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End-of-Grade 7 (EOG7) Reading

Last updated 6 months ago
46 questions

Excerpt from “Walking Through the World of Math”

by Francis Scheid

Why do some of us get "hooked" on math, while others despair of ever "getting it" at all? Tough question. Maybe it's in the genes. The hooked say they enjoy the mental challenge of thinking things through-little problems and big problems, for fun or profit or just to better understand our world. No doubt this is the case, especially when they succeed and have the thrill of victory.

You can experience a similar thrill, perhaps a bit smaller, whenever you face a math challenge, try hard, and "get it." Call it reasoning or just plain careful thinking, but without question it is the "spirit of math." Of course, you don't always "win." The you-know-what of defeat comes to us all. Then it's time-out and, for serious mathematicians, another and another try. Perhaps you didn't have the right tools handy at first. There are plenty of unsolved math problems, ones that have "stuck" the best of mathematicians-so far, anyway. . . .

3
Math has at least three faces. Sometimes it's fun, sometimes it's beautiful, and it has even been known to be (smile here) useful. Usually it's a mix of all three. Although the famous British mathematician G.H. Hardy (1877- 1947) once said proudly, "I never did anything useful," what he really meant was that he concentrated solely on the fun and the beauty of math, rather than on its application.

4
You know about crawling before you walk, walking before you run. The parallel in math is doing arithmetic before you do algebra, algebra before calculus, calculus before lots of other good stuff. You won't find all of it even in a college library. But the trick is to take it step-by-step and enjoy the journey. That is where the fun and the beauty of math come in... .

And now a few quotes, somewhat abbreviated, about the topic at hand.

Aristotle: Mathematics exhibits the greatest forms of the beautiful.
Plato: The knowledge at which geometry aims is the knowledge of the eternal.
British philosopher Alfred North Whitehead (1861-1947): Mathematics is the most unique creation of the human spirit.
Somebody else: Math is the science of the infinite.

6
As for the mathematical infinite, it obviously means thinking PRETTY BiG... . Philosophers and mathematicians have always loved thinking about the infinite. It is one giant step in the growing up of a mathematician.
Required
1

Why does the author put “hooked” and “getting it” in quotation marks?

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What argument is the author making in paragraph 3?

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What is the reason the author adds the phrase “(smile here)” to the sentence in paragraph 3?

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What does the word parallel in paragraph 4 suggest about the concepts?

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What do the people quoted in the text have in common?

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What effect do the quotes from other people have on the author's purpose for the text?

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What is the meaning of the word infinite in paragraph 6?

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What is the “spirit of math” in the text?

No Hero

by Jesse Stuart

Everybody at the fair thought the thin man was crazy. How could he wrestle with a 386-pound bear? But a man with hungry children will try almost anything for money-especially when he has a secret up his sleeve. (In the story, people call Hester "Ichabod Crane," who is a famous character with a tall, thin body.)

I had been walking for seven miles. I stopped to catch my breath and do some thinking.

The bright lights of Landsburg were in front of me. Behind me were the dark hills where my crops had failed.

Mollie and our three children were in a shack among these hills.

"Hester, we can't go another day without bread," Mollie had said. She couldn't understand why I was going to Landsburg. And I couldn't tell her what I had in mind.

Nature had been against me. It wasn't that I wouldn't work. I was willing to work.

But the bad weather had killed my crops. I couldn't make it rain. There wasn't anything I could do. All I'd worked for was lost.

Nature was against me in another way that I couldn't help. I'd grown up tall as a beanpole. And I was thin as a young tree. So they wouldn't hire me at the iron works.

I was near Landsburg now. I could see bright lights along the streets. There was one really bright spot in the town. And in a few minutes, I had reached it.

People filled the fairground. They were almost running over each other. They were standing in line to buy rings to throw over pegs. They were waiting to ride the merry-go-round and the merry mix-up.

Money was flowing like water. And everybody was happy. I wished for a little of the money. But my time was coming.

An announcer stepped out on a platform.

"We are looking for a man to stay with Old Bruin five minutes tonight," he said. "Is there a man who will wrestle this 386-pound bear?"

The crowd was silent.

"Stay in the cage with Old Bruin for five minutes, and earn $25," the announcer said. "Earn $25 for every extra five minutes. And there will be $100 extra if you wrestle him."

"I'll try it, sir," I said.

"That bear will kill you, man," someone said. "Ain't you afraid of him, Slim?"

"Yes, I am," I said.

"Come up here, Slim," the announcer said. "Let the crowd have a look at you!"

When I climbed up on the platform, everybody laughed.

"Ever do any wrestling, Slim?" the announcer asked.

"Never did," I said.

More people gathered in to have a look at me.

"Nobody's stayed with that bear three minutes," said a big man.

"Hogg Morton stayed the longest," someone said. "He stayed two minutes! Had the bear down once! But that bear almost killed Hogg!"

"Buddie Walker didn't stay ten seconds," another man said. "Bear just knocked him against the cage once. And that was it!"

"How long do you think you can last?" the announcer asked.

"Five minutes," I said. "Maybe longer."

"Mr. Hester King says he'll stay with the bear five minutes or longer. And you say he won't. Let's see who is telling the truth!" the announcer said.

"Old Ichabod, the beanpole, will soon find out," someone shouted.

"Wait until you see this man in wrestling trunks," the announcer said. "Worth the price of admission, folks!"

I followed the announcer into the tent. The crowd rushed to buy tickets.

I went into a dressing room to change. I thought about my children. Then I thought about big Bruin. I wondered just what would happen.

I was ready. The manager warned me not to be too scared. He said the referee-Johnnie Norris-would make sure Bruin didn't hurt me.

The manager pushed back a flap of the tent. We walked into the arena. People were crowded close to the cage.

The big black bear was inside the cage. He walked around, looking at the people.

I walked among the crowd. Everybody screamed with laughter. I was now getting near the cage door.

"Timekeeper here?" the referee asked.

"Yep," the timekeeper said.

"All right. Start your watch," Johnnie said. He unlocked the cage door. "Shake hands with Bruin," he told me.

I shook Bruin's paw gently. Everybody in the tent became very quiet. Bruin backed away.

Then he moved clumsily toward me. He pushed me against the side of the cage. He acted like he wanted to finish me in a hurry.

"Won't be long," someone said.

I got back on my feet. I ran in between Old Bruin's outstretched paws. Old Bruin tried squeezing on me.

I hugged close to Bruin. I put my hands gently on his back. Then he shoved me back. He slapped me again. He knocked me against the side of the cage.

But it didn't hurt me. And I didn't stay long. I ran back into his arms.

"Three minutes," said the timekeeper. "Longest anybody has stayed yet!"

Old Bruin slapped me hard. I hit the bars of the cage, and saw stars.

49
I was clinched with Old Bruin again. I let my hands fall gently up and down his back. Bruin was settling down. My chin rested on his head.

"Five minutes," the timekeeper called.

We stood there paw-locked and arm-locked. Time was flying. Once Johnnie Norris passed us. He had a worried look on his face.

"Ten minutes," the timekeeper said.

Then Bruin put his red tongue out like a tired dog. I felt his hot breath sizzle past my ear. The sweat was pouring from my face. Holding up big Bruin wasn't easy.

"Has he hypnotized that bear?" someone shouted.

About that time, Bruin pushed me to the floor. But he didn't come after me. He looked like a very tired wrestler.

I got back on my feet. Bruin came to meet me. He slapped me gently with his paws. I did a little footwork around the cage.

Bruin's front paws were spread apart. I rushed in and clinched him.

"Fifteen minutes," the timekeeper said. There were shouts from the crowd.

"$75," I thought.

Then I put my chin back on Bruin's head. I put my big hands on Bruin's back. This time Bruin went down. And I fell down beside him.

Johnnie Norris ran up to check our shoulders. The crowd screamed loud enough to raise the tent.

My right arm was around Bruin's neck. We lay there, side by side.

"What's wrong here?" Johnnie asked.

"Nineteen minutes," the timekeeper said. Shouts went up again from the people.

"Who said old Ichabod Crane couldn't wrestle?" someone said.

They didn't know it. But I knew Bruin was ready for a rest on the floor.

"Twenty minutes!" the timekeeper said.

"Old Ichabod Crane is some wrestler!" a man shouted.

"Twenty-four minutes," the timekeeper announced.

Then Old Bruin rolled over on his back.

The crowd went wild. There were screams, shouts, and whistles.

"Let's have a count. Bruin's down! He's down!" someone shouted.

Bruin didn't offer to get up. His big mouth was open.

"You must have played my bear foul," Johnnie Norris said.

"I did not," I said. "You'll see Bruin's not hurt. He's tired, but happy."

"First time that bear was ever down," Johnnie said.

Johnnie Norris started to get Old Bruin up. But the bear gave him a hit on the top of his head. It sent Johnnie flying towards the other side of the cage.

"$225!" someone said. "Think of it! Ichabod Crane beat Old Bruin!"

The manager let me through the cage door. He then dragged Johnnie outside. The men lifted me onto their shoulders.

They carried me out of the tent and all over the fairgrounds. They shouted. "Here's Ichabod Crane! He beat the bear!"

Everybody laughed and screamed and shouted. The manager paid me the money. I was a hero for the night. But they didn't know how I did it.

I didn't tell them or anybody what a friend I'd made of Bruin. I didn't tell them that I'd once owned a pet bear.

You see. . . a bear likes to be rubbed between the ears and on the tummy. I suppose it wasn't exactly fair.

But Mollie and the kids had to eat. Gentling Old Bruin was an easy dollar.
Required
1

Which statement summarizes the plot of the selection?

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1

Why does the author include the introduction to the selection?

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What do the “bright lights of Landsburg” represent for Hester King as he leaves his home?

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What is the reason that Hester left without telling Mollie where he was going?

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What does the phrase “clinched with Old Bruin” mean in paragraph 49?

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How does Hester defeat Bruin in the cage?

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How does the setting of the selection shape the plot?

A Nation Divided


Crossing the Border

Although the U.S. Post Office Department officially ended mail traffic across the border on August 26, 1861, mail continued to be carried between North and South. Express companies carried much of the mail through "flag-of-truce" ships.

Because Union forces began blockading Southern ports in April 1861, mail was often carried on blockade runners or routed through foreign posts. Southern mail going overseas was carried through the Union blockade by ships sailing from Cuba, Bermuda, and other islands in the West Indies to Charleston, South Carolina; Wilmington, North Carolina; and several Southern ports on the Gulf of Mexico. Because the Confederacy did not have postal treaties with foreign governments, letters were carried as private “ship” mail. They were charged the inland rates plus two cents, which was paid to the ship’s master.

The handstamped “ship” marking indicated receipt of the letter from a private vessel. Letters carried through the Union blockade paid postage twice. The first was U.S. postage, which paid overland postage once the letter was deposited into the U.S. Mail. The second charge came from the ship’s master, who placed the letters into federal mailboxes.

The Confederate Postal System

The Confederate States of America (CSA) formed their own Post Office Department on February 21, 1861. John H. Reagan was named as the service's postmaster general. In all, Reagan placed 8,535 of the nation's 28,586 post offices under Confederate control and sought assistance from Southern sympathizers in the U.S. Post Office Department. Reagan tried to bring not just employees from the Federal system into his, but also all that they could bring in the way of maps, reports, forms, and plans that would build and strengthen the new service.

At first, all postal business was conducted with U.S. money and postage stamps. The first Confederate stamps were not available until October 1861. Most printers capable of doing the work were in the Northern states. Until Confederate stamps became available, some local postmasters created and sold their own provisional stamps or marked mail "paid" by hand.

The first Confederate stamps were printed by the Richmond, Virginia, lithography firm, Hoyer & Ludwig, which had no background in stamp printing. The first official issue was a 5-cent green stamp bearing the portrait of CSA President Jefferson Davis, making him the first living president to appear on a postage stamp. Because of the low quality of their stamps, Hoyer & Ludwig lost the contract. The internationally known London, England, printing firm of Thomas De La Rue & Co. prepared plates and stamps for the CSA until a Southern firm was found to take over the work. That firm, Archer & Daly, began producing stamps in 1863.

Old stocks of U.S. stamped envelopes and ordinary envelopes were imprinted to indicate that the enclosed correspondence was official business of the Confederate Post Office Department. Such mail required no postage when properly endorsed. Other Confederate government departments, minor offices and bureaus, army headquarters, military divisions, and individual states used imprinted envelopes for official correspondence, but were required to pay postage.

As Union troops regained Southern territories, federal mail service began to be restored. By the end of 1865, almost 500 routes had been restored. By November 1, 1866, almost half of the post offices in the South had been returned to federal service.

John Reagan, traveling with Jefferson Davis, was arrested on May 8, 1865, and imprisoned at Ft. Warren in Boston Harbor. Reagan was pardoned and released from prison almost two years later. He returned to his home state of Texas. He eventually made it back to Congress, where he became chairman of the Committee on Post Offices and Post Roads.

Adversity Covers

As the war continued, the Union blockade proved critical in restricting goods from entering and leaving the Confederacy. Southerners faced increasing shortages of supplies, including paper and envelopes. Writers began to use whatever was handy as letter-writing paper and envelopes. These items are known by philatelists as “adversity covers.”

Letters and envelopes were fashioned from the backs of ledger sheets, printed circulars, blank pages in books, maps, and even wallpaper. Some writers reused envelopes by turning them inside out. Any blank or partially blank piece of paper could be pressed into service as an envelope.

Soldiers' Mail

12
For many soldiers, the Civil War was their first extended absence from home. Their letters often included references both to the loneliness of life and the horrors of the conflict. Letters from home were always welcome relief in a soldier's day. Families were not the only ones eager for word from their loved ones at war. For the first time, newspaper publishers could rely on soldiers' letters for first-person depictions of battles.

Because they were often on the move, soldiers mail service was irregular at best. While letters might find them easily when they were camped for extended periods, when on the march, units could travel for weeks without receiving their mail.

The postal service acknowledged that many soldiers did not carry stamps with them and permitted them to send letters without stamps. A soldier's envelope had to bear his name, rank, and unit. Such mail was marked "postage due," and the amount indicated was collected from the addressee.

Prisoner-of-War Mail

Confederate and Union prisoners were allowed to exchange mail through flag-of-truce ships.

Confederate and Union prisoner-of-war letters were exchanged at designated points. These letters usually were enclosed within an inner, unsealed envelope that bore enemy stamps or was sent postage due. The outer cover was destroyed after the contents were censored, as indicated by proper markings and endorsements on the envelope carrying the letter to its destination.

Patriotic Covers

Illustrated stationery reveals the strong emotions generated by the Civil War. In the North, envelopes bearing patriotic illustrations appeared even before hostilities broke out. Soon after the war began, Southern stationers quickly marketed patriotic envelopes picturing flags, cannons, political leaders, slogans, soldiers, and caricatures, among other war-related themes.

*philatelists: people who collect stamps as a hobby
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What is the central idea of the text?

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Which is a summary of the section entitled “Crossing the Border”?

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How does the section entitled “The Confederate Postal System” contribute to the understanding of the title?

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Why was the printing of postal stamps delayed for the Confederate postal system?

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What does the phrase “first-person depictions of battles” mean in paragraph 12?

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How does the author support the claim that the U.S. Mail tried to assist the communications between the soldiers and their loved ones?

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How did the Civil War influence the mail service?

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Which statement is supported by information in the text?

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Explain how the phrase “pressed into service” in paragraph 11 impacts the meaning of the text. Provide one or more quotes from the text to support your answer.

Excerpt from Two Years Before the Mast

Chapter I

by Richard Henry Dana

1
The fourteenth of August was the day fixed upon for the sailing of the brig Pilgrim on her voyage from Boston, round Cape Horn, to the Western coast of North America. As she was to get under way early in the afternoon, I made my appearance on board at twelve o’clock, in full sea-rig, with my chest containing an outfit for a two or three years’ voyage, which I had undertaken from a determination to cure, if possible, by an entire change of life, and by a long absence from books, with a plenty of hard work, plain food, and open air, a weakness of the eyes, which had obliged me to give up my studies, and which no medical aid seemed likely to remedy.

The change from the tight frock coat, silk cap, and kid gloves of an undergraduate at Harvard, to the loose duck trousers, checked shirt, and tarpaulin hat of a sailor, though somewhat of a transformation, was soon made, and I supposed that I should pass very well for a jack tar.1 But it is impossible to deceive the practiced eye in these matters; and while I thought myself to be looking as salt as Neptune himself, I was, no doubt, known for a landsman by everyone on board as soon as I hove in sight. A sailor has a peculiar cut to his clothes, and a way of wearing them which a green hand can never get. The trousers, tight round the hips, and thence hanging long and loose round the feet, a superabundance of checked shirt, a low-crowned, well-varnished black hat, worn on the back of the head, with half a fathom of black ribbon hanging over the left eye, and a slip-tie to the black silk neckerchief, with sundry other minutiae, are signs, the want of which betray the beginner at once. Besides the points in my dress which were out of the way, doubtless my complexion and hands were quite enough to distinguish me from the regular salt who, with a sunburnt cheek, wide step, and rolling gait, swings his bronzed and toughened hands athwart-ships, half-opened, as though just ready to grasp a rope.

"With all my imperfections on my head," I joined the crew, and we hauled out into the stream and came to anchor for the night. The next day, we were employed in preparations for sea, reeving studding-sail gear, crossing royal yards, putting on chafing gear,2 and taking on board our powder. On the following night, I stood my first watch. I remained awake nearly all the first part of the night from fear that I might not hear when I was called; and when I went on deck, so great were my ideas of the importance of my trust, that I walked regularly fore and aft the whole length of the vessel, looking out over the bows and taffrail3 at each turn, and was not a little surprised at the coolness of the old salt whom I called to take my place in stowing himself snugly away under the longboat for a nap. That was a sufficient lookout, he thought, for a fine night at anchor in a safe harbor.

4
The next morning was Saturday, and, a breeze having sprung up from the southward, we took a pilot on board, hove up our anchor, and began beating down the bay. I took leave of those of my friends who came to see me off, and had barely opportunity to take a last look at the city and well-known objects, as no time is allowed on board ship for sentiment. As we drew down into the lower harbor, we found the wind ahead in the bay and were obliged to come to anchor in the roads. We remained there through the day and a part of the night. My watch began at eleven o'clock at night, and I received orders to call the captain if the wind came out from the westward. About midnight the wind became fair, and having summoned the captain, I was ordered to call all hands. now accomplished this, I do not know, but I am quite sure that I did not give the true hoarse boatswain call of "A-a-ll ha-a-a-nds! up anchor, a-ho-oy!" In a short time, everyone was in motion, the sails loosed, the yards braced, and we began to heave up the anchor, which was our last hold upon Yankee land. I could take but small part in these preparations. My little knowledge of a vessel was all at fault. Unintelligible orders were so rapidly given and so immediately executed, there was such a hurrying about, and such an intermingling of strange cries and stranger actions, that I was completely bewildered. There is not so helpless and pitiable an object in the world as a landsman beginning a sailor's life. At length, those peculiar, long-drawn sounds which denote that the crew are heaving the windlass began, and in a few minutes we were under way. The noise of the water thrown from the bows began to be heard, the vessel leaned over from the damp night breeze and rolled with the heavy groundswell, and we had actually begun our long, long journey. This was literally bidding good night to my native land.

1jack tar: a sailor
2chafing gear: material made from canvas or rope used to protect sails
3taffrail: the rail above the stern of a ship
Required
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Which quote summarizes the author’s frustrations about his first journey at sea?

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How does paragraph 1 contribute to the development of the overall text?

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What does the phrase “full sea-rig” mean in paragraph 1?

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What is one way to identify a beginner sailor?

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What was the difference between the author's and the old salt's first night on watch?

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What made the "old salt" so carefree upon his takeover of the watch post?

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What is conveyed when the narrator says they "began beating down the bay" in paragraph 4?

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What strategy does the author use to bring the new, young sailor to life?

The Coming of the Spring

by Nora Perry

There’s something in the air That’s new and sweet and rare— A scent of summer things, A whirr as if of wings.

5 There’s something too that’s new In the color of the blue That’s in the morning sky, Before the sun is high.

And though on plain and hill, 10 ’Tis winter, winter still, There’s something seems to say That winter’s had its day.

And all this changing tint, This whispering stir and hint 15 Of bud and bloom and wing, Is the coming of the spring.

And tomorrow or today The brooks will break away From their icy, frozen sleep, 20 And run and laugh and leap.

And the next thing, in the woods, The catkins in their hoods Of fur and silk will stand, A sturdy little band.

25 And the tassels soft and fine Of the hazel will untwine, And the elder branches show Their buds against the snow.

So, silently but swift,
30 Above the wintry drift,
The long days gain and gain,
Until, on hill and plain,

Once more, and yet once more
Returning as before,
35 We see the bloom of birth
Make young again the earth.
Required
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Which lines from the poem provide the strongest support for the theme of renewal?

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How does the first stanza contribute to the meaning of the poem?

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What can be inferred from lines 5-6?

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Which lines reveal the speaker's contrasting perspectives regarding winter and spring?

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What does drift mean in line 30?

Atalanta

by Betty Miles

Once upon a time, not long ago, there lived a princess named Atalanta, who could run as fast as the wind.

She was so bright, and so clever, and could build things and fix things so wonderfully, that many young men wished to marry her.

3
"What shall I do?" said Atalanta's father, who was a powerful king. "So many young men want to marry you, and I don't know how to choose."

"You don't have to choose, Father," Atalanta said. "I will choose. And I'm not sure that I will choose to marry anyone at all."

"Of course you will," said the king. "Everybody gets married. It is what people do."

"But," Atalanta told him, with a toss of her head, "I intend to go out and see the world. When I come home, perhaps I will marry and perhaps I will not."

7
The king did not like this at all. He was a very ordinary king; that is, he was powerful and used to having his own way. So he did not answer Atalanta, but simply told her, "I have decided how to choose the young man you will marry. I will hold a great race, and the winner-the swiftest, fleetest young man of all—will win the right to marry you."

8
Now Atalanta was a clever girl as well as a swift runner. She saw that she might win both the argument and the race-provided that she herself could run in the race, too. "Very well," she said. "But you must let me race along with the others. If I am not the winner, I will accept the wishes of the young man who is."

The king agreed to this. He was pleased; he would have his way, marry off his daughter, and enjoy a fine day of racing as well. So he directed his messengers to travel throughout the kingdom announcing the race with its wonderful prize: the chance to marry the bright Atalanta.

As the day of the race drew near, flags were raised in the streets of the town, and banners were hung near the grassy field where the race would be run. Baskets of ripe plums and peaches, wheels of cheese, ropes of sausage and onions, and loaves of crusty bread were gathered for the crowds.

Meanwhile, Atalanta herself was preparing for the race. Each day at dawn, dressed in soft green trousers and a shirt of yellow silk, she went to the field in secret and ran across it-slowly at first, then fast and faster, until she could run the course more quickly than anyone had ever run it before.

As the day of the race grew nearer, young men began to crowd into the town. Each was sure he could win the prize, except for one: that was Young John, who lived in the town. He saw Atalanta day by day, as she bought nails and wood to make a pigeon house, or chose parts for her telescope, or laughed with her friends. Young John saw the princess only from a distance, but near enough to know how bright and clever she was. He wished very much to race with her, to win, and to earn the right to talk with her and become her friend.

"For surely," he said to himself, "it is not right for Atalanta's father to give her away to the winner of the race. Atalanta herself must choose the person she wants to marry, or whether she wishes to marry at all. Still, if I could only win the race, I would be free to speak to her, and to ask for her friendship."

Each evening, after his studies of the stars and the seas, Young John went to the field in secret and practiced running across it. Night after night, he ran fast as the wind across the twilight field, until he could cross it more quickly than anyone had ever crossed it before.

At last, the day of the race arrived.

Trumpets sounded in the early morning, and the young men gathered at the edge of the field, along with Atalanta herself, the prize they sought. The king and his friends sat in soft chairs, and the townspeople stood along the course.

The king rose to address them all. "Good day," he said to the crowds. "Good luck," he said to the young men. To Atalanta he said, "Good-bye. I must tell you farewell, for tomorrow you will be married."

"I am not so sure of that, Father," Atalanta answered. She was dressed for the race in trousers of crimson and a shirt of silk as blue as the sky, and she laughed as she looked up and down the line of young men.

19
"Not one of them," she said to herself, "can win the race, for I will run fast as the wind and leave them all behind."

And now a bugle sounded, a flag was dropped, and the runners were off!

The crowds cheered as the young men and Atalanta began to race across the field. At first they ran as a group, but Atalanta soon pulled ahead, with three of the young men close after her. As they neared the halfway point, one young man put on a great burst of speed and seemed to pull ahead for an instant, but then he gasped and fell back. Atalanta shot on.

Soon another young man, tense with the effort, drew near to Atalanta. He reached out as though to touch her sleeve, stumbled for an instant, and lost speed. Atalanta smiled as she ran on. I have almost won, she thought.

But then another young man came near. This was Young John, running like the wind, as steadily and as swiftly as Atalanta herself. Atalanta felt his closeness, and in a sudden burst she dashed ahead.

Young John might have given up at this, but he never stopped running. Nothing at all, thought he, will keep me from winning the chance to speak with Atalanta. And on he ran, swift as the wind, until he ran as her equal, side by side with her, toward the golden ribbon that marked the race's end. Atalanta raced even faster to pull ahead, but Young John was a strong match for her. Smiling with the pleasure of the race, Atalanta and Young John reached the finish line together, and together they broke through the golden ribbon.

Trumpets blew. The crowd shouted and leaped about. The king rose. "Who is this young man?" he asked.

"It is Young John from the town," the people told him.

"Very well. Young John," said the king, as John and Atalanta stood before him, exhausted and jubilant from their efforts. "You have not won the race, but you have come closer to winning than any man here. And so I give you the prize that was promised-the right to marry my daughter."

28
Young John smiled at Atalanta, and she smiled back. "Thank you, sir," said John to the king, "but I could not possibly marry your daughter unless she wished to marry me. I have run this race for the chance to talk with Atalanta, and, if she is willing, I am ready to claim my prize."

Atalanta laughed with pleasure. "And I," she said to John, "could not possibly marry before I have seen the world. But I would like nothing better than to spend the afternoon with you."

Then the two of them sat and talked on the grassy field, as the crowds went away. They ate bread and cheese and purple plums. Atalanta told John about her telescopes and her pigeons, and John told Atalanta about his globes and his studies of geography. At the end of the day, they were friends.

On the next day, John sailed off to discover new lands. And Atalanta set off to visit the great cities.

By this time, each of them has had wonderful adventures, and seen marvelous sights. Perhaps someday they will be married, and perhaps they will not. In any case, they are friends. And it is certain that they are both living happily ever after.
Required
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Which statement provides an objective summary of the selection?

Required
1

How does the repetition of the word powerful in paragraphs 3 and 7 affect the tone of the selection?

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1

How does the phrase “clever girl” affect the meaning of paragraph 8?

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1

Which quote shows the contrast between Young John’s perspective and that of the king?

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1

Which quote supports the inference that the king had little confidence in Atalanta’s skill as a runner?

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1

How does the simile “run fast as the wind” in paragraph 19 influence the theme?

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1

What can be inferred about Young John, based on paragraph 28?

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1

What do Atalanta and Young John have in common?

Adapted from "Mr. Harold"


"Well, there does not appear to be much to laugh at tonight," said a voice at his elbow, than his inn, had come sun nonselessly over the stow. "Ase con ine the newcomer, "it would be possible to find a warmer and more comfortable seat than that mile-stone."

"I was waiting opposite the gates, trying to make up my mind whether I would go in or not," answered the boy, "and I was laughing because I did not think it would make any real difference whether I went in or stayed outside."

"That depends, I suppose, on what you want there! If I might ask, what is it?"

"I want the squire to give my mother a little time to get together her rent; but since Mr. Harold ran away, ten years ago today, the squire has never been the same man. That nearly broke his heart, and now he takes no interest in anything; he has turned us all over to an agent, who does just what he likes with us."

"Then Mr. Harold was—"

"His son. My father said he would have run away too if he had been Mr. Harold, though the squire wasn't as bad in those days."

"And who was your father?"

"Peter Green, the carpenter."

"Well, Peter Green's son," said the stranger, with an odd laugh, "if you will go in and see the squire, and come out and tell me in what sort of temper he is, I will give you my last shilling," and he spun a coin in the air. "You must go in by the front door, and I will wait for you in the drive."

"Right you are," said the boy, jumping off the mile-stone. "I'll risk it for a shilling."

Side by side they tramped up the snowy drive till they saw the light shining through the glass in the front door. Then the traveler drew aside, and John went boldly up the steps. The clang of the bell had scarcely died away before the door was opened by an elderly butler.

"Can I see the squire?" asked John, in as brave a voice as he could muster.

"Show him in at once, Williams; show him in at once," called out an impatient voice at the back of the hall.

The butler stepped back. "I don't think, sir," he said, "that this is the gentleman you are expecting."

"How do you know what gentleman I am expecting? Show him in at once, I tell you."

"You'd better come straight in," said the butler, shrugging his shoulders. He led the way across the hall, and ushered John into a comfortably furnished library. An old gentleman was sitting by the fire, enveloped in rugs. He leaned forward and peered into John's face. Then he fell back wearily into his cushions. "Dear, dear! Another disappointment," he groaned. "Take him away, Williams."

But John, having penetrated into the lion's den, did not mean to be dismissed so easily.

"Please, sir," he began, hurriedly, "I want to know whether you will give my mother a little longer to pay her rent. We have had a very hard time. Mr. Tucker is going to turn us out."

"You must go and see Mr. Tucker about that," answered the old man, indifferently. "I leave all such matters to him; or, stay," he added, "I am expecting Mr. Harold tonight. You can come in and see him about it next week if you like."

Then John remembered that he had heard that on the anniversary of his son's departure the old man always expected him to return, and he understood why he had been shown in so hurriedly.

"But, please, sir," he pleaded, "won't you write me a line for Mr. Tucker, in case Mr. Harold missed the train or anything?"

The old man put up his hands feebly. "Take him away, Williams," he said, annoyed. "I can't be worried, or I shall be too tired to speak to Mr. Harold when he comes. Do whatever you think Mr. Harold would like."

John followed the butler out of the room, and half an hour later he went down the steps triumphantly. In his pocket was a paper which the butler had written out and persuaded the squire to sign, stating that Mrs. Green was on no account to be turned out of her cottage without Mr. Harold's express orders. He found the traveler waiting for him, and told his story joyfully, declining to accept the proffered shilling in return.

24
The traveler listened attentively, and drew himself together at the end. "I think I will risk it," he said, huskily. Then he turned to John: "Look here, young man, you will find it to your advantage to say nothing about tonight, whatever news you may hear in the village tomorrow. See?"

"You aren't going to hurt the squire?" asked John, anxiously.

"I hope not, but you will probably understand tomorrow," and the shabby figure strode away up the drive.

The next day the villagers were electrified by the news that Mr. Harold had returned at last.

That is many years ago now, and John Green, the head gardener at the manor house, sometimes wonders, as he watches the care with which the present squire selects an orchid for his buttonhole, whether the traveler who spoke to him on that snowy December night was not the figure of a dream.
Required
2

Make an inference about the visitor from the information in paragraph 24. Provide one or more quotes from the selection to support your answer.