shaded by trees for about a quarter of a mile. There it crosses a bridge. It was the same bridge made famous in the goblin story. Just past that rises the green hill with the white church. So far the horse’s panic had given his unskillful rider an advantage in the chase. But just as he got half way through the hollow, the straps of the saddle gave way! He felt it slipping from under him. He grabbed the pommel. He tried to hold the saddle on. But it did not work. He had just time to save himself. He held old Gunpowder round the neck. The saddle fell to the earth. He heard it trampled under foot by his pursuer. For a moment, the terror of Hans Van Ripper’s anger passed across his mind. It was his Sunday saddle. But this was no time for small fears. The goblin was just behind him! And (poor rider that he was!) it was hard just to stay on the horse. Sometimes he was slipping on one side. Sometimes he slid to another. And sometimes he was jolted on the high ridge of his horse’s backbone. This was so violent that he truly feared it would split him in two.

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An opening in the trees now cheered him! He had hopes that the church bridge was at hand. The wavering reflection of a silver star in the brook told him that he was not wrong. He saw the walls of the church. They were dimly glaring under the trees beyond. He recollected the place where Brom Bones’s ghostly competitor had disappeared. “If I can but reach that bridge,” thought Ichabod, “I am safe.” Just then he heard the black horse panting and blowing close behind him. He imagined that he felt his hot breath. Another jerking kick in the ribs, and old Gunpowder sprang onto the bridge. He thundered over the loud planks. He reached the far side! And now Ichabod looked behind him. He remembered the rule in the stories. He wanted to see if his pursuer should vanish in a flash of fire and brimstone. Just then he saw the goblin rising in his stirrups. It was in the very act of hurling his head at him. Ichabod tried to dodge the horrible missile! But it was too late. It hit his cranium with a tremendous crash. He was tumbled headlong into the dust. And Gunpowder, the black steed, and the goblin rider passed by like a whirlwind. The next morning the old horse was found without his saddle. The bridle was under his feet. He quietly ate the grass at his master’s gate. Ichabod did not make his appearance at breakfast. Dinner hour came, but no Ichabod. The boys assembled at the schoolhouse. They strolled idly about the banks of the brook. But there was no schoolmaster. Hans Van Ripper now began to feel some uneasiness about the fate of poor Ichabod, and his saddle. An inquiry was set on foot. After diligent investigation they came upon his traces. In one part of the road leading to the church was found the saddle trampled in the dirt. The tracks of horses’ hoofs deeply dented the road. It was evident they had been made at a furious speed. The tracks were traced to the bridge. Beyond that, on the bank of a broad part of the brook, where the water ran deep and black, was found the hat of the unlucky Ichabod. Close beside it was a shattered pumpkin.

Element Focus: Plot What sequel might follow this story?

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Excerpt from

The Legend of Sleepy Hollow by Washington Irving

His terror rose to desperation. He rained a shower of kicks and blows upon Gunpowder, his horse. His hope was by a sudden movement to give his companion the slip. But the specter started full jump with him. Away, then, they dashed through thick and thin. Stones flew and sparks flashed at every bound. Ichabod’s flimsy garments fluttered in the air. He stretched his long lank body away over his horse’s head, in the eagerness of his flight. They had now reached the road which turns off to Sleepy Hollow. But Gunpowder, who seemed possessed with a demon, instead of keeping up it, made an opposite turn. They plunged headlong downhill to the left. This road leads through a sandy hollow shaded by trees for about a quarter of a mile. There it crosses the bridge famous in the goblin story. Just beyond that swells the green knoll on which stands the whitewashed church. As yet the panic of the steed had given his unskilful rider an apparent advantage in the chase. But just as he had got half way through the hollow, the girths of the saddle gave way! He felt the saddle slipping from under him. He seized it by the pommel and tried to hold it firm. But this was in vain. He had just time to save himself by clasping old Gunpowder round the neck. The saddle fell to the earth, and he heard it trampled under foot by his pursuer. For a moment, the terror of Hans Van Ripper’s wrath passed across his mind. It was his Sunday saddle. But this was no time for petty fears. The goblin was hard on his haunches! And (unskillful rider that he was!) he had much ado to maintain his seat. Sometimes he was slipping on one side, sometimes on another. And sometimes he was jolted on the high ridge of his horse’s backbone, with a violence that he verily feared would cleave him asunder.

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An opening in the trees now cheered him with the hopes that the church bridge was at hand. The wavering reflection of a silver star in the bosom of the brook told him that he was not mistaken. He saw the walls of the church dimly glaring under the trees beyond. He recollected the place where Brom Bones’s ghostly competitor had disappeared. “If I can but reach that bridge,” thought Ichabod, “I am safe.” Just then he heard the black steed panting and blowing close behind him. He even fancied that he felt his hot breath. Another convulsive kick in the ribs, and old Gunpowder sprang upon the bridge. He thundered over the resounding planks. He gained the opposite side! And now Ichabod cast a look behind to see if his pursuer should vanish, according to rule, in a flash of fire and brimstone. Just then he saw the goblin rising in his stirrups, and in the very act of hurling his head at him. Ichabod endeavored to dodge the horrible missile, but too late. It encountered his cranium with a tremendous crash—he was tumbled headlong into the dust, and Gunpowder, the black steed, and the goblin rider passed by like a whirlwind. The next morning the old horse was found without his saddle, and with the bridle under his feet, soberly cropping the grass at his master’s gate. Ichabod did not make his appearance at breakfast. Dinner hour came, but no Ichabod. The boys assembled at the schoolhouse, and strolled idly about the banks of the brook. But there was no schoolmaster. Hans Van Ripper now began to feel some uneasiness about the fate of poor Ichabod, and his saddle. An inquiry was set on foot. After diligent investigation, they came upon his traces. In one part of the road leading to the church was found the saddle trampled in the dirt. The tracks of horses’ hoofs deeply dented in the road and evidently at furious speed, were traced to the bridge. Beyond that, on the bank of a broad part of the brook, where the water ran deep and black, was found the hat of the unfortunate Ichabod. Close beside it was a shattered pumpkin.

Element Focus: Plot In what ways does the author build tension for the climax of the story? At what point do you believe the tension is the highest?

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Excerpt from

The Legend of Sleepy Hollow by Washington Irving

His terror rose to desperation; he rained a shower of kicks and blows upon Gunpowder, hoping by a sudden movement to give his companion the slip; but the specter started full jump with him. Away, then, they dashed through thick and thin; stones flying and sparks flashing at every bound. Ichabod’s flimsy garments fluttered in the air, as he stretched his long lank body away over his horse’s head, in the eagerness of his flight. They had now reached the road which turns off to Sleepy Hollow; but Gunpowder, who seemed possessed with a demon, instead of keeping up it, made an opposite turn, and plunged headlong downhill to the left. This road leads through a sandy hollow shaded by trees for about a quarter of a mile, where it crosses the bridge famous in goblin story; and just beyond swells the green knoll on which stands the whitewashed church. As yet the panic of the steed had given his unskillful rider an apparent advantage in the chase, but just as he had got half way through the hollow, the girths of the saddle gave way, and he felt it slipping from under him. He seized it by the pommel, and endeavored to hold it firm, but in vain; and had just time to save himself by clasping old Gunpowder round the neck, when the saddle fell to the earth, and he heard it trampled under foot by his pursuer. For a moment the terror of Hans Van Ripper’s wrath passed across his mind,—for it was his Sunday saddle; but this was no time for petty fears; the goblin was hard on his haunches; and (unskillful rider that he was!) he had much ado to maintain his seat; sometimes slipping on one side, sometimes on another, and sometimes jolted on the high ridge of his horse’s backbone, with a violence that he verily feared would cleave him asunder.

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An opening in the trees now cheered him with the hopes that the church bridge was at hand. The wavering reflection of a silver star in the bosom of the brook told him that he was not mistaken. He saw the walls of the church dimly glaring under the trees beyond. He recollected the place where Brom Bones’s ghostly competitor had disappeared. “If I can but reach that bridge,” thought Ichabod, “I am safe.” Just then he heard the black steed panting and blowing close behind him; he even fancied that he felt his hot breath. Another convulsive kick in the ribs, and old Gunpowder sprang upon the bridge; he thundered over the resounding planks; he gained the opposite side; and now Ichabod cast a look behind to see if his pursuer should vanish, according to rule, in a flash of fire and brimstone. Just then he saw the goblin rising in his stirrups, and in the very act of hurling his head at him. Ichabod endeavored to dodge the horrible missile, but too late. It encountered his cranium with a tremendous crash,—he was tumbled headlong into the dust, and Gunpowder, the black steed, and the goblin rider, passed by like a whirlwind. The next morning the old horse was found without his saddle, and with the bridle under his feet, soberly cropping the grass at his master’s gate. Ichabod did not make his appearance at breakfast; dinner hour came, but no Ichabod. The boys assembled at the schoolhouse, and strolled idly about the banks of the brook; but no schoolmaster. Hans Van Ripper now began to feel some uneasiness about the fate of poor Ichabod, and his saddle. An inquiry was set on foot, and after diligent investigation they came upon his traces. In one part of the road leading to the church was found the saddle trampled in the dirt; the tracks of horses’ hoofs deeply dented in the road, and evidently at furious speed, were traced to the bridge, beyond which, on the bank of a broad part of the brook, where the water ran deep and black, was found the hat of the unfortunate Ichabod, and close beside it a shattered pumpkin.

Element Focus: Plot Describe the ways that the tension in the story builds, resolves as the climax is reached, and then moves toward the conclusion.

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The Time Machine by H. G. Wells The Medical Man stood up. He looked into the thing. “It’s beautifully made,” he said. “It took two years to make,” said the Time Traveller. Then we all looked at the thing. Next, he said: “Now I want you to understand. Pressing this lever sends the machine into the future. This other reverses it. This saddle would be the seat of a time traveler. Soon I will press the lever. Off the machine will go. It will vanish. It will pass into future time. It will disappear. Have a good look at the thing. Look at the table too. Make sure there is no trickery. I don’t want to waste this model. I don’t want to be told I’m a fraud.” There was a minute’s pause. The Psychologist seemed about to speak to me. But he changed his mind. Then the Time Traveller put his finger towards the lever. “No,” he said suddenly. “Lend me your hand.” He turned to the Psychologist. He took that man’s hand in his own. He told him to put out his finger. It was the Psychologist who sent forth the model Time Machine. We all saw the lever turn. I am certain there was no trick. There was a breath of wind. The lamp flame jumped. One of the candles on the mantel was blown out. And the little machine suddenly swung round. It looked blurry. It was seen as a ghost. This lasted for maybe a second. It was a swirl of faintly glittering brass and ivory. And it was gone. It vanished! The table had only a lamp on it. Everyone was silent. The Psychologist recovered. He quickly looked under the table. At that, the Time Traveller laughed cheerfully. “Well?” he said. Then, getting up, he went to the tobacco jar on the mantel. His back was to us. He began to fill his pipe.

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We stared at each other. “Look here,” said the Medical Man, “are you serious? Do you believe that that machine has travelled into time?” “Of course,” said the Time Traveller. He stooped at the fire. Then he turned. He lit his pipe. He looked at the Psychologist’s face. (The Psychologist was not upset. He took a cigar. But, he tried to light it uncut.) “And I have a big machine nearly finished in there,” he pointed to the lab. “When that is done, I will take a trip myself.” “You mean to say that that machine has gone into the future?” said Filby. “Into the future or the past—I am not sure which.” There was a pause. Then the Psychologist had a thought. “It must have gone into the past,” he said. “Why?” said the Time Traveller. “Because I think it has not moved in space. If it went into the future, it would still be here. It must have travelled through this time. So we could see it.” “But,” I said, “If it went into the past, we would have seen it when we came first into this room. And it would have been here last Thursday when we were here. And it would have been here the Thursday before that, and so forth!” We sat and stared at the empty table for a minute or so. Then the Time Traveller asked us what we thought of it all. “It sounds possible tonight,” said the Medical Man. “But wait until tomorrow. Wait for the common sense of the morning.”

Element Focus: Plot Describe the Time Machine. How might you react if you were in the group at the Time Traveller’s house?

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The Time Machine by H. G. Wells The Medical Man got up out of his chair. He peered into the thing. “It’s beautifully made,” he said. “It took two years to make,” replied the Time Traveller. Then we all imitated the action of the Medical Man. Next, he said: “Now I want you clearly to understand. Pressing this lever sends the machine gliding into the future. This other reverses the motion. This saddle would be the seat of a time traveler. Soon I am going to press the lever. Off the machine will go. It will vanish. It will pass into future time, and disappear. Have a good look at the thing. Look at the table too. Satisfy yourselves, there is no trickery. I don’t want to waste this model. I don’t want to be told I’m a quack.” There was maybe a minute’s pause. The Psychologist seemed about to speak to me. But he changed his mind. Then the Time Traveller put forth his finger towards the lever. “No,” he said suddenly. “Lend me your hand.” He turned to the Psychologist. He took that man’s hand in his own and told him to put out his forefinger. It was the Psychologist himself who sent forth the model Time Machine. We all saw the lever turn. I am absolutely certain there was no trickery. There was a breath of wind. The lamp flame jumped. One of the candles on the mantel was blown out. And the little machine suddenly swung round. It became indistinct. It was seen as a ghost for maybe a second. It was an eddy of faintly glittering brass and ivory. And it was gone—vanished! Save for the lamp, the table was bare. Everyone was silent for a minute. The Psychologist recovered from his daze. He suddenly looked under the table. At that, the Time Traveller laughed cheerfully. “Well?” he said, remembering the Psychologist. Then, getting up, he went to the tobacco jar on the mantel. With his back to us, he began to fill his pipe.

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We stared at each other. “Look here,” said the Medical Man, “are you serious? Do you honestly believe that that machine has travelled into time?” “Certainly,” said the Time Traveller. He stooped to light a piece of wood at the fire. Then he turned, lighting his pipe. He looked at the Psychologist’s face. (The Psychologist, to show that he was not upset, took a cigar. But, he tried to light it uncut.) “What is more, I have a big machine nearly finished in there.” He pointed to the lab. “And when that is put together, I mean to take a journey myself.” “You mean to say that that machine has travelled into the future?” said Filby. “Into the future or the past—I don’t, for certain, know which.” After a pause, the Psychologist had a thought. “It must have gone into the past if it has gone anywhere,” he said. “Why?” said the Time Traveller. “Because I think it has not moved in space. If it travelled into the future, it would still be here all this time. It must have travelled through this time. So we could see it.” “But,” I said, “If it travelled into the past, it would have been visible when we came first into this room. And it would have been here last Thursday when we were here. And it would have been here the Thursday before that, and so forth!” We sat and stared at the empty table for a minute or so. Then the Time Traveller asked us what we thought of it all. “It sounds possible enough tonight,” said the Medical Man. “But wait until tomorrow. Wait for the common sense of the morning.”

Element Focus: Plot What if you were invited to see the Time Traveller’s model? What questions might you ask?

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The Time Machine by H. G. Wells The Medical Man got up out of his chair and peered into the thing. “It’s beautifully made,” he said. “It took two years to make,” retorted the Time Traveller. Then, when we had all imitated the action of the Medical Man, he said: “Now I want you clearly to understand that this lever, being pressed over, sends the machine gliding into the future, and this other reverses the motion. This saddle represents the seat of a time traveler. Presently I am going to press the lever, and off the machine will go. It will vanish, pass into future Time, and disappear. Have a good look at the thing. Look at the table too, and satisfy yourselves there is no trickery. I don’t want to waste this model, and then be told I’m a quack.” There was a minute’s pause perhaps. The Psychologist seemed about to speak to me, but changed his mind. Then the Time Traveller put forth his finger towards the lever. “No,” he said suddenly. “Lend me your hand.” And turning to the Psychologist, he took that individual’s hand in his own and told him to put out his forefinger. So that it was the Psychologist himself who sent forth the model Time Machine on its interminable voyage. We all saw the lever turn. I am absolutely certain there was no trickery. There was a breath of wind, and the lamp flame jumped. One of the candles on the mantel was blown out, and the little machine suddenly swung round, became indistinct, was seen as a ghost for a second perhaps, as an eddy of faintly glittering brass and ivory; and it was gone—vanished! Save for the lamp the table was bare. Everyone was silent for a minute. The Psychologist recovered from his stupor, and suddenly looked under the table. At that, the Time Traveller laughed cheerfully. “Well?” he said, with a reminiscence of the Psychologist. Then, getting up, he went to the tobacco jar on the mantel, and with his back to us began to fill his pipe. © Shell Education

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We stared at each other. “Look here,” said the Medical Man, “are you in earnest about this? Do you seriously believe that that machine has travelled into time?” “Certainly,” said the Time Traveller, stooping to light a spill at the fire. Then he turned, lighting his pipe, to look at the Psychologist’s face. (The Psychologist, to show that he was not unhinged, helped himself to a cigar and tried to light it uncut.) “What is more, I have a big machine nearly finished in there”—he indicated the laboratory—“and when that is put together I mean to have a journey on my own account.” “You mean to say that that machine has travelled into the future?” said Filby. “Into the future or the past—I don’t, for certain, know which.” After an interval, the Psychologist had an inspiration. “It must have gone into the past if it has gone anywhere,” he said. “Why?” said the Time Traveller. “Because I presume that it has not moved in space, and if it travelled into the future it would still be here all this time, since it must have travelled through this time.” “But,” I said, “If it travelled into the past it would have been visible when we came first into this room; and last Thursday when we were here; and the Thursday before that; and so forth!” We sat and stared at the vacant table for a minute or so. Then the Time Traveller asked us what we thought of it all. “It sounds plausible enough tonight,” said the Medical Man; “but wait until tomorrow. Wait for the common sense of the morning.”

Element Focus: Plot How do the responses of the characters help the reader to understand the main premise of the story?

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Excerpt from

The Time Machine by H. G. Wells The Medical Man got up out of his chair and peered into the machine. “It’s beautifully made,” he marveled. “It took two years to make,” retorted the Time Traveller. Then, when we had all imitated the action of the Medical Man, he admonished: “Now I want you clearly to understand that this lever, being pressed over, sends the machine gliding into the future, and this other reverses the motion. This saddle represents the seat of a time traveler. Presently I am going to press the lever, and off the machine will go. It will vanish, pass into future Time, and disappear. Have a good look at the construction and examine the table too. I want to ensure that you satisfy yourselves there is no trickery afoot. I don’t want to waste this model, and then be accused of being a charlatan.” There was a minute’s pause perhaps during which the Psychologist seemed about to speak to me, but changed his mind. Then the Time Traveller put forth his finger towards the lever. “No,” he withdrew abruptly. “Lend me your hand.” And turning to the Psychologist, he took that individual’s hand in his own and told him to put out his forefinger. So that it was the Psychologist himself who sent forth the model Time Machine on its interminable voyage. We all saw the lever turn and I am absolutely certain there was no trickery. There was a breath of wind, the lamp flame jumped. One of the candles on the mantel was extinguished, and the diminutive machine suddenly swung round, became indistinct, and was displayed as a ghost for a second perhaps, as an eddy of faintly glittering brass and ivory; and then it was gone—vanished! Save for the lamp which remained, the table was bare. Everyone was silent for perhaps a minute. The Psychologist recovered from his stupor, and suddenly peered under the table. At that, the Time Traveller laughed cheerfully. “Well?” he said, with a reminiscence of the Psychologist. Then, getting up, he went to the tobacco jar on the mantel, and, with his back to us, began to fill his pipe. © Shell Education

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We stared uncertainly at each other. “Look here,” said the Medical Man, “are you completely in earnest about this? Do you seriously believe that that machine has travelled into time?” “Certainly,” declared the Time Traveller, stooping to light a spill at the fire. Then he turned, lighting his pipe, to look at the Psychologist’s face. (The Psychologist, to demonstrate that he was not unhinged, helped himself to a cigar and attempted to light it uncut.) “Furthermore, I have a full-scale machine nearly finished in there”— he indicated the laboratory—“and when the construction on that is completed, I intend to have a journey on my own account.” “You mean to say that that machine has travelled into the future?” said Filby. “Into the future or the past—I can’t know with complete certainty which one.” After an interval, the Psychologist expressed an inspiration. “It must have gone into the past if it has gone anywhere,” he said. “Why?” said the Time Traveller. “Because I presume that it has not moved in space, and if it travelled into the future it would still be here all this time, since it must have travelled through this time.” “But,” I said, “If it travelled into the past, it would have been visible when we came first into this room; and also last Thursday when we were here; and the Thursday before that; and so forth!” We sat and stared at the vacant table for a minute or so, and then the Time Traveller asked us what we thought of it all. “It sounds plausible enough tonight,” related the Medical Man; “but wait until tomorrow. Wait for the common sense of the morning.”

Element Focus: Plot In what ways does the author use the characters in the passage to explore the main premise of the story? What other questions might you want them to ask of the Time Traveller?

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The Tale of Peter Rabbit by Beatrix Potter Mr. McGregor was sure that Peter was in the toolshed. Maybe he was hidden under a flowerpot. He began to turn them over. He looked under each. Then Peter sneezed—‘Kertyschoo!’ Mr. McGregor was after him in no time. He tried to put his foot on Peter! But Peter jumped out a window. He knocked over three plants. The window was too small for Mr. McGregor. And he was tired of running after Peter. He went back to his work. Peter sat down to rest. He was out of breath. He was shaking with fright. He had no idea which way to go. Plus, he was very damp from sitting in that can. After a time, he began to wander about. He went lippity—lippity—not very fast. He was looking all round. He found a door in a wall. But it was locked. There was no room for a fat little rabbit to squeeze under it. An old mouse was running in and out. She went over the stone doorstep. She was carrying peas and beans. She was taking them to her family in the wood. Peter asked her the way to the gate. But she had a large pea in her mouth. She could not answer. She only shook her head. Peter began to cry. Then he tried to find his way across the garden. But he became more and more puzzled. Soon, he came to a pond. That is where Mr. McGregor filled his watercans. A white cat was staring at some goldfish. She sat very, very still. But now and then, the tip of her tail twitched. It looked as if it were alive. Peter thought it best to go away without speaking to her. He had heard about cats. His cousin, little Benjamin Bunny, had told him.

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He went back towards the toolshed. Then, quite close to him, he heard the noise of a hoe—scr-r-ritch, scratch, scratch, scritch. Peter ran underneath the bushes. But nothing happened. So he came out. He climbed on a wheelbarrow. He peeped over. The first thing he saw was Mr. McGregor hoeing onions. His back was turned towards Peter. Beyond him was the gate! Peter got down very quietly. He started running as fast as he could go! He went along a straight walk. It was behind some black currant bushes. Mr. McGregor saw him at the corner. But Peter did not care. He slipped under the gate. He was safe at last! He was in the wood outside the garden. Mr. McGregor hung up the little jacket and the shoes. He would put them on a scarecrow to frighten the blackbirds. Peter kept running. He didn’t look behind him till he got home to the big fir tree. He was so tired! He flopped down on the nice soft sand on the floor of the rabbit hole. He shut his eyes. His mother was busy cooking. She wondered what he had done with his clothes. It was the second little jacket and pair of shoes that Peter had lost in two weeks! I am sorry to say that Peter was not very well during the evening. His mother put him to bed. She made some camomile tea. She gave a dose of it to Peter! ‘One tablespoonful to be taken at bedtime.’ But Flopsy, Mopsy, and Cottontail had bread and milk and blackberries for supper.

Element Focus: Language Usage The author used many words that sound like what they mean. For example, she made the sound of a sneeze Kertyschoo. How might you write the sound of a sneeze differently?

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Excerpt from

The Tale of Peter Rabbit by Beatrix Potter Mr. McGregor was quite sure that Peter was somewhere in the toolshed. Perhaps he was hidden underneath a flowerpot. He began to turn them over carefully. He looked under each. Presently Peter sneezed—‘Kertyschoo!’ Mr. McGregor was after him in no time. He tried to put his foot upon Peter! But Peter jumped out of a window, upsetting three plants. The window was too small for Mr. McGregor. And he was tired of running after Peter. He went back to his work. Peter sat down to rest. He was out of breath and trembling with fright. And he had not the least idea which way to go. Also he was very damp from sitting in that can. After a time, he began to wander about, going lippity—lippity—not very fast. He was looking all round. He found a door in a wall. But it was locked, and there was no room for a fat little rabbit to squeeze underneath. An old mouse was running in and out over the stone doorstep. She was carrying peas and beans to her family in the wood. Peter asked her the way to the gate. But she had such a large pea in her mouth that she could not answer. She only shook her head at him. Peter began to cry. Then he tried to find his way straight across the garden. But he became more and more puzzled. Soon, he came to a pond where Mr. McGregor filled his watercans. A white cat was staring at some goldfish. She sat very, very still. But now and then, the tip of her tail twitched as if it were alive. Peter thought it best to go away without speaking to her. He had heard about cats from his cousin, little Benjamin Bunny.

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He went back towards the toolshed. But suddenly, quite close to him, he heard the noise of a hoe—scr-r-ritch, scratch, scratch, scritch. Peter scampered underneath the bushes. But when nothing happened, he came out. He climbed on a wheelbarrow and peeped over. The first thing he saw was Mr. McGregor hoeing onions. His back was turned towards Peter. Beyond him was the gate! Peter got down very quietly off the wheelbarrow. He started running as fast as he could go! He went along a straight walk behind some black currant bushes. Mr. McGregor caught sight of him at the corner. But Peter did not care. He slipped underneath the gate. He was safe at last in the wood outside the garden. Mr. McGregor hung up the little jacket and the shoes on a scarecrow to frighten the blackbirds. Peter never stopped running. He didn’t look behind him till he got home to the big fir tree. He was so tired that he flopped down upon the nice soft sand on the floor of the rabbit hole and shut his eyes. His mother was busy cooking. She wondered what he had done with his clothes. It was the second little jacket and pair of shoes that Peter had lost in two weeks! I am sorry to say that Peter was not very well during the evening. His mother put him to bed and made some camomile tea; she gave a dose of it to Peter! ‘One tablespoonful to be taken at bedtime.’ But Flopsy, Mopsy, and Cottontail had bread and milk and blackberries for supper.

Element Focus: Language Usage What pictures do the words paint in your mind?

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Excerpt from

The Tale of Peter Rabbit by Beatrix Potter Mr. McGregor was quite sure that Peter was somewhere in the toolshed, perhaps hidden underneath a flowerpot. He began to turn them over carefully, looking under each. Presently Peter sneezed—‘Kertyschoo!’ Mr. McGregor was after him in no time. And tried to put his foot upon Peter, who jumped out of a window, upsetting three plants. The window was too small for Mr. McGregor, and he was tired of running after Peter. He went back to his work. Peter sat down to rest; he was out of breath and trembling with fright, and he had not the least idea which way to go. Also he was very damp with sitting in that can. After a time he began to wander about, going lippity—lippity—not very fast, and looking all round. He found a door in a wall; but it was locked, and there was no room for a fat little rabbit to squeeze underneath. An old mouse was running in and out over the stone doorstep, carrying peas and beans to her family in the wood. Peter asked her the way to the gate, but she had such a large pea in her mouth that she could not answer. She only shook her head at him. Peter began to cry. Then he tried to find his way straight across the garden, but he became more and more puzzled. Presently, he came to a pond where Mr. McGregor filled his watercans. A white cat was staring at some goldfish, she sat very, very still, but now and then the tip of her tail twitched as if it were alive. Peter thought it best to go away without speaking to her; he had heard about cats from his cousin, little Benjamin Bunny.

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He went back towards the toolshed, but suddenly, quite close to him, he heard the noise of a hoe—scr-r-ritch, scratch, scratch, scritch. Peter scuttered underneath the bushes. But presently, as nothing happened, he came out, and climbed upon a wheelbarrow and peeped over. The first thing he saw was Mr. McGregor hoeing onions. His back was turned towards Peter, and beyond him was the gate! Peter got down very quietly off the wheelbarrow; and started running as fast as he could go, along a straight walk behind some black currant bushes. Mr. McGregor caught sight of him at the corner, but Peter did not care. He slipped underneath the gate, and was safe at last in the wood outside the garden. Mr. McGregor hung up the little jacket and the shoes for a scarecrow to frighten the blackbirds. Peter never stopped running or looked behind him till he got home to the big fir tree. He was so tired that he flopped down upon the nice soft sand on the floor of the rabbit hole and shut his eyes. His mother was busy cooking; she wondered what he had done with his clothes. It was the second little jacket and pair of shoes that Peter had lost in a fortnight! I am sorry to say that Peter was not very well during the evening. His mother put him to bed, and made some camomile tea; and she gave a dose of it to Peter! ‘One tablespoonful to be taken at bedtime.’ But Flopsy, Mopsy, and Cottontail had bread and milk and blackberries for supper.

Element Focus: Language Usage In what ways will the mood and tone of the story be different if the author had omits words like Kertyschoo and lippity?

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Excerpt from

The Tale of Peter Rabbit by Beatrix Potter Mr. McGregor was quite sure that Peter was somewhere in the toolshed, perhaps hidden underneath a flowerpot, so he began to turn each one over carefully, searching beneath them as he went. Presently Peter sneezed—‘Kertyschoo!’ Mr. McGregor was chasing after him in no time, trying to put his foot upon Peter, who jumped out of a window, upsetting three plants as he passed. The window was too small for Mr. McGregor, and he was tired of running after Peter, so he returned his attention to his work. Peter sat down for a well-needed rest; he was out of breath and trembling with fright, and he had not the least idea which way to go. Also he was very damp with sitting so long in that can. After a time he began to wander about, going lippity—lippity—not very fast, and peering cautiously all round. He found a door in a wall; but it was locked fast, and there was no room for a fat little rabbit to squeeze underneath. An old mouse was running in and out over the stone doorstep, carrying peas and beans to her family living in the wood. Peter asked her to tell him the way to the gate, but she had such a large pea in her mouth that she was unable to answer, so she only shook her head at him. Peter was so disheartened that he began to cry. Then he tried to find his way straight across the garden, but he became more and more puzzled. Presently, he came to a pond where Mr. McGregor filled his watercans. A white cat was staring at some goldfish; she sat very, very still, but now and then, the tip of her tail twitched as if it were alive. Peter thought it best to go away without speaking to her as he had heard about cats from his cousin, little Benjamin Bunny.

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He went back towards the toolshed, but suddenly, quite close to him, he heard the noise of a hoe—scr-r-ritch, scratch, scratch, scritch. Peter scuttered underneath the bushes, but presently, as nothing happened, he came out, and climbed upon a wheelbarrow and peeped over. The first thing he saw was Mr. McGregor hoeing onions with his back turned towards Peter, and beyond him was the gate! Peter got down very quietly off the wheelbarrow; and started running as fast as he could go, along a straight walk behind some black currant bushes. Mr. McGregor caught sight of him at the corner, but Peter did not care. He slipped underneath the gate and was safe at last in the wood outside the garden. Mr. McGregor hung up the little jacket and the shoes for a scarecrow to frighten the blackbirds. Peter never stopped running or looked behind him till he got home to the big fir tree. He was so tired that he flopped down upon the nice soft sand on the floor of the rabbit hole and shut his eyes. His mother was busy cooking; she wondered what he had done with his clothes. It was the second little jacket and pair of shoes that Peter had lost in a fortnight! I am sorry to say that Peter was not very well during the evening. His mother put him to bed, and made some camomile tea; and she gave a dose of it to Peter! ‘One tablespoonful to be taken at bedtime.’ But Flopsy, Mopsy, and Cottontail had bread and milk and blackberries for supper.

Element Focus: Language Usage Why does the author use onomatopoeia?

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Excerpt from

The Story of Doctor Dolittle by Hugh Lofting

PUSHMI-PULLYUS are extinct. That means, there aren’t any more. But Doctor Dolittle lived long ago. Back then, there were some still left. They lived in Africa. They hid in the deepest jungles. And even then, they were very, very rare. They had no tail. But they had a head at each end. There were sharp horns on each head. They were very shy. And they were very hard to catch. The local men catch animals by sneaking up behind them. But that would not work with the pushmi-pullyu. It did not matter which way you came towards him. He was always facing you. And only one-half of him slept at a time. The other head was always awake. It was watching. This was why they were never caught. That is why they were never seen in zoos. Many great huntsmen spent years searching through the jungles. The cleverest zookeepers did, too! They would look in all sorts of weather. But, not a single one was ever caught. Even years ago, he was the only animal in the world with two heads. Well, the monkeys set out hunting for this animal. They looked through the forest. They went many miles. Then one of them found strange footprints near a river. They knew that a pushmi-pullyu must be very near that spot. Then they went along the river a little way. They saw a place where the grass was high and thick. They guessed that he was in there. So they all joined hands. They made a big circle around the grass. The pushmi‑pullyu heard them. He tried hard to break through the ring of monkeys. But he couldn’t do it. He saw that he was trapped. So, he sat down. He waited to see what they wanted. They asked him if he would go with Doctor Dolittle. They asked if he could be put on show. But he shook both his heads hard. He said, “Certainly not!” © Shell Education

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They told him that he would not be shut up in a zoo. He would just be looked at. They told him that the Doctor was a very kind man. But, he had no money. People would pay to see a two-headed animal. The Doctor would get rich. He could pay for the boat he had borrowed to come to Africa in. But he answered, “No. You know how shy I am. I hate being stared at.” And he almost cried. Then for three days they tried to convince him. And at the end of the third day, he said he would come with them. He wanted to see what kind of a man the Doctor was, first. So the monkeys went back with the pushmi‑pullyu. They came to the Doctor’s little house of grass. They knocked on the door. “This, Doctor,” said Chee-Chee, “is the pushmi‑pullyu. He is the rarest animal of the African jungles. He is the only two-headed beast in the world! Take him home with you. Your fortune will be made. People will pay any money to see him.” “It would make a nice new kind of pet,” said the Doctor. “But does the er— what‑do-you-call-it really want to go abroad?” “Yes, I’ll go,” said the pushmi-pullyu. He saw at once that the Doctor had a kind face. He was a man to be trusted. “You have been so kind to the animals here. The monkeys tell me that I am the only one who will do. But you must make me a promise. If I do not like it there, you will send me back.” “Why, certainly—of course, of course,” said the Doctor. “Excuse me, are you related to the Deer family?” “Yes,” said the pushmi-pullyu, “to the Abyssinian Gazelles and the Asiatic Chamois. That is on my mother’s side. My father’s great-grandfather was the last Unicorn.”

Element Focus: Language Usage How might you have named the characters in this passage differently? In what ways do the names of the characters help to make the passage more or less humorous?

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Excerpt from

The Story of Doctor Dolittle by Hugh Lofting

PUSHMI-PULLYUS are extinct. That means, there aren’t any more. But Doctor Dolittle was alive long ago. Back then, there were some of them still left. They lived in the deepest jungles of Africa. And even then, they were very, very rare. They had no tail. But they had a head at each end. There were sharp horns on each head. They were very shy. And they were very hard to catch. The local men get most of their animals by sneaking up behind them while they are not looking. But you could not do this with the pushmi-pullyu. No matter which way you came towards him, he was always facing you. And only one half of him slept at a time. The other head was always awake. And that one was watching. This was why they were never caught. That is why they were never seen in zoos. Many of the greatest huntsmen and the cleverest zookeepers spent years searching through the jungles for pushmi‑pullyus. They would look in all sorts of weather. But, not a single one was ever caught. Even years ago, it was the only animal in the world with two heads. Well, the monkeys set out hunting for this animal through the forest. And after they had gone a good many miles, one of them found strange footprints near the edge of a river. They knew that a pushmi-pullyu must be very near that spot. Then they went along the bank of the river a little way and they saw a place where the grass was high and thick. They guessed that he was in there. So they all joined hands and made a great circle round the high grass. The pushmi-pullyu heard them coming. He tried hard to break through the ring of monkeys. But he couldn’t do it. When he saw that it was no use trying to escape, he sat down and waited to see what they wanted. They asked him if he would go with Doctor Dolittle and be put on show. But he shook both his heads hard and said, “Certainly not!” © Shell Education

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They explained to him that he would not be shut up in a zoo, but would just be looked at. They told him that the Doctor was a very kind man, but hadn’t any money. People, they said, would pay to see a two-headed animal. The Doctor would get rich and could pay for the boat he had borrowed to come to Africa in. But he answered, “No. You know how shy I am. I hate being stared at.” And he almost cried. Then for three days they tried to convince him. And at the end of the third day, he said he would come with them. He wanted to see what kind of a man the Doctor was, first. So the monkeys went back with the pushmi‑pullyu. They came to the Doctor’s little house of grass. They knocked on the door. “This, Doctor,” said Chee-Chee, “is the pushmi‑pullyu. He is the rarest animal of the African jungles. He is the only two-headed beast in the world! Take him home with you and your fortune’s made. People will pay any money to see him.” “It certainly would make a nice new kind of pet,” murmured the Doctor. “But does the er—what-do-you-call-it really want to go abroad?” “Yes, I’ll go,” said the pushmi-pullyu who saw at once, from the Doctor’s face, that he was a man to be trusted. “You have been so kind to the animals here—and the monkeys tell me that I am the only one who will do. But you must promise me that if I do not like it there, you will send me back.” “Why, certainly—of course, of course,” said the Doctor. “Excuse me, surely you are related to the Deer Family, are you not?” “Yes,” said the pushmi-pullyu, “to the Abyssinian Gazelles and the Asiatic Chamois—on my mother’s side. My father’s great-grandfather was the last of the Unicorns.”

Element Focus: Language Usage How would you describe this passage differently?

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Excerpt from

The Story of Doctor Dolittle by Hugh Lofting

PUSHMI-PULLYUS are now extinct. That means, there aren’t any more. But long ago, when Doctor Dolittle was alive, there were some of them still left in the deepest jungles of Africa; and even then they were very, very scarce. They had no tail, but a head at each end, and sharp horns on each head. They were very shy and terribly hard to catch. The local men get most of their animals by sneaking up behind them while they are not looking. But you could not do this with the pushmi-pullyu—because, no matter which way you came towards him, he was always facing you. And besides, only one half of him slept at a time. The other head was always awake—and watching. This was why they were never caught and never seen in zoos. Though many of the greatest huntsmen and the cleverest menagerie‑keepers spent years of their lives searching through the jungles in all weathers for pushmi-pullyus, not a single one had ever been caught. Even then, years ago, he was the only animal in the world with two heads. Well, the monkeys set out hunting for this animal through the forest. And after they had gone a good many miles, one of them found peculiar footprints near the edge of a river; and they knew that a pushmi-pullyu must be very near that spot. Then they went along the bank of the river a little way and they saw a place where the grass was high and thick; and they guessed that he was in there. So they all joined hands and made a great circle round the high grass. The pushmi-pullyu heard them coming; and he tried hard to break through the ring of monkeys. But he couldn’t do it. When he saw that it was no use trying to escape, he sat down and waited to see what they wanted. They asked him if he would go with Doctor Dolittle and be put on show. But he shook both his heads hard and said, “Certainly not!”

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They explained to him that he would not be shut up in a menagerie but would just be looked at. They told him that the Doctor was a very kind man but hadn’t any money; and people would pay to see a two-headed animal and the Doctor would get rich and could pay for the boat he had borrowed to come to Africa in. But he answered, “No. You know how shy I am—I hate being stared at.” And he almost began to cry. Then for three days they tried to persuade him. And at the end of the third day he said he would come with them and see what kind of a man the Doctor was, first. So the monkeys traveled back with the pushmi‑pullyu. And when they came to where the Doctor’s little house of grass was, they knocked on the door. “This, Doctor,” said Chee-Chee, “is the pushmi‑pullyu—the rarest animal of the African jungles, the only two-headed beast in the world! Take him home with you and your fortune’s made. People will pay any money to see him.” “It certainly would make a nice new kind of pet,” murmured the Doctor. “But does the er—what-do-you-call-it really want to go abroad?” “Yes, I’ll go,” said the pushmi-pullyu who saw at once, from the Doctor’s face, that he was a man to be trusted. “You have been so kind to the animals here—and the monkeys tell me that I am the only one who will do. But you must promise me that if I do not like it there you will send me back.” “Why, certainly—of course, of course,” said the Doctor. “Excuse me, surely you are related to the Deer Family, are you not?” “Yes,” said the pushmi-pullyu—“to the Abyssinian Gazelles and the Asiatic Chamois—on my mother’s side. My father’s great-grandfather was the last of the Unicorns.”

Element Focus: Language Usage Describe how the author’s choice of words/names contributes to the humorous tone of the passage.

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Excerpt from

The Story of Doctor Dolittle by Hugh Lofting

PUSHMI-PULLYUS are now extinct, which means that there aren’t any more. But long ago, when Doctor Dolittle was alive, there were some of them still left in the deepest jungles of Africa; and even then they were very, very scarce. They had no tail, but a head at each end, and sharp horns on each head. They were very shy and terribly hard to catch. The local men caught most of their animals by sneaking up behind them while they are not looking, but you could not do this with the pushmi-pullyu. This is because no matter which way you came towards him, he was always facing you. And besides, he only allowed one-half to sleep at a time, keeping the other head alertly awake—and watching. This was why they were never caught and never seen in zoos. Though many of the greatest huntsmen and the cleverest menagerie-keepers spent years of their lives searching through the jungles in all weathers for pushmi-pullyus, not a single one had ever been caught. Even then, years ago, he was the only animal in the world with two heads. Well, the monkeys set out hunting for this animal through the forest. And after they had gone a good many miles, one of them found peculiar footprints near the edge of a river, indicating that a pushmi-pullyu must be very near that spot. Then they went along the bank of the river a little way and they saw a place where the grass was high and thick. They suspected that the pushmi-pullyu was hidden in there. So they all joined hands and made a great circle round the high grass. The pushmipullyu heard them coming, of course. He tried hard to break through the ring of monkeys, but he was unable to do it. When he saw that he had no further hope of escape, he sat down and waited patiently to discover what they wanted. They asked him if he would accompany Doctor Dolittle and be put on display. But he shook both his heads vigorously and declared, “Certainly not!” © Shell Education

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They explained to him that he would not be confined in a menagerie but would just be looked at. They told him that the Doctor was a very kind man but hadn’t any money; and people would pay to see a two-headed animal and the Doctor would get rich and could pay for the boat he had borrowed to come to Africa in. But the pushmi-pullyu answered, “No. You know how shy I am—I hate being stared at.” And he almost began to weep. Then for three days they attempted to persuade him. And at the end of the third day, he agreed to come with them and discover what kind of a man the Doctor was, first. So the monkeys traveled back with the pushmi‑pullyu, and when they arrived at where the Doctor’s little house of grass was, they knocked on the door. “This, Doctor,” introduced Chee-Chee, “is the pushmi-pullyu—the rarest animal of the African jungles, and the only two-headed beast in the world! Take him home with you and your fortune’s made. People will pay any money to see him.” “It certainly would make a nice new kind of pet,” murmured the Doctor. “But does the er—what-do-you-call-it really want to go abroad?” “Yes, I’ll go,” agreed the pushmi-pullyu who saw at once, from the Doctor’s face, that he was a man to be trusted. “You have been so kind to the animals here—and the monkeys inform me that I am the only one who will do. But you must promise me that if I do not like it there, you will send me back.” “Why, certainly—of course, of course,” said the Doctor. “Excuse me, surely you are related to the Deer Family, are you not?” “Yes,” said the pushmi-pullyu—“to the Abyssinian Gazelles and the Asiatic Chamois—on my mother’s side. My father’s great-grandfather was the last of the Unicorns.”

Element Focus: Language Usage What other words could be substituted throughout the passage?

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Excerpt from

The Secret Garden by Frances Hodgson Burnett She walked away. She was slowly thinking. She had begun to like the garden. And she had begun to like the robin. She had begun to like Dickon. And she had begun to like Martha’s mother. She was beginning to like Martha, too. That seemed a lot of people to like. That is, when you were not used to liking people. She thought of the robin as one of the people. She walked outside the long, ivy-covered wall. She could see the treetops over it. The second time that she walked up and down the most interesting thing happened to her. It was very exciting. And it was all because of Ben Weatherstaff’s robin. She heard a chirp and a twitter. She looked at the bare flower bed at her left side. And there he was hopping about. He was pretending to peck things out of the earth. He was trying to pretend that he had not followed her. But she knew he had followed her. The surprise made her happy! She almost shook a little. “You do remember me!” she cried out. “You do! You are prettier than anything else in the world!” She chirped. She talked. And she coaxed. He hopped. He flirted his tail. And he twittered. It was as if he were talking. His red waistcoat was like satin. He puffed his tiny breast out. He was so fine! He was so grand! He was so pretty! It was really like he were showing her how important he was. He wanted her to know how like a human person a robin could be. Mistress Mary forgot that she had ever been unfriendly in her life. The robin let her get closer and closer to him. She bent down. She talked. She tried to make robin sounds. Oh! How nice that he should let her come so close to him! He knew nothing would make her touch him. She would never scare him at all. He knew it because he was a real person. Only he was nicer than any other person in the world. She was so happy that she didn’t even want to breathe.

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The flower bed was not quite bare. It was bare of flowers because the plants had been cut down for their winter rest. But there were tall shrubs and low ones which grew together at the back of the bed. The robin hopped about under them. She saw him hop over a small pile of freshly turned up earth. He stopped on it to look for a worm. The earth had been turned up because a dog had been trying to dig up a mole. The dog had scratched a deep hole. Mary looked at it. She didn’t really know why the hole was there. As she looked, she saw something. It was almost buried in the dug up dirt. It looked like a ring of rusty iron or brass. The robin flew up into a tree nearby. So she put out her hand and picked the ring up. It was more than a ring, though. It was an old key. It looked as if it had been buried a long time. Mistress Mary stood up. She looked at the key. She had an almost scared face as it hung from her finger. “Maybe it has been buried for ten years,” she said in a whisper. “Maybe it is the key to the garden!” The robin flew from his branch of ivy to the top of the wall. He opened his beak. And he sang! He made a loud, lovely song, just to show off. Nothing in the world is quite as cute and lovely as a robin when he shows off. And they are nearly always doing it. Mary Lennox had heard a lot about Magic in her Ayah’s stories. She always said that what happened next was Magic. Little gusts of wind rushed down the walk. One gust was stronger than the rest. It was strong enough to wave the branches of the trees. And it was more than strong enough to blow the ivy hanging from the wall. Mary had stepped close to the robin. Suddenly the gust of wind pushed away some loose ivy stems. More suddenly still, she jumped toward the ivy! She caught it in her hand. This she did because she had seen something under it. It was a round knob. The knob been covered by the leaves hanging over it. It was the knob of a door.

Element Focus: Language Usage Explain why Mary thinks of the robin as a real person.

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Excerpt from

The Secret Garden by Frances Hodgson Burnett She walked away, slowly thinking. She had begun to like the garden. And she had begun to like the robin and Dickon and Martha’s mother. She was beginning to like Martha, too. That seemed a good many people to like. That is, when you were not used to liking. She thought of the robin as one of the people. She walked outside the long, ivy-covered wall. She could see the treetops over it. And the second time she walked up and down the most interesting and exciting thing happened to her. And it was all because of Ben Weatherstaff’s robin. She heard a chirp and a twitter. And when she looked at the bare flower bed at her left side, there he was hopping about. He was pretending to peck things out of the earth. He was trying to convince her that he had not followed her. But she knew he had followed her. The surprise filled her with delight. She almost trembled a little. “You do remember me!” she cried out. “You do! You are prettier than anything else in the world!” She chirped and talked and coaxed. And he hopped, and flirted his tail and twittered. It was as if he were talking. His red waistcoat was like satin. He puffed his tiny breast out. He was so fine and so grand and so pretty! He was trying to show her how important and how like a human person a robin could be. Mistress Mary forgot that she had ever been contrary in her life when he let her get closer and closer to him. She bent down and talked and tried to make robin sounds. Oh! To think that he should actually let her come as near to him as that! He knew nothing in the world would make her put out her hand toward him or startle him in the least tiniest way. He knew it because he was a real person. Only he was nicer than any other person in the world. She was so happy that she scarcely dared to breathe.

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The flower bed was not quite bare. It was bare of flowers because the perennial plants had been cut down for their winter rest. But there were tall shrubs and low ones which grew together at the back of the bed. The robin hopped about under them. She saw him hop over a small pile of freshly turned up earth. He stopped on it to look for a worm. The earth had been turned up because a dog had been trying to dig up a mole and had scratched a deep hole. Mary looked at it, not really knowing why the hole was there. And as she looked, she saw something almost buried in the newly-turned soil. It was something like a ring of rusty iron or brass. When the robin flew up into a tree nearby, she put out her hand and picked the ring up. It was more than a ring, however. It was an old key which looked as if it had been buried a long time. Mistress Mary stood up and looked at it. She had an almost frightened face as it hung from her finger. “Perhaps it has been buried for ten years,” she said in a whisper. “Perhaps it is the key to the garden!” The robin flew from his swinging branch of ivy to the top of the wall. He opened his beak and sang! He made a loud, lovely trill, merely to show off. Nothing in the world is quite as cute and lovely as a robin when he shows off. And they are nearly always doing it. Mary Lennox had heard a lot about Magic in her Ayah’s stories. And she always said that what happened almost at that moment was Magic. Little gusts of wind rushed down the walk. One gust was a stronger one than the rest. It was strong enough to wave the branches of the trees. And it was more than strong enough to sway the sprays of ivy hanging from the wall. Mary had stepped close to the robin. Suddenly the gust of wind pushed aside some loose ivy. More suddenly still, she jumped toward the ivy and caught it in her hand. She did because she had seen something under it—a round knob which had been covered by the leaves hanging over it. It was the knob of a door.

Element Focus: Language Usage Give several examples of ways that the robin is personified in the passage. Why do you think the author did this?

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Excerpt from

The Secret Garden by Frances Hodgson Burnett She walked away, slowly thinking. She had begun to like the garden, just as she had begun to like the robin and Dickon and Martha’s mother. She was beginning to like Martha, too. That seemed a good many people to like—when you were not used to liking. She thought of the robin as one of the people. She went to her walk outside the long, ivy-covered wall over which she could see the treetops. And the second time she walked up and down, the most interesting and exciting thing happened to her. And it was all through Ben Weatherstaff’s robin. She heard a chirp and a twitter, and when she looked at the bare flower bed at her left side, there he was hopping about and pretending to peck things out of the earth to persuade her that he had not followed her. But she knew he had followed her and the surprise so filled her with delight that she almost trembled a little. “You do remember me!” she cried out. “You do! You are prettier than anything else in the world!” She chirped and talked and coaxed, and he hopped, and flirted his tail and twittered. It was as if he were talking. His red waistcoat was like satin. He puffed his tiny breast out and was so fine and so grand and so pretty! It was really as if he were showing her how important and like a human person a robin could be. Mistress Mary forgot that she had ever been contrary in her life when he allowed her to draw closer and closer to him. She bent down and talked and tried to make something like robin sounds. Oh! To think that he should actually let her come as near to him as that! He knew nothing in the world would make her put out her hand toward him or startle him in the least tiniest way. He knew it because he was a real person—only nicer than any other person in the world. She was so happy that she scarcely dared to breathe.

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The flower bed was not quite bare. It was bare of flowers because the perennial plants had been cut down for their winter rest. But there were tall shrubs and low ones which grew together at the back of the bed. And as the robin hopped about under them, she saw him hop over a small pile of freshly turned up earth. He stopped on it to look for a worm. The earth had been turned up because a dog had been trying to dig up a mole and he had scratched quite a deep hole. Mary looked at it, not really knowing why the hole was there. And as she looked, she saw something almost buried in the newly-turned soil. It was something like a ring of rusty iron or brass. When the robin flew up into a tree nearby, she put out her hand and picked the ring up. It was more than a ring, however. It was an old key which looked as if it had been buried a long time. Mistress Mary stood up and looked at it with an almost frightened face as it hung from her finger. “Perhaps it has been buried for ten years,” she said in a whisper. “Perhaps it is the key to the garden!” The robin flew from his swinging spray of ivy on to the top of the wall, and he opened his beak and sang a loud, lovely trill, merely to show off. Nothing in the world is quite as adorably lovely as a robin when he shows off—and they are nearly always doing it. Mary Lennox had heard a great deal about Magic in her Ayah’s stories, and she always said that what happened almost at that moment was Magic. One of the nice little gusts of wind rushed down the walk, and it was a stronger one than the rest. It was strong enough to wave the branches of the trees, and it was more than strong enough to sway the trailing sprays of untrimmed ivy hanging from the wall. Mary had stepped close to the robin, and suddenly the gust of wind swung aside some loose ivy trails, and more suddenly still, she jumped toward it and caught it in her hand. This she did because she had seen something under it—a round knob which had been covered by the leaves hanging over it. It was the knob of a door.

Element Focus: Language Usage In what ways does Mary’s insistence that the robin “was a real person” explain her feelings and actions in the passage? Describe how her personification of the robin contributes to the sense of Magic.

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Excerpt from

The Secret Garden by Frances Hodgson Burnett She walked away, slowly thinking. She had begun to like the garden just as she had begun to like the robin and Dickon and Martha’s mother. She was beginning to like Martha, too. That seemed a good many people to like—when you were not used to liking. She thought of the robin as one of the people. She went to her walk outside the long, ivy-covered wall over which she could see the treetops; and the second time she walked up and down the most interesting and exciting thing happened to her, and it was all through Ben Weatherstaff’s robin. She heard a chirp and a twitter, and when she looked at the bare flower-bed at her left side there he was hopping about and pretending to peck things out of the earth to persuade her that he had not followed her. But she knew he had followed her and the surprise so filled her with delight that she almost trembled a little. “You do remember me!” she cried out. “You do! You are prettier than anything else in the world!” She chirped, and talked, and coaxed and he hopped, and flirted his tail and twittered. It was as if he were talking. His red waistcoat was like satin and he puffed his tiny breast out and was so fine and so grand and so pretty that it was really as if he were showing her how important and like a human person a robin could be. Mistress Mary forgot that she had ever been contrary in her life when he allowed her to draw closer and closer to him, and bend down and talk and try to make something like robin sounds. Oh! To think that he should actually let her come as near to him as that! He knew nothing in the world would make her put out her hand toward him or startle him in the least tiniest way. He knew it because he was a real person—only nicer than any other person in the world. She was so happy that she scarcely dared to breathe.

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The flower bed was not quite bare. It was bare of flowers because the perennial plants had been cut down for their winter rest, but there were tall shrubs and low ones which grew together at the back of the bed, and as the robin hopped about under them she saw him hop over a small pile of freshly turned up earth. He stopped on it to look for a worm. The earth had been turned up because a dog had been trying to dig up a mole and he had scratched quite a deep hole. Mary looked at it, not really knowing why the hole was there, and as she looked she saw something almost buried in the newly-turned soil. It was something like a ring of rusty iron or brass and when the robin flew up into a tree nearby she put out her hand and picked the ring up. It was more than a ring, however; it was an old key which looked as if it had been buried a long time. Mistress Mary stood up and looked at it with an almost frightened face as it hung from her finger. “Perhaps it has been buried for ten years,” she said in a whisper. “Perhaps it is the key to the garden!” The robin flew from his swinging spray of ivy on to the top of the wall and he opened his beak and sang a loud, lovely trill, merely to show off. Nothing in the world is quite as adorably lovely as a robin when he shows off—and they are nearly always doing it. Mary Lennox had heard a great deal about Magic in her Ayah’s stories, and she always said that what happened almost at that moment was Magic. One of the nice little gusts of wind rushed down the walk, and it was a stronger one than the rest. It was strong enough to wave the branches of the trees, and it was more than strong enough to sway the trailing sprays of untrimmed ivy hanging from the wall. Mary had stepped close to the robin, and suddenly the gust of wind swung aside some loose ivy trails, and more suddenly still she jumped toward it and caught it in her hand. This she did because she had seen something under it—a round knob which had been covered by the leaves hanging over it. It was the knob of a door.

Element Focus: Language Usage What are some possible explanations for Mary’s insistence that the robin is a real person? How does her relationship with the robin move the plot forward?

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Excerpt from

Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea: An Underwater Tour of the World by Jules Verne

I went to the captain. “An unusual group of devilfish,” I told him. I was as carefree as a collector at an aquarium. “True, Mr. Naturalist,” he replied. “And we’re going to fight them at close quarters.” I stared at him. I thought my hearing was bad. “Up close?” I said. “Yes, sir. Our propeller is stuck. I think the hard jaws of one of these squid are caught in the blades. That’s why we aren’t moving.” “And what will you do?” “Go up to the surface. Then we will kill the pests.” “A hard thing to do.” “Yes. Our electric bullets won’t help. They don’t work on their soft flesh. They don’t hit strong enough force to go off. But we’ll fight the beasts with axes.” “And harpoons, sir.” the Canadian said. “I hope you don’t turn down my help.” “I accept it, Mr. Land.” “We’ll go with you,” I said. We followed Captain Nemo. We headed to the main stairs. There ten men were ready for the fight. They were armed with axes. Conseil and I picked up two more. Ned Land took a harpoon. The Nautilus got to the surface of the water. One of the men at the top of the steps undid the screws of the hatch cover. He had barely loosened them when the hatch flew up! It had been pulled open by the suckers on a squid’s arm.

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A long arm moved like a snake into the opening. Twenty more arms wiggled above. Captain Nemo swung his axe. He chopped off this terrible arm. It fell down the steps. We shoved each other to reach the top. Two more arms lashed the air. They grabbed the man in front of Captain Nemo. They carried the fellow away. The arms had great strength. Captain Nemo gave a shout! He leaped outside. We rushed after him. What a scene! Seized by the tentacle and glued to its suckers, the unlucky man swung in the air. He was at the mercy of this huge arm. He gasped. He choked. He yelled: “Help! Help!” These words were in French. They left me stunned! So I had a countryman on board. Maybe there were more! I’ll hear his scream the rest of my life! The poor man was lost. Who could tear him from such a strong arm? Even so, Captain Nemo attacked the devilfish. With a sweep of the ax he hewed one more of its arms. His chief officer struggled furiously with other monsters. They crawled up the Nautilus’s sides. The crew battled with flailing axes. The Canadian, Conseil, and I hit our weapons into their flesh. A sour odor filled the air. It was horrible. What rage then drove us against these monsters! We could not control ourselves. Ten or twelve devilfish had overrun the ship. They swarmed its platform and sides. We ran quickly into these sawed–off snakes. They darted over the deck in waves of blood and sepia ink. It seemed as if these viscous tentacles grew back like the many heads of Hydra. At every thrust, Ned Land’s harpoon would plunge into a squid’s sea–green eye and burst it. But my daring friend was knocked down. He was struck by the tentacles of a monster he could not avoid. Oh, my heart nearly exploded with excitement and horror! The squid’s awful beak was wide open over Ned Land. The poor man would be cut in half. I ran to his rescue. But Captain Nemo got there first. His ax disappeared. It fell between the two huge jaws. The Canadian was miraculously saved. He stood. He plunged his harpoon! It went all the way into the devilfish’s triple heart.

Element Focus: Language Usage What does the narrator mean when he says, “Oh, my heart nearly exploded with excitement and horror!” How does this use of hyperbole change the level of excitement in the passage?

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Excerpt from

Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea: An Underwater Tour of the World by Jules Verne

I went over to the captain. “An unusual assortment of devilfish,” I told him. I was as carefree as a collector in front of an aquarium. “Correct, Mr. Naturalist,” he answered me. “And we’re going to fight them at close quarters.” I stared at the captain. I thought my hearing had gone bad. “Up close?” I repeated. “Yes, sir. Our propeller is jammed. I think the horn–covered jaws of one of these squid are caught in the blades. That’s why we aren’t moving.” “And what are you going to do?” “Rise to the surface. Then we will kill the pests.” “A hard thing to do.” “Yes. Our electric bullets don’t work in their soft flesh. They don’t hit with enough resistance to go off. But we’ll attack the beasts with axes.” “And harpoons, sir.” the Canadian said. “I hope you don’t turn down my help.” “I accept it, Mr. Land.” “We’ll go with you,” I said. And we followed Captain Nemo. We headed to the central passage. There some ten men were standing by for the assault. They were armed with boarding axes. Conseil and I picked up two more axes. Ned Land seized a harpoon. By then, the Nautilus had returned to the surface of the waves. One of the sailors at the top of the steps unlocked the bolts of the hatch cover. He had barely unscrewed the nuts when the hatch flew up with great force! It had been pulled open by the suckers on a devilfish’s arm.

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Instantly one of those long arms slid like a snake into the opening. Twenty other arms were quivering above. With a sweep of the ax, Captain Nemo chopped off this terrible tentacle. It slid writhing down the steps. We crowded each other to reach the platform. Two more arms lashed the air. They swooped on the seaman stationed in front of Captain Nemo. They carried the fellow away with irresistible force. Captain Nemo gave a shout! He leaped outside. We rushed after him. What a scene! Seized by the tentacle and glued to its suckers, the unfortunate man was swinging in the air. He was helpless in this huge arm. He gasped. He choked. He yelled: “Help! Help!” These words, spoken in French, left me deeply stunned! So I had a fellow countryman on board. Maybe there were several! I’ll hear his awful cry the rest of my life! The poor fellow was done for. Who could tear him from such a powerful grip? Even so, Captain Nemo rushed at the devilfish. He swung the ax and sliced one more of its arms. His chief officer struggled furiously with other monsters crawling up the Nautilus’s sides. The crew battled with flailing axes. The Canadian, Conseil, and I sank our weapons into these fleshy monsters. A strong, sour odor filled the air. It was horrible. What rage then drove us against these monsters! We lost all self– control. Ten or twelve devilfish had taken over the ship’s platform and sides. We piled quickly into the middle of these sawed–off snakes. They darted over the platform in waves of blood and sepia ink. It seemed as if these viscous tentacles grew back like the many heads of Hydra. At every thrust, Ned Land’s harpoon would plunge into a squid’s sea–green eye and burst it. But my daring companion was suddenly knocked down. He was struck by the tentacles of a monster he could not avoid. Oh, my heart nearly exploded with excitement and horror! The squid’s awful beak was wide open over Ned Land. The poor man was about to be cut in half. I ran to his rescue. But Captain Nemo got there first. His ax disappeared between the two enormous jaws. The Canadian, miraculously saved, stood. He plunged his harpoon all the way into the devilfish’s triple heart.

Element Focus: Language Usage The narrator says “my heart nearly exploded with excitement and horror.” Explain how this use of hyperbole adds to the excitement of the passage. Describe other ways that the author builds excitement.

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Excerpt from

Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea: An Underwater Tour of the World by Jules Verne

I went over to the captain. “An unusual assortment of devilfish,” I told him, as carefree as a collector in front of an aquarium. “Correct, Mr. Naturalist,” he answered me, “and we’re going to fight them at close quarters.” I gaped at the captain. I thought my hearing had gone bad. “At close quarters?” I repeated. “Yes, sir. Our propeller is jammed. I think the horn–covered mandibles of one of these squid are entangled in the blades. That’s why we aren’t moving.” “And what are you going to do?” “Rise to the surface and slaughter the vermin.” “A difficult undertaking.” “Correct. Our electric bullets are ineffective against such soft flesh, where they don’t meet enough resistance to go off. But we’ll attack the beasts with axes.” “And harpoons, sir,” the Canadian said, “if you don’t turn down my help.” “I accept it, Mr. Land.” “We’ll go with you,” I said. And we followed Captain Nemo, heading to the central companionway. There some ten men were standing by for the assault, armed with boarding axes. Conseil and I picked up two more axes. Ned Land seized a harpoon. By then the Nautilus had returned to the surface of the waves. Stationed on the top steps, one of the seamen undid the bolts of the hatch. But he had scarcely unscrewed the nuts when the hatch flew up with tremendous violence, obviously pulled open by the suckers on a devilfish’s arm.

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Instantly one of those long arms glided like a snake into the opening, and twenty others were quivering above. With a sweep of the ax, Captain Nemo chopped off this fearsome tentacle, which slid writhing down the steps. Just as we were crowding each other to reach the platform, two more arms lashed the air, swooped on the seaman stationed in front of Captain Nemo, and carried the fellow away with irresistible violence. Captain Nemo gave a shout and leaped outside. We rushed after him. What a scene! Seized by the tentacle and glued to its suckers, the unfortunate man was swinging in the air at the mercy of this enormous appendage. He gasped, he choked, he yelled: “Help! Help!” These words, pronounced in French, left me deeply stunned! So I had a fellow countryman on board, perhaps several! I’ll hear his harrowing plea the rest of my life! The poor fellow was done for. Who could tear him from such a powerful grip? Even so, Captain Nemo rushed at the devilfish and with a sweep of the ax hewed one more of its arms. His chief officer struggled furiously with other monsters crawling up the Nautilus’s sides. The crew battled with flailing axes. The Canadian, Conseil, and I sank our weapons into these fleshy masses. An intense, musky odor filled the air. It was horrible. What rage then drove us against these monsters! We lost all self‑control. Ten or twelve devilfish had overrun the Nautilus’s platform and sides. We piled helter–skelter into the thick of these sawed–off snakes, which darted over the platform amid waves of blood and sepia ink. It seemed as if these viscous tentacles grew back like the many heads of Hydra. At every thrust Ned Land’s harpoon would plunge into a squid’s sea–green eye and burst it. But my daring companion was suddenly toppled by the tentacles of a monster he could not avoid. Oh, my heart nearly exploded with excitement and horror! The squid’s fearsome beak was wide open over Ned Land. The poor man was about to be cut in half. I ran to his rescue. But Captain Nemo got there first. His ax disappeared between the two enormous mandibles, and the Canadian, miraculously saved, stood and plunged his harpoon all the way into the devilfish’s triple heart.

Element Focus: Language Usage Describe several ways that Jules Verne builds excitement in this story.

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Excerpt from

Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea: An Underwater Tour of the World by Jules Verne

I went over to the captain. “An unusual assortment of devilfish,” I companionably informed him, as carefree as a collector in front of an aquarium. “Correct, Mr. Naturalist,” he answered me seriously, “and we’re going to fight them at close quarters.” I gaped at the captain, thinking my hearing had gone bad. “At close quarters?” I repeated dumbly. “Yes, sir. Our propeller is jammed and I believe the horn‑covered mandibles of one of these squid are entangled in the blades, keeping us from moving.” “And what are you going to do?” “We shall rise to the surface and slaughter the vermin.” “That will be a difficult undertaking.” “Correct. Our electric bullets are ineffective against such soft flesh, where they don’t meet enough resistance to go off; however, we’ll attack the beasts with axes.” “And harpoons, sir,” the Canadian said by way of an offer, “if you don’t turn down my help.” “I accept it, Mr. Land.” “We’ll go with you,” I said decisively. And we followed Captain Nemo, heading to the central companionway. There some ten men were standing by for the assault, armed with boarding axes. Conseil and I picked up two more axes while Ned Land seized a harpoon. By then, the Nautilus had returned to the surface of the waves. Stationed on the top steps, one of the seamen undid the bolts of the hatch, but he had scarcely unscrewed the nuts, when the hatch flew up with tremendous violence, obviously pulled open by the suckers on a devilfish’s arm. © Shell Education

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Instantly one of those long arms glided like a snake into the opening, and twenty others were quivering above. With a sweep of the ax, Captain Nemo chopped off this fearsome tentacle, which slid writhing down the steps. Just as we were crowding each other to reach the platform, two more arms lashed the air, swooped on the seaman stationed in front of Captain Nemo, and carried the fellow away with irresistible violence. Captain Nemo gave a shout and leaped outside and we all rushed after him. What a scene! Seized by the tentacle and glued to its suckers, the unfortunate man was swinging in the air at the mercy of this enormous appendage. He gasped, he choked, he yelled: “Help! Help!” These words, pronounced in French, left me deeply stunned! So I had a fellow countryman on board, perhaps several! I’ll hear his harrowing plea the rest of my life! The poor fellow was certainly done for. Who could tear him from such a powerful grip? Even so, Captain Nemo rushed at the devilfish and with a sweep of the ax hewed one more of its arms while his chief officer struggled furiously with other monsters crawling up the Nautilus’s sides. The crew battled with flailing axes, and the Canadian, Conseil, and I sank our weapons into these fleshy masses. An intense, musky odor filled the air. It was horrible. What rage then drove us against these monsters! We lost all self‑control. Ten or twelve devilfish had overrun the Nautilus’s platform and sides, so we piled helter–skelter into the thick of these sawed–off snakes, which darted over the platform amid waves of blood and sepia ink. It seemed as if these viscous tentacles grew back like the many heads of Hydra. At every thrust, Ned Land’s harpoon would plunge into a squid’s sea–green eye and burst it. But my daring companion was suddenly toppled by the tentacles of a monster he could not avoid. Oh, my heart nearly exploded with excitement and horror! The squid’s fearsome beak was wide open over Ned Land, threatening to cut the poor man in half! I ran to his rescue, but Captain Nemo got there first. His ax disappeared between the two enormous mandibles, and the Canadian, miraculously saved, stood and plunged his harpoon all the way into the devilfish’s triple heart.

Element Focus: Language Usage Describe several ways that Jules Verne uses language to create an exciting story. How might you tell this story differently?

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References Cited Bean, Thomas. 2000. Reading in the Content Areas: Social Constructivist Dimensions. In Handbook of Reading Research, vol. 3, eds. M. Kamil, P. Mosenthal, P. D. Pearson, and R. Barr. Mahwah, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum. Bromley, Karen. 2004. Rethinking Vocabulary Instruction. The Language and Literacy Spectrum 14:3–12. Melville, Herman. 1851. Moby Dick. New York: Harper. Nagy, William, and Richard C. Anderson. 1984. How Many Words Are There in Printed School English? Reading Research Quarterly 19 (3): 304–330. National Governors Association Center for Best Practices and Council of Chief State School Officers. 2010. Common Core Standards. http://www.corestandards.org/the-standards. Oatley, Keith. 2009. Changing Our Minds. Greater Good: The Science of a Meaningful Life, Winter. http://greatergood.berkeley.edu/article/item/chaning_our_minds. Pinnell, Gay Su. 1988. Success of Children At Risk in a Program that Combines Writing and Reading. Technical Report No. 417 (January). Reading and Writing Connections. Richek, Margaret. 2005. Words Are Wonderful: Interactive, Time-Efficient Strategies to Teach Meaning Vocabulary. The Reading Teacher 58 (5): 414–423. Riordan, Rick. 2005. The Lightning Thief. London: Puffin Books. Sachar, Louis. 2000. Holes. New York, NY: Dell Yearling. Snicket, Lemony. 1999. A Series of Unfortunate Events. New York: HarperCollins. Tomlinson, Carol Ann and Marcia. B. Imbeau. 2010. Leading and Managing a Differentiated Classroom. Alexandria, VA: Association for Supervision and Curriculum Development. Zunshine, Lisa. 2006. Why We Read Fiction: Theory of Mind and the Novel. Columbus, OH: The Ohio State University Press.

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#50984—Leveled Texts for Classic Fiction: Fantasy and Science Fiction

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Help all students access classic literature! Engage and inspire students to read and comprehend a variety of classic fiction pieces with the Leveled Texts for Classic Fiction series. Each book in the series contains 15 excerpted exemplar texts that have been leveled at four distinct reading levels and organized to support the teaching of key fiction concepts such as theme, setting, and character. Leveled comprehension questions follow each text to promote class discussions, collaboration, and ensure students’ success. The Leveled Texts for Classic Fiction series is a great tool for differentiating and motivating all students as they work to comprehend and respond to texts of varying complexity.

Leveled Texts for Classic Fiction: Mythology

Leveled Texts for Classic Fiction: Humor

Leveled Texts for Classic Fiction: Adventure

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