Leveled Texts for Classic Fiction: Mystery [1 ed.] 9781433384028, 9781425809850

Citation preview

Mystery

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 978-4258-0985-0 © 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 Mystery . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 12 Leveled Texts to Differentiate Instruction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 14 Teaching Suggestions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 17 How to Use This Book . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 23 Correlation to Standards . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 27 Setting Passages . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 31 The Hound of the Baskervilles. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 31 The Circular Staircase . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 39 The Blue Ghost Mystery. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 47 Character Passages . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 55 The Adventure of the Blue Carbuncle. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 55 The Secret Adversary . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 63 The Mysterious Affair at Styles. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 71 Penny Nichols and the Knob Hill Mystery. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 79 Plot Passages . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 87 Penny Nichols Finds a Clue. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 87 Penny Nichols and the Mystery of the Lost Key. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 95 The Secret Adversary. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 103 The Man with the Twisted Lip. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 111 Language Usage Passages . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 119 The Scarlet Lake Mystery. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 119 The Red House Mystery. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 127 The Thirty-nine Steps. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 135 Ruth Fielding of the Red Mill . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 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: Mystery 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.

#50985—Leveled Texts for Classic Fiction: Mystery

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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.

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A Closer Look at Mystery Mysteries are often categorized as thrillers, whodunits, and crime fiction. The mystery genre typically involves either an experiences or amateur detective who tries to solve a crime. This detective might be a child, private investigator, or even a regular citizen who only seeks to do the right thing. By the end of the story, all the loose ends are tied up nicely and the crime is solved. In this book you will find excerpts from works of mystery from classic fiction. The titles are as follows:

• The Hound of the Baskervilles by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle • The Circular Staircase by Mary Roberts Rinehart • The Blue Ghost Mystery by John Blaine • The Adventure of the Blue Carbuncle by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle • The Secret Adversary by Agatha Christie • The Mysterious Affair at Styles by Agatha Christie • Penny Nichols and the Knob Hill Mystery by Joan Clark • Penny Nichols Finds a Clue by Joan Clark • Penny Nichols and the Mystery of the Lost Key by Joan Clark • The Secret Adversary by Agatha Christie • The Man with the Twisted Lip by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle • The Scarlet Lake Mystery by John Blaine • The Red House Mystery by A. A. Milne • The Thirty-nine Steps by John Buchan • Ruth Fielding of the Red Mill by Alice B. Emerson

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A Closer Look at Mystery

(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

Passage Title • Excerpt from The Hound of the Baskervilles

Setting

• Excerpt from The Circular Staircase • Excerpt from The Blue Ghost Mystery • Excerpt from The Adventure of the Blue Carbuncle

Character

• Excerpt from The Secret Adversary • Excerpt from The Mysterious Affair at Styles • Excerpt from Penny Nichols and the Knob Hill Mystery • Excerpt from Penny Nichols Finds a Clue

Plot

• Excerpt from Penny Nichols and the Mystery of the Lost Key • Excerpt from The Secret Adversary • Excerpt from The Man with the Twisted Lip • Excerpt from The Scarlet Lake Mystery

Language Usage

• Excerpt from The Red House Mystery • Excerpt from The Thirty-nine Steps • Excerpt from Ruth Fielding of the Red Mill

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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: Mystery unique is that all students, regardless of reading level, can read the same selection from a story and can participate in whole-class 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. The Blue Ghost Mystery

st Mystery The Blue Gho

By John Blaine

ne By John Blai

of d out in front They looke c ground. in silence. girls stood was the picni e and the two Below them . It was wher Rick, Scotty, top of the hill. stood last night stood on the h they had them. They under whic before. see the trees t the night ghos g ng They could the frightenin sun was shini as to Rick. The they had seen them ered eerie ed seem ing both ght the place no fear. Noth trees. . They had Even in dayli s of the oak came and went d the leave t breeze ruffle brightly. Birds of the food. A sligh was no trace they gathered day. There feel relaxed. nia summer Rick did not normal Virgi about it. But It was a fine, nothing weird was e al. Ther r. It supernorm spring wate of led. flow e puzz e by the He felt rock. Ther It was mad pool was solid in the the was a pool. and there feet for life Below them Between their s struggling the sunlight. a few weed glistened in e were only plants. Ther rock were no large that d. “Look at cracks. ,” Rick state it. We could nut to crack climb down to be a tough that tried to have shown “This is going anything living here would d have seen standing up wall. We woul the darkness. Anyone in see them even sky.” the against hill last no one on the “There was d at every y said. “I looke night,” Scott inch of it.” r said. t,” Jan Mille ghos a was “It you could tell quiet. But Her voice was has always “Everyone she was sure. t here.” was a ghos known there ryone “Eve . k his head in Scotty shoo were ghosts known there the has always think of all places. Just a hundred few people t spooks. A who folklore abou But seen one. say they have does nightly that t ghos of a ever heard performances?” #50985—L

ry Fiction: Myste for Classic eveled Texts

ation © Shell Educ

ELL Level

Rick, Scotty, and the two girls stood in silence and surveyed the scene before them. They stood on the brow of the hill, looking down at the picnic ground, the trees under which they had stood and watched at a hair-raising apparitio night before. n the

The Blue Ghost Mystery

It was a fine, normal Virginia summer day, with no or weird about it. Yet, trace of the supernormal Rick felt somewhat less than relaxed, and he certainly puzzled. felt

They surveyed the scene girls stood in silence. Rick, Scotty, and the two looking down at the picnic on the brow of the hill, a before them. They stood they had stood and watched the trees under which ground. They could see the night before. hair-raising apparition to Rick. The sun was eerie somehow seemed their Even in daylight the place fear or interference on without went and came oak shining brightly. Birds ruffled the leaves of the food. A slight breeze normal business of gathering trees. no trace of the summer day. There was And It was a fine, normal Virginia somewhat less than relaxed. about it. Yet Rick felt supernormal or weird

Directly below them the pool created by the flow of spring water glistened the sunlight. Between their feet and the pool in was solid rock, with only weeds struggling for life a few in an occasional crack. “This is going to be a tough nut to crack,” Rick stated. “Look at that wall. Obviously, we’d rock have seen anything living that tried to climb down even in the darkness. it, If anyone had been standing up here, he’d have been silhouetted against the sky.” “There was no one on the hill last night,” Scotty said positively . “I looked at every inch of it.”

he certainly felt puzzled. by the flow of spring was a pool. It was created was solid Directly below them there their feet and the pool the sunlight. Between al crack. water and glistened in for life in an occasion a few weeds struggling rock. There were only “Look at that rock stated. Rick tough nut to crack,” it, even “This is going to be a that tried to climb down living anything seen have against wall. Obviously, we’d have been silhouetted standing up here would in the darkness. Anyone the sky.” the hill last on one no was “There . “I looked night,” Scotty said positively at every inch of it.”

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said. “It was a ghost,” Jan Miller But it held Her voice was quiet. e has always conviction. “Everyon here.” known there was a ghost

“It was a ghost,” Jan Miller said with quiet conviction. “Everyone has always known there was a ghost here.” Scotty shook his head. “Everyone has always known there were ghosts in a hundred places, if you want to consider all the folklore about spooks. A few people have even claimed to have seen one. But who ever heard of a haunt that put on nightly performances?” © Shell Education

“Everyone Scotty shook his head. were ghosts in has always known there think of all the a hundred places. Just A few people folklore about spooks. have seen one. have even claimed to a haunt that put But who ever heard of on nightly performances?”

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#50985—Leveled Texts for Classic Fiction: Mystery

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for Classic Fiction: Mystery #50985—Leveled Texts

The Blue Gho st

Even in daylight the place somehow seemed eerie to Rick. The sun was shining brightly and birds came and went without fear or interference on normal business of gathering their food. A slight breeze ruffled the foliage of the trees. oak

By John Blaine

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By John Blai ne

Rick, Scotty, and the two them. They girls stood in silence, surve positioned them picnic grou ying the scen nd, at the trees selves on the brow of e before the hill, looki under whic raising appa ng h they had rition the night stood and watc down at the before. hed a hairEven in dayli ght the place shining brigh some how seemed tly eerie to Rick normal busin and birds came and went . The sun was ess of gathe witho ut fear or inter ring food. trees. ference on A slight breez their e ruffled the foliage of the It was a fine, oak or weird abou normal Virginia summ er day, with t it; yet Rick no trace of felt somewhat puzzled. the supernorm less than relax al ed, and he certainly felt Directly below them the the sunlight. pool created by the flow Between their of spring wate weeds strug feet and the gling for life r in an occasiona pool was solid rock, with glistened in only l crack a few “This is going . to be a tough look at that nut to crack rock wall, it ,” Rick state seems obvio tried to climb d emphatica us that we’d down it, even have seen anyt lly. “If you here, he’d have in the hing living been silhouette darkness. If anyone that had been stand d against the ing up sky.” “There was no one on the night,” Scott hill last y said posit ively. “I looke at every inch d of it.” “It was a ghos with quiet conv t,” Jan Miller said iction. “Eve always know ryone has n there was a ghost here. ” Scotty shoo k his head and replied, “Everyone has always known there were ghosts in a hundred places, if you want to consider all the folklore about spoo ks. A few peop le have even claim ed to who ever hear have seen one, but d of a haun t that put on nightly perfo rmances?” © Shell Educ ation #50985—L

Below Level © Shell Education

Mystery

eveled Texts for Classic Fiction: Myste ry

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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?

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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 • 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?

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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 • 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.

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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: • 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.

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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 fition 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.

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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

The Hound of the Baskervilles

2.0

3.4

5.1

7.1*

The Circular Staircase

2.0

3.5

5.4*

6.7

The Blue Ghost Mystery

2.0

3.4

5.5*

6.7

The Adventure of the Blue Carbuncle

2.2

3.3

5.0

6.9*

The Secret Adversary

2.2

3.1

5.2

7.1*

The Mysterious Affair at Styles

2.2

3.5

5.3

6.5*

Penny Nichols and the Knob Hill Mystery

2.0

3.1

5.1

6.5*

Penny Nichols Finds a Clue

2.2

3.0

5.0*

6.5

Penny Nichols and the Mystery of the Lost Key

2.2

3.5

5.5*

6.5

The Secret Adversary

2.0

3.2*

5.0

6.5

The Man with the Twisted Lip

1.8

3.1

5.2*

6.6

The Scarlet Lake Mystery

2.1

3.1

5.1*

6.5

The Red House Mystery

2.2

3.5

5.0

6.8*

The Thirty-nine Steps

2.1

3.0

5.0

6.5*

Ruth Fielding of the Red Mill

2.2

3.2

5.3

7.0*

Setting Passages

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 .

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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— Craft and Structure RL.3.5–5.5—

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

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— Craft and Structure RL.3.7–5.7— Integration of Knowledge and Ideas RL.3.9–8.9—

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

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

#50985—Leveled Texts for Classic Fiction: Mystery

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Excerpt from

The Hound of the Baskervilles by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

We had left the farm country. Now it was behind us in the lower lands. We looked back on it. We could see the slanting rays of a low sun. They turned the streams to threads of gold. Light glowed on the red ploughed dirt. And it shone on the broad tangle of woodlands. The road in front of us grew gloomy. There was wildness to the huge slopes. They were colored in a brownish red and green. They were spotted with giant boulders. Now and then we passed a cottage. Each had walls and roofs made from stone. There were no plants to break their harsh outlines. Suddenly we looked down into a cuplike dent. It had a few small oaks and firs. These trees had been twisted and bent by the fury of storms. Two high, narrow towers rose over them. The driver pointed with his whip. “Baskerville Hall,” said he. Its owner stood. He was staring with reddened cheeks. His eyes were shining. A few minutes later we had reached a maze of decorative iron. These were the gates. On either side were weathered pillars. These were blotched with lichens. They were marked by the boars’ heads of the Baskervilles. The house was a ruin of black granite. You could see its wooden rafters. But facing it was a new building. This was only half constructed. It was to be the first fruit of Sir Charles’s South African gold. Through the gateway we passed into the avenue. Here the wheels were again hushed by the leaves. And the old trees shot their branches. This made a somber tunnel over our heads. Baskerville shuddered. He looked up the long, dark drive. The house glimmered like a ghost at the farther end.

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The avenue opened into a wide area of grass. The house was before us. In the fading light I could see that the center part was a heavy block. Attached to this was a porch. The whole front was draped in ivy. A patch was clipped bare here and there. In these places, a window or a coat of arms broke through the dark veil. From this central block rose the twin towers. They were ancient. They had dents for firing arrows. And they had many holes for looking through. To the right and left were more modern wings of black granite. A dull light shone through heavy ribbed windows. High chimneys rose from the steep roof. From these sprang a single black column of smoke. The wheels died away down the drive. Sir Henry and I turned into the hall. The door clanged heavily behind us. It was a fine apartment in which we found ourselves. It was large. It had a high ceiling. The many rafters were made from large beams. The oak wood had grown black with age. In the great, old-fashioned fireplace, a log-fire crackled and snapped. Sir Henry and I held out our hands to it. We were numb from our long drive. Then we gazed round us. We looked at the high, thin window of old stained glass. We viewed the oak paneling, the stags’ heads, and the coats of arms upon the walls. Everything was dim and somber in the low light of the central lamp. “It’s just as I imagined it,” said Sir Henry. “Is it not the very picture of an old family home? To think that this should be the same hall in which for five hundred years my people have lived. It strikes me solemn to think of it.”

Element Focus: Setting How old is Baskerville Hall? What would it be like to live there?

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Excerpt from

The Hound of the Baskervilles by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

We had left the farm country behind us in the lower lands. We looked back on it now. We could see the slanting rays of a low sun turning the streams to threads of gold. They glowed on the red ploughed dirt. And they shone on the broad tangle of woodlands. The road in front of us grew bleaker. There was wildness to the huge slopes, colored in a brownish red and green. They were sprinkled with giant boulders. Now and then we passed a moorland cottage. Each was walled and roofed with stone. There were no plants to break their harsh outlines. Suddenly we looked down into a cuplike dent. It was patched with stunted oaks and firs. These trees had been twisted and bent by the fury of storms. Two high, narrow towers rose over them. The driver pointed with his whip. “Baskerville Hall,” said he. Its master had risen. He was staring with flushed cheeks and shining eyes. A few minutes later we had reached a maze of decorative iron. These were the gates. On either side were weather-bitten pillars. These were blotched with lichens, and marked by the boars’ heads of the Baskervilles. The lodge was a ruin of black granite. You could see its bared ribs of rafters. But facing it was a new building. This was yet half constructed. It was to be the first fruit of Sir Charles’s South African gold. Through the gateway we passed into the avenue. Here the wheels were again hushed by the leaves. And the old trees shot their branches in a somber tunnel over our heads. Baskerville shuddered. He looked up the long, dark drive to where the house glimmered like a ghost at the farther end.

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The avenue opened into a wide area of turf. The house lay before us. In the fading light I could see that the center was a heavy block of building. From this a porch projected. The whole front was draped in ivy. A patch was clipped bare here and there. In these places, a window or a coat of arms broke through the dark veil. From this central block rose the twin towers. They were ancient, crenellated, and pierced with many loopholes. To the right and left of the turrets were more modern wings of black granite. A dull light shone through heavy mullioned windows. From the high chimneys which rose from the steep, a high-angled roof sprang a single black column of smoke. The wheels died away down the drive while Sir Henry and I turned into the hall, and the door clanged heavily behind us. It was a fine apartment in which we found ourselves, large, lofty, and heavily raftered with huge baulks of age-blackened oak. In the great, old-fashioned fireplace behind the high iron dogs, a log-fire crackled and snapped. Sir Henry and I held out our hands to it, for we were numb from our long drive. Then we gazed round us at the high, thin window of old stained glass, the oak paneling, the stags’ heads, the coats of arms upon the walls, all dim and somber in the subdued light of the central lamp. “It’s just as I imagined it,” said Sir Henry. “Is it not the very picture of an old family home? To think that this should be the same hall in which for five hundred years my people have lived. It strikes me solemn to think of it.”

Element Focus: Setting Describe Baskerville Hall.

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Excerpt from

The Hound of the Baskervilles by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

We had left the fertile country behind and beneath us. We looked back on it now. We could see the slanting rays of a low sun turning the streams to threads of gold. It glowed on the red earth new turned by the plough. And it shone on the broad tangle of woodlands. The road in front of us grew bleaker. There was a wildness to the huge russet and olive slopes, sprinkled with giant boulders. Now and then we passed a moorland cottage. Each was walled and roofed with stone, with no plants to break its harsh outline. Suddenly we looked down into a cuplike depression. It was patched with stunted oaks and firs which had been twisted and bent by the fury of storms. Two high, narrow towers rose over the trees. The driver pointed with his whip. “Baskerville Hall,” said he. Its master had risen and was staring with flushed cheeks and shining eyes. A few minutes later we had reached a maze of fantastic tracery in wrought iron. These were the lodge-gates, with weather-bitten pillars on either side, blotched with lichens, and marked by the boars’ heads of the Baskervilles. The lodge was a ruin of black granite and bared ribs of rafters. But facing it was a new building, half constructed. This was to be the first fruit of Sir Charles’s South African gold. Through the gateway we passed into the avenue, where the wheels were again hushed amid the leaves, and the old trees shot their branches in a somber tunnel over our heads. Baskerville shuddered as he looked up the long, dark drive to where the house glimmered like a ghost at the farther end.

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#50985—Leveled Texts for Classic Fiction: Mystery

35

The avenue opened into a broad expanse of turf, and the house lay before us. In the fading light I could see that the center was a heavy block of building from which a porch projected. The whole front was draped in ivy. A patch was clipped bare here and there where a window or a coat of arms broke through the dark veil. From this central block rose the twin towers, ancient, crenellated, and pierced with many loopholes. To the right and left of the turrets were more modern wings of black granite. A dull light shone through heavy mullioned windows. From the high chimneys which rose from the steep, high-angled roof there sprang a single black column of smoke. The wheels died away down the drive while Sir Henry and I turned into the hall, and the door clanged heavily behind us. It was a fine apartment in which we found ourselves, large, lofty, and heavily raftered with huge baulks of age-blackened oak. In the great, old-fashioned fireplace behind the high iron dogs, a log-fire crackled and snapped. Sir Henry and I held out our hands to it, for we were numb from our long drive. Then we gazed round us at the high, thin window of old stained glass, the oak paneling, the stags’ heads, the coats of arms upon the walls, all dim and somber in the subdued light of the central lamp. “It’s just as I imagined it,” said Sir Henry. “Is it not the very picture of an old family home? To think that this should be the same hall in which for five hundred years my people have lived. It strikes me solemn to think of it.”

Element Focus: Setting Do you think Baskerville Hall would be a comfortable place to live? Explain.

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© Shell Education

Excerpt from

The Hound of the Baskervilles by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

We had left the fertile country behind and beneath us. We looked back on it now, the slanting rays of a low sun turning the streams to threads of gold and glowing on the red earth new turned by the plough and the broad tangle of the woodlands. The road in front of us grew bleaker and wilder over huge russet and olive slopes, sprinkled with giant boulders. Now and then we passed a moorland cottage, walled and roofed with stone, with no creeper to break its harsh outline. Suddenly we looked down into a cuplike depression, patched with stunted oaks and firs which had been twisted and bent by the fury of years of storm. Two high, narrow towers rose over the trees. The driver pointed with his whip. “Baskerville Hall,” said he. Its master had risen and was staring with flushed cheeks and shining eyes. A few minutes later we had reached the lodge-gates, a maze of fantastic tracery in wrought iron, with weather-bitten pillars on either side, blotched with lichens, and surmounted by the boars’ heads of the Baskervilles. The lodge was a ruin of black granite and bared ribs of rafters. But facing it was a new building, half constructed, the first fruit of Sir Charles’s South African gold. Through the gateway we passed into the avenue, where the wheels were again hushed amid the leaves, and the old trees shot their branches in a somber tunnel over our heads. Baskerville shuddered as he looked up the long, dark drive to where the house glimmered like a ghost at the farther end.

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#50985—Leveled Texts for Classic Fiction: Mystery

37

The avenue opened into a broad expanse of turf, and the house lay before us. In the fading light I could see that the center was a heavy block of building from which a porch projected. The whole front was draped in ivy, with a patch clipped bare here and there where a window or a coat of arms broke through the dark veil. From this central block rose the twin towers, ancient, crenellated, and pierced with many loopholes. To right and left of the turrets were more modern wings of black granite. A dull light shone through heavy mullioned windows, and from the high chimneys which rose from the steep, high-angled roof there sprang a single black column of smoke. The wheels died away down the drive while Sir Henry and I turned into the hall, and the door clanged heavily behind us. It was a fine apartment in which we found ourselves, large, lofty, and heavily raftered with huge baulks of age-blackened oak. In the great, old-fashioned fireplace behind the high iron dogs a log-fire crackled and snapped. Sir Henry and I held out our hands to it, for we were numb from our long drive. Then we gazed round us at the high, thin window of old stained glass, the oak paneling, the stags’ heads, the coats of arms upon the walls, all dim and somber in the subdued light of the central lamp. “It’s just as I imagined it,” said Sir Henry. “Is it not the very picture of an old family home? To think that this should be the same hall in which for five hundred years my people have lived. It strikes me solemn to think of it.”

Element Focus: Setting How does Sir Henry Baskerville feel about Baskerville Hall? Support your answers from the text. What if it were your house? How would you feel about it?

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Excerpt from

The Circular Staircase by Mary Roberts Rinehart

“You can lock up the rest of the house. Then you can go to bed, Liddy,” I said. My voice was harsh. “You give me the creeps standing there. A woman your age ought to have better sense.” It usually makes Liddy angry to mention her age. This can make her stronger. She owns to forty. But that is silly. Her mother cooked for my grandfather. So Liddy must be at least as old as I. But that night she refused to rise to the jab. “You’re not going to ask me to lock up, Miss Rachel!” she said. Her voice shook. “Why, there’s a dozen French windows! And every one opens on a porch. Mary Anne said that last night there was a man standing by the stable! She saw him when she locked the kitchen door.” “Mary Anne was a fool,” I said sternly. “What if there had been a man there? She would have had him in the kitchen and fed him! She would have given him what was left from dinner. You know that is what she is used to doing. Now don’t be silly. Lock up the house. Then go to bed. I am going to read.” But Liddy set her lips tight. She stood still. “I’m not going to bed,” she said. “I am going to pack up. And tomorrow I am going to leave.” “You’ll do nothing of the sort,” I snapped. Liddy and I sometimes want to get away from each other. But we never want to at the same time. “Are you afraid? Then I will go with you. But don’t try to hide behind me.”

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39

The house was very long. It was shaped like a rectangle. The main door was in the center of the long side. The brick-paved entry opened into a short hall. To the right of this was a huge living room. Between them was a row of pillars. Then there was the drawing room. And in the end was the billiard room. Off of this, in the far right wing, was a den. Or it could be used for cards. From there, a small hall opened on the east veranda. And this continued up a narrow circular staircase. Halsey had pointed it out with delight. Liddy and I got as far as the card room. We turned on all the lights as we went. I tried the small entry door there, which opened on the veranda. Then I checked the windows. Everything was secure. Liddy, a little less nervous now, had just pointed out to me the disgracefully dusty condition of the hardwood floor. Then suddenly, the lights went out. We waited a moment. I think Liddy was stunned with fright, or she would have screamed. And then I clutched her by the arm. I pointed to one of the windows opening on the porch. The sudden change threw the window into relief. It was an oblong of grayish light, and showed us a figure standing close, peering in. As I looked, it darted across the veranda and out of sight in the darkness.

Element Focus: Setting Why do you think the author selected this setting?

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© Shell Education

Excerpt from

The Circular Staircase by Mary Roberts Rinehart

“You can lock up the rest of the house and go to bed, Liddy,” I said severely. “You give me the creeps standing there. A woman of your age ought to have better sense.” It usually braces Liddy to mention her age. She owns to forty— which is absurd. Her mother cooked for my grandfather. So Liddy must be at least as old as I. But that night she refused to brace. “You’re not going to ask me to lock up, Miss Rachel!” she quavered. “Why, there’s a dozen French windows in the drawing room and the billiard room wing! And every one opens on a porch. And Mary Anne said that last night there was a man standing by the stable when she locked the kitchen door.” “Mary Anne was a fool,” I said sternly. “If there had been a man there, she would have had him in the kitchen and been feeding him! She would have given him what was left from dinner, inside of an hour, from force of habit. Now don’t be ridiculous. Lock up the house and go to bed. I am going to read.” But Liddy set her lips tight and stood still. “I’m not going to bed,” she said. “I am going to pack up. And tomorrow I am going to leave.” “You’ll do nothing of the sort,” I snapped. Liddy and I often desire to part company. But we never want to at the same time. “If you are afraid, I will go with you. But for goodness’ sake, don’t try to hide behind me.”

© Shell Education

#50985—Leveled Texts for Classic Fiction: Mystery

41

The house was very long. It was a rectangle in general form, with the main entrance in the center of the long side. The brick-paved entry opened into a short hall. To the right of this, separated only by a row of pillars, was a huge living room. Beyond that was the drawing room, and in the end, the billiard room. Off the billiard room, in the extreme right wing, was a den, or card room. From there a small hall opened on the east veranda. And this continued up a narrow circular staircase. Halsey had pointed it out with delight. Liddy and I got as far as the card room. We turned on all the lights as we went. I tried the small entry door there, which opened on the veranda. Then I checked the windows. Everything was secure. Liddy, a little less nervous now, had just pointed out to me the disgracefully dusty condition of the hardwood floor. Then suddenly, the lights went out. We waited a moment. I think Liddy was stunned with fright, or she would have screamed. And then I clutched her by the arm. I pointed to one of the windows opening on the porch. The sudden change threw the window into relief. It was an oblong of grayish light, and showed us a figure standing close, peering in. As I looked, it darted across the veranda and out of sight in the darkness.

Element Focus: Setting Why is the setting important to the story?

42

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© Shell Education

Excerpt from

The Circular Staircase by Mary Roberts Rinehart

“You can lock up the rest of the house and go to bed, Liddy,” I said severely. “You give me the creeps standing there. A woman of your age ought to have better sense.” It usually braces Liddy to mention her age: she owns to forty— which is absurd. Her mother cooked for my grandfather, and Liddy must be at least as old as I. But that night she refused to brace. “You’re not going to ask me to lock up, Miss Rachel!” she quavered. “Why, there’s a dozen French windows in the drawing room and the billiard room wing, and every one opens on a porch. And Mary Anne said that last night there was a man standing by the stable when she locked the kitchen door.” “Mary Anne was a fool,” I said sternly. “If there had been a man there, she would have had him in the kitchen and been feeding him what was left from dinner, inside of an hour, from force of habit. Now don’t be ridiculous. Lock up the house and go to bed. I am going to read.” But Liddy set her lips tight and stood still. “I’m not going to bed,” she said. “I am going to pack up, and tomorrow I am going to leave.” “You’ll do nothing of the sort,” I snapped. Liddy and I often desire to part company, but never at the same time. “If you are afraid, I will go with you, but for goodness’ sake don’t try to hide behind me.”

© Shell Education

#50985—Leveled Texts for Classic Fiction: Mystery

43

The house was very long, a rectangle in general form, with the main entrance in the center of the long side. The brick-paved entry opened into a short hall to the right of which, separated only by a row of pillars, was a huge living room. Beyond that was the drawing room, and in the end, the billiard room. Off the billiard room, in the extreme right wing, was a den, or card room, with a small hall opening on the east veranda, and from there went up a narrow circular staircase. Halsey had pointed it out with delight. Liddy and I got as far as the card room and turned on all the lights. I tried the small entry door there, which opened on the veranda, and examined the windows. Everything was secure, and Liddy, a little less nervous now, had just pointed out to me the disgracefully dusty condition of the hardwood floor, when suddenly the lights went out. We waited a moment. I think Liddy was stunned with fright, or she would have screamed. And then I clutched her by the arm and pointed to one of the windows opening on the porch. The sudden change threw the window into relief, an oblong of grayish light, and showed us a figure standing close, peering in. As I looked it darted across the veranda and out of sight in the darkness.

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

44

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© Shell Education

Excerpt from

The Circular Staircase by Mary Roberts Rinehart

“You can lock up the rest of the house and go to bed, Liddy,” I said severely. “You give me the creeps standing there. A woman of your age ought to have better sense.” It usually braces Liddy to mention her age: she owns to forty— which is absurd. Her mother cooked for my grandfather, and Liddy must be at least as old as I, but that night she refused to brace. “You’re not going to ask me to lock up, Miss Rachel!” she quavered. “Why, there’s a dozen French windows in the drawing room and the billiard room wing, and every one opens on a porch. And Mary Anne said that last night there was a man standing by the stable when she locked the kitchen door.” “Mary Anne was a fool,” I said sternly. “If there had been a man there, she would have had him in the kitchen and been feeding him what was left from dinner, inside of an hour, from force of habit. Now don’t be ridiculous, just lock up the house and go to bed. I am going to read.” But Liddy pursed her lips tightly and stood still. “I’m not going to bed,” she said. “I am going to pack up, and tomorrow I am going to leave.” “You’ll do nothing of the sort,” I snapped, realizing that Liddy and I often desire to part company, but never at the same time. “If you are afraid, I will go with you, but for goodness’ sake, don’t try to hide behind me.”

© Shell Education

#50985—Leveled Texts for Classic Fiction: Mystery

45

The house was very long, a rectangle in general form, with the main entrance in the center of the long side. The brick-paved entry opened into a short hall to the right of which, separated only by a row of pillars, was a huge living room. Beyond that was the drawing room, and in the end, the billiard room. Off the billiard room, in the extreme right wing, was a den, or card room, with a small hall opening on the east veranda, and from there went up a narrow circular staircase that Halsey had pointed out with delight. Liddy and I got as far as the card room, turning on all the lights as we progressed through the house. I tried the small entry door there, which opened on the veranda, and examined the windows to ensure that everything was secure. Liddy, a little less nervous now, had just pointed out to me the disgracefully dusty condition of the hardwood floor, when suddenly, the lights went out. We waited a moment in silence. I think Liddy was stunned with fright, or she would have screamed, then I clutched her by the arm and pointed to one of the windows opening on the porch. The sudden change threw the window into relief, an oblong of grayish light, and showed us a figure standing close, peering in. As I looked, it darted across the veranda and out of sight in the darkness.

Element Focus: Setting What do you think is the best setting for this story and why would it be better?

46

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© Shell Education

Excerpt from

The Blue Ghost Mystery by John Blaine

Rick, Scotty, and the two girls stood in silence. They looked out in front of them. They stood on the top of the hill. Below them was the picnic ground. They could see the trees under which they had stood last night. It was where they had seen the frightening ghost the night before. Even in daylight the place seemed eerie to Rick. The sun was shining brightly. Birds came and went. They had no fear. Nothing bothered them as they gathered food. A slight breeze ruffled the leaves of the oak trees. It was a fine, normal Virginia summer day. There was no trace of the supernormal. There was nothing weird about it. But Rick did not feel relaxed. He felt puzzled. Below them there was a pool. It was made by the flow of spring water. It glistened in the sunlight. Between their feet and the pool was solid rock. There were no large plants. There were only a few weeds struggling for life in the cracks. “This is going to be a tough nut to crack,” Rick stated. “Look at that rock wall. We would have seen anything living that tried to climb down it. We could see them even in the darkness. Anyone standing up here would have shown against the sky.” “There was no one on the hill last night,” Scotty said. “I looked at every inch of it.” “It was a ghost,” Jan Miller said. Her voice was quiet. But you could tell she was sure. “Everyone has always known there was a ghost here.” Scotty shook his head. “Everyone has always known there were ghosts in a hundred places. Just think of all the folklore about spooks. A few people say they have seen one. But who ever heard of a ghost that does nightly performances?”

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47

“You have now,” Barby said flatly. “Maybe,” Rick said. He led the way down the rocky slope. They went to where the rusted iron pipe poked out from the side of the hill. There was a thin trickle of water. It dripped constantly into the pool below. The pool was a catch basin in the rock. Rick looked at the pipe. It was ordinary. It had rusted. But it was still sound. It held no secrets that he could see. He put his mouth under it. He tasted the water. It was cold and good. It was normal spring water. He could taste minerals in it. Dr. Miller had said that it was good to drink. Picnickers used it all the time. He got down on his knees. Scotty knelt beside him. They felt the water of the rocky basin with their hands. There was a layer of brown algae in the bottom. That was to be expected. It looked dead. But Rick scraped it. There was green underneath the brown. They retraced their steps into the mine. Rick noted that the old mine timbers were almost rotted through. He guessed that the mine had been boarded up because it was unsafe. He and Scotty would have to be careful. In a few moments they were in deep gloom. Only the smoky, fitful flicker of Rick’s torch gave them light enough to see by. The newspaper wasn’t burning very well. It was probably rolled too tightly. They could see only a trace of daylight. The old shaft turned at nearly right angles. A geological fault had forced the Civil War miners to change directions. They wanted to follow the vein of good ore. The turn cut off most of the light. Rick’s torch flickered. It was about to go out. Scotty hurriedly held his own torch to the flame to light it. Rick was never sure what happened at that point. Maybe Scotty’s torch pushed too hard and put out his own. Or maybe a sudden icy wind blew through the mine shaft. He knew only that they were instantly in darkness. Faraway ghostly laughter echoed in their ears!

Element Focus: Setting Why did Scotty and Rick need to be especially careful while in the mine? Would you have gone into an old mine to investigate a ghost? Explain.

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Excerpt from

The Blue Ghost Mystery by John Blaine

Rick, Scotty, and the two girls stood in silence. They surveyed the scene before them. They stood on the brow of the hill, looking down at the picnic ground. They could see the trees under which they had stood and watched a hair-raising apparition the night before. Even in daylight the place somehow seemed eerie to Rick. The sun was shining brightly. Birds came and went without fear or interference on their normal business of gathering food. A slight breeze ruffled the leaves of the oak trees. It was a fine, normal Virginia summer day. There was no trace of the supernormal or weird about it. Yet Rick felt somewhat less than relaxed. And he certainly felt puzzled. Directly below them there was a pool. It was created by the flow of spring water and glistened in the sunlight. Between their feet and the pool was solid rock. There were only a few weeds struggling for life in an occasional crack. “This is going to be a tough nut to crack,” Rick stated. “Look at that rock wall. Obviously, we’d have seen anything living that tried to climb down it, even in the darkness. Anyone standing up here would have been silhouetted against the sky.” “There was no one on the hill last night,” Scotty said positively. “I looked at every inch of it.” “It was a ghost,” Jan Miller said. Her voice was quiet. But it held conviction. “Everyone has always known there was a ghost here.” Scotty shook his head. “Everyone has always known there were ghosts in a hundred places. Just think of all the folklore about spooks. A few people have even claimed to have seen one. But who ever heard of a haunt that put on nightly performances?”

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#50985—Leveled Texts for Classic Fiction: Mystery

49

“You have now,” Barby said flatly. “Maybe,” Rick said. He led the way down the rocky slope. They went to where the rusted iron pipe jutted from the side of the hill. There was a thin trickle of water dripping constantly into the pool below. The pool was actually a catch basin in the rock. Rick looked at the pipe. It was ordinary. It had rusted, but it was still sound. It held no secrets that he could see. He held his mouth under it and tasted the water. It was cold and good. It was typical spring water, with the taste of minerals in it. He knew from Dr. Miller that it was good to drink. Picnickers used it all the time. He got down on his knees. Scotty knelt beside him. They felt the water of the rocky basin with their hands. There was a layer of brown algae in the bottom. That was to be expected. It looked dead. But when Rick scraped it, there was green underneath the brown. They retraced their steps into the mine. Rick noted as they went through the entrance that the old mine timbers were pretty well rotted through. He guessed that the mine had been boarded up because it was unsafe. He and Scotty would have to be careful. In a few moments they were in deep gloom. Only the smoky, fitful flicker of Rick’s torch gave them light enough to see by. The newspaper wasn’t burning very well. It was probably rolled too tightly. They could see only a trace of daylight. The old shaft turned at nearly right angles. A geological fault had forced the Civil War miners to change directions to follow the vein of good ore. The turn cut off most of the light, except for the waning flicker of Rick’s torch. Scotty hurriedly held his own torch to the flame to light it. Rick was never sure what happened at that point. Maybe Scotty’s torch pushed too hard and extinguished his own. Or maybe a sudden icy wind blew through the mine shaft. He knew only that they were instantly in darkness. Faraway ghostly laughter echoed in their ears!

Element Focus: Setting Describe the setting of this passage.

50

#50985—Leveled Texts for Classic Fiction: Mystery

© Shell Education

Excerpt from

The Blue Ghost Mystery by John Blaine

Rick, Scotty, and the two girls stood in silence and surveyed the scene before them. They stood on the brow of the hill, looking down at the picnic ground, at the trees under which they had stood and watched a hair-raising apparition the night before. Even in daylight the place somehow seemed eerie to Rick. The sun was shining brightly and birds came and went without fear or interference on their normal business of gathering food. A slight breeze ruffled the foliage of the oak trees. It was a fine, normal Virginia summer day, with no trace of the supernormal or weird about it. Yet, Rick felt somewhat less than relaxed, and he certainly felt puzzled. Directly below them the pool created by the flow of spring water glistened in the sunlight. Between their feet and the pool was solid rock, with only a few weeds struggling for life in an occasional crack. “This is going to be a tough nut to crack,” Rick stated. “Look at that rock wall. Obviously, we’d have seen anything living that tried to climb down it, even in the darkness. If anyone had been standing up here, he’d have been silhouetted against the sky.” “There was no one on the hill last night,” Scotty said positively. “I looked at every inch of it.” “It was a ghost,” Jan Miller said with quiet conviction. “Everyone has always known there was a ghost here.” Scotty shook his head. “Everyone has always known there were ghosts in a hundred places, if you want to consider all the folklore about spooks. A few people have even claimed to have seen one. But who ever heard of a haunt that put on nightly performances?”

© Shell Education

#50985—Leveled Texts for Classic Fiction: Mystery

51

“You have now,” Barby said flatly. “Maybe,” Rick said. He led the way down the rocky slope to where the rusted iron pipe jutted from the side of the hill, a thin trickle of water dripping constantly into the pool below. The pool was actually a catch basin in the rock. Rick examined the pipe. It was ordinary, rusted but still sound. It held no secrets that he could see. He held his mouth under it and tasted the water. It was cold and good, typical spring water, with the taste of minerals in it. He knew from Dr. Miller that it was good to drink. Picnickers used it regularly. He got down on his knees, Scotty beside him, and they probed in the water of the rocky basin with their hands. There was a layer of brown algae in the bottom, which was to be expected. It looked dead, but when Rick scraped it, there was green underneath the brown. They retraced their steps into the mine. Rick noted as they went through the entrance that the old mine timbers were pretty well rotted through. He guessed that the mine had been boarded up because it was unsafe. He and Scotty would have to be careful. In a few moments they were in deep gloom, only the smoky, fitful flicker of Rick’s torch giving them light enough to see by. The newspaper wasn’t burning very well, probably because he had rolled it too tightly. They could see only a trace of daylight. The old shaft turned at nearly right angles where a geological fault had forced the Civil War miners to change directions in order to follow the vein of good ore. The turn cut off most of the light, except for the waning flicker of Rick’s torch. Scotty hurriedly held his own torch to the flame to light it. Rick was never sure what happened at that point, whether Scotty’s torch pushed too hard and extinguished his own, or whether a sudden icy wind blew through the mine shaft. He knew only that they were instantly in darkness, while faraway ghostly laughter echoed in their ears!

Element Focus: Setting What are some possible explanations for the author to select this setting?

52

#50985—Leveled Texts for Classic Fiction: Mystery

© Shell Education

Excerpt from

The Blue Ghost Mystery by John Blaine

Rick, Scotty, and the two girls stood in silence, surveying the scene before them. They positioned themselves on the brow of the hill, looking down at the picnic ground, at the trees under which they had stood and watched a hairraising apparition the night before. Even in daylight the place somehow seemed eerie to Rick. The sun was shining brightly and birds came and went without fear or interference on their normal business of gathering food. A slight breeze ruffled the foliage of the oak trees. It was a fine, normal Virginia summer day, with no trace of the supernormal or weird about it; yet Rick felt somewhat less than relaxed, and he certainly felt puzzled. Directly below them the pool created by the flow of spring water glistened in the sunlight. Between their feet and the pool was solid rock, with only a few weeds struggling for life in an occasional crack. “This is going to be a tough nut to crack,” Rick stated emphatically. “If you look at that rock wall, it seems obvious that we’d have seen anything living that tried to climb down it, even in the darkness. If anyone had been standing up here, he’d have been silhouetted against the sky.” “There was no one on the hill last night,” Scotty said positively. “I looked at every inch of it.” “It was a ghost,” Jan Miller said with quiet conviction. “Everyone has always known there was a ghost here.” Scotty shook his head and replied, “Everyone has always known there were ghosts in a hundred places, if you want to consider all the folklore about spooks. A few people have even claimed to have seen one, but who ever heard of a haunt that put on nightly performances?”

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“You have now,” Barby said flatly. “Maybe,” Rick said, leading the way down the rocky slope to where the rusted iron pipe jutted from the side of the hill. A thin trickle of water dripped constantly into the catch basin in the rock below, creating a small pool. Rick examined the pipe. He determined that it was ordinary, rusted but still sound, revealing no secrets that he could see. He held his mouth under it and tasted the water. It was cold and good, typical spring water, with the taste of minerals in it. He knew from Dr. Miller that it was good to drink and that picnickers used it regularly. He got down on his knees, Scotty beside him, and they probed in the water of the rocky basin with their hands. There was a layer of brown algae in the bottom, which was to be expected. It looked dead, but when Rick scraped it, there was green underneath the brown. As they retraced their steps into the mine, Rick noted as they went through the entrance that the old mine timbers were pretty well rotted through. He guessed that the mine had been boarded up because it was unsafe. He and Scotty would have to be careful. In a few moments they were in deep gloom, only the smoky, fitful flicker of Rick’s torch giving them light enough to see by. The newspaper wasn’t burning very well, probably because he had rolled it too tightly. They could see only a trace of daylight. The old shaft turned at nearly right angles where a geological fault had forced the Civil War miners to change directions in order to follow the vein of good ore. The turn cut off most of the light, except for the waning flicker of Rick’s torch. Scotty hurriedly held his own torch to the flame to light it. Rick was never sure what happened at that point, whether Scotty’s torch pushed too hard and extinguished his own, or whether a sudden icy wind blew through the mine shaft. He knew only that they were instantly in darkness, while faraway ghostly laughter echoed in their ears!

Element Focus: Setting Describe how the description of the setting helps to build tension in the passage.

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Excerpt from

The Adventure of the Blue Carbuncle by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

I took the ragged thing in my hands. Feeling annoyed, I turned it over. It was a very ordinary black hat. It was of the usual round shape. It was hard. And it was much the worse for wear. The lining had been red silk. But it was now very discolored. There was no maker’s name. But as Holmes had said, the initials “H.  B.” were penned on one side. There was a small hole in the brim for a hat-securer. But the elastic was missing. It was cracked. It was very dusty. And it was spotted in several places. But someone had tried to hide the discolored spots. They had been smeared with ink. “I can see nothing,” said I. I handed it back to my friend. “But, Watson, you can see everything. You just fail to reason from what you see. You are too timid. You need to draw more inferences.” “Then, please tell me. What is it that you can infer from this hat?” He picked it up. He looked at it in the odd, thoughtful way he had. “It is obvious that the man was very smart. And, he was fairly rich within the last three years. But he has now fallen upon evil days,” he remarked. “He had foresight. But he has less now. This points to a moral downfall. Take that with the decline of his fortunes. Together they point to an evil in his life. It is probably drink at work on him. This may also explain why his wife does not love him anymore. He has, though, kept some of his self-respect. He sits a lot. He does not go out very much. He is out of shape. He is middle-aged. He has grey hair which he has had cut within the last few days. And he uses lime-cream on his hair. All of these facts can be discovered from this hat. By the way, it is very unlikely that he has gas on in his house.”

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“I have no doubt that I am very stupid. But I must confess that I am unable to follow you. For example, how did you deduce that this man was intellectual?” For an answer Holmes put the hat on. It was so big that it covered his eyes and rested on his nose! “It is a question of volume,” said he. “A man with so large a brain must have something in it.” “The fact that his fortunes have gone down?” “This hat is three years old. These flat brims curled at the edge came in then. It is a hat of the very best quality. Look at the band of ribbed silk. And it has an excellent lining. This man could afford to buy an expensive hat three years ago. But, he has had no hat since. So, then he must have gone down in the world.” “Well, that is clear enough. But how about the foresight and the moral back-step?” Sherlock Holmes laughed. “Here is the foresight,” said he. He put his finger upon the little disc and loop of the hat-securer. “They are never sold on hats. This man ordered one. That is a sign of foresight. He went out of his way to take this precaution against the wind. But we see that he has broken the elastic. And he has not replaced it. So, it is clear that he has less foresight now than before. This proves a weakening nature. On the other hand, he has tried to hide some of these stains on the felt. He has smeared them with ink. That is a sign that he has not entirely lost his self-respect.” “Your reasoning makes sense.” “That he is middle-aged, that his hair is grizzled, that it has been recently cut, and that he uses lime-cream, are all to be gathered from a close check of the lower part of the lining. The lens shows a large number of hair-ends. These are clean cut by the scissors of the barber. They all seem to be sticky. And there is a distinct odor of lime-cream. This dust, you will see, is not the gritty, grey dust of the street. It is the fluffy, brown dust of the house. This shows that it has been hung up indoors most of the time. The marks of moisture on the inside show that the wearer sweat a lot. This means he was out of shape.”

Element Focus: Character What makes the character of Sherlock Holmes believable?

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Excerpt from

The Adventure of the Blue Carbuncle by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

I took the tattered object in my hands. Feeling annoyed, I turned it over. It was a very ordinary black hat. It was of the usual round shape. It was hard and much the worse for wear. The lining had been of red silk. But it was now very discolored. There was no maker’s name. But as Holmes had said, the initials “H. B.” were scrawled upon one side. It was pierced in the brim for a hat-securer. But the elastic was missing. For the rest, it was cracked. It was very dusty. And it was spotted in several places. But there seemed to have been some attempt to hide the discolored patches. They had been smeared with ink. “I can see nothing,” said I, handing it back to my friend. “On the contrary, Watson, you can see everything. You fail, though, to reason from what you see. You are too timid in drawing your inferences.” “Then, please tell me. What is it that you can infer from this hat?” He picked it up. He gazed at it in the odd, introspective way he had. “That the man was highly intellectual is obvious. And, he was fairly well-to-do within the last three years. Though he has now fallen upon evil days,” he remarked. “He had foresight. But he has less now than before. This points to a moral downfall. When taken with the decline of his fortunes, that points to an evil influence. It is probably drink at work on him. This may account, too, for the obvious fact that his wife has ceased to love him. He has, though, kept some of his self-respect. He leads a sedentary life. He goes out little. He is out of training entirely. He is middle-aged. He has grizzled hair which he has had cut within the last few days. And he anoints his hair with lime-cream. These are the more set facts which are to be deduced from his hat. Also, by the way, that it is very unlikely that he has gas laid on in his house.”

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“I have no doubt that I am very stupid. But I must confess that I am unable to follow you. For example, how did you deduce that this man was intellectual?” For an answer, Holmes clapped the hat upon his head. It came right over the forehead and settled upon the bridge of his nose. “It is a question of cubic capacity,” said he; “a man with so large a brain must have something in it.” “The decline of his fortunes, then?” “This hat is three years old. These flat brims curled at the edge came in then. It is a hat of the very best quality. Look at the band of ribbed silk and the excellent lining. If this man could afford to buy so expensive a hat three years ago, and has had no hat since, then he must have gone down in the world.” “Well, that is clear enough, certainly. But how about the foresight and the moral back-step?” Sherlock Holmes laughed. “Here is the foresight,” said he putting his finger upon the little disc and loop of the hat-securer. “They are never sold upon hats. If this man ordered one, it is a sign of a certain amount of foresight. He went out of his way to take this precaution against the wind. But we see that he has broken the elastic and has not troubled to replace it. So, it is obvious that he has less foresight now than before. This is proof of a weakening nature. On the other hand, he has tried to hide some of these stains on the felt by daubing them with ink. That is a sign that he has not entirely lost his self-respect.” “Your reasoning makes sense.” “That he is middle-aged, that his hair is grizzled, that it has been recently cut, and that he uses lime-cream, are all to be gathered from a close check of the lower part of the lining. The lens shows a large number of hair-ends. These are clean cut by the scissors of the barber. They all seem to be sticky. And there is a distinct odor of lime-cream. This dust, you will see, is not the gritty, grey dust of the street. It is the fluffy, brown dust of the house. This shows that it has been hung up indoors most of the time. The marks of moisture on the inside show that the wearer sweat very freely. This means he could hardly be in the best of training.”

Element Focus: Character Describe the owner of the hat.

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Excerpt from

The Adventure of the Blue Carbuncle by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

I took the tattered object in my hands. I turned it over rather ruefully. It was a very ordinary black hat. It was of the traditional round shape, hard and much the worse for wear. The lining had been of red silk. But it was now a good deal discolored. There was no maker’s name. But as Holmes had said, the initials “H. B.” were scrawled upon one side. It was pierced in the brim for a hat-securer. But the elastic was missing. For the rest, it was cracked, very dusty, and spotted in several places. But there seemed to have been some attempt to hide the discolored patches by smearing them with ink. “I can see nothing,” said I, handing it back to my friend. “On the contrary, Watson, you can see everything. You fail, however, to reason from what you see. You are too timid in drawing your inferences.” “Then, please tell me what it is that you can infer from this hat?” He picked it up. He gazed at it in the peculiar, introspective way he had. “That the man was highly intellectual is of course obvious. Also, he was fairly well-to-do within the last three years. Though he has now fallen upon evil days,” he remarked. “He had foresight, but has less now than before. This points to a moral downfall, which, when taken with the decline of his fortunes, seems to point to an evil influence, probably drink, at work upon him. This may account, too, for the obvious fact that his wife has ceased to love him. He has, though, kept some of his self-respect. He is a man who leads a sedentary life. He goes out little. He is out of training entirely. He is middle-aged. He has grizzled hair which he has had cut within the last few days, and which he anoints with lime-cream. These are the more set facts which are to be deduced from his hat. Also, by the way, that it is very unlikely that he has gas laid on in his house.”

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“I have no doubt that I am very stupid, but I must confess that I am unable to follow you. For example, how did you deduce that this man was intellectual?” For an answer Holmes clapped the hat upon his head. It came right over the forehead and settled upon the bridge of his nose. “It is a question of cubic capacity,” said he, “a man with so large a brain must have something in it.” “The decline of his fortunes, then?” “This hat is three years old. These flat brims curled at the edge came in then. It is a hat of the very best quality. Look at the band of ribbed silk and the excellent lining. If this man could afford to buy so expensive a hat three years ago, and has had no hat since, then he must have gone down in the world.” “Well, that is clear enough, certainly. But how about the foresight and the moral back-step?” Sherlock Holmes laughed. “Here is the foresight,” said he putting his finger upon the little disc and loop of the hat-securer. “They are never sold upon hats. If this man ordered one, it is a sign of a certain amount of foresight. He went out of his way to take this precaution against the wind. But since we see that he has broken the elastic and has not troubled to replace it, it is obvious that he has less foresight now than before. This is a distinct proof of a weakening nature. On the other hand, he has tried to conceal some of these stains upon the felt by daubing them with ink, which is a sign that he has not entirely lost his self-respect.” “Your reasoning is certainly plausible.” “The further points, that he is middle-aged, that his hair is grizzled, and it has been recently cut, and that he uses lime-cream, are all to be gathered from a close examination of the lower part of the lining. The lens discloses a large number of hair-ends, clean cut by the scissors of the barber. They all appear to be adhesive, and there is a distinct odor of lime-cream. This dust, you will observe, is not the gritty, grey dust of the street but the fluffy brown dust of the house, showing that is has been hung up indoors most of the time, while the marks of moisture upon the inside are proof positive that the wearer perspires very freely, and could therefore, hardly be in the best of training.”

Element Focus: Character Why does Holmes believe that the owner of the hat is intelligent? What makes him think that the owner of the hat is out of shape?

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Excerpt from

The Adventure of the Blue Carbuncle by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

I took the tattered object in my hands and turned it over rather ruefully. It was a very ordinary black hat of the usual round shape, hard and much the worse for wear. The lining had been of red silk, but was a good deal discolored. There was no maker’s name. But, as Holmes had remarked, the initials “H.  B.” were scrawled upon one side. It was pierced in the brim for a hat-securer, but the elastic was missing. For the rest, it was cracked, exceedingly dusty, and spotted in several places, although there seemed to have been some attempt to hide the discolored patches by smearing them with ink. “I can see nothing,” said I, handing it back to my friend. “On the contrary, Watson, you can see everything. You fail, however, to reason from what you see. You are too timid in drawing your inferences.” “Then, pray tell me what it is that you can infer from this hat?” He picked it up and gazed at it in the peculiar introspective fashion which was characteristic of him. “That the man was highly intellectual is of course obvious upon the face of it. Also, he was fairly well-to-do within the last three years, although he has now fallen upon evil days,” he remarked. “He had foresight, but has less now than formerly, pointing to a moral retrogression, which, when taken with the decline of his fortunes, seems to indicate some evil influence, probably drink, at work upon him. This may account also for the obvious fact that his wife has ceased to love him. He has, however, retained some degree of self-respect. He is a man who leads a sedentary life, goes out little, is out of training entirely, is middle-aged, has grizzled hair which he has had cut within the last few days, and which he anoints with lime-cream. These are the more patent facts which are to be deduced from his hat. Also, by the way, that it is extremely improbable that he has gas laid on in his house.”

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“I have no doubt that I am very stupid, but I must confess that I am unable to follow you. For example, how did you deduce that this man was intellectual?” For answer Holmes clapped the hat upon his head. It came right over the forehead and settled upon the bridge of his nose. “It is a question of cubic capacity,” said he; “a man with so large a brain must have something in it.” “The decline of his fortunes, then?” “This hat is three years old. These flat brims curled at the edge came in then. It is a hat of the very best quality. Look at the band of ribbed silk and the excellent lining. If this man could afford to buy so expensive a hat three years ago, and has had no hat since, then he has assuredly gone down in the world.” “Well, that is clear enough, certainly. But how about the foresight and the moral retrogression?” Sherlock Holmes laughed. “Here is the foresight,” said he putting his finger upon the little disc and loop of the hat-securer. “They are never sold upon hats. If this man ordered one, it is a sign of a certain amount of foresight, since he went out of his way to take this precaution against the wind. But since we see that he has broken the elastic and has not troubled to replace it, it is obvious that he has less foresight now than formerly. This is a distinct proof of a weakening nature. On the other hand, he has endeavored to conceal some of these stains upon the felt by daubing them with ink, which is a sign that he has not entirely lost his self-respect.” “Your reasoning is certainly plausible.” “The further points, that he is middle-aged, that his hair is grizzled, that it has been recently cut, and that he uses lime-cream, are all to be gathered from a close examination of the lower part of the lining. The lens discloses a large number of hair-ends, clean cut by the scissors of the barber. They all appear to be adhesive, and there is a distinct odor of lime-cream. This dust, you will observe, is not the gritty, grey dust of the street but the fluffy brown dust of the house, showing that it has been hung up indoors most of the time, while the marks of moisture upon the inside are proof positive that the wearer perspired very freely, and could therefore, hardly be in the best of training.”

Element Focus: Character How do Holmes and Watson differ in their approach to the hat? Why does Holmes think that Watson is less able to learn about the owner from his examination of the hat?

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Excerpt from

The Secret Adversary (Part I)

by Agatha Christie “TOMMY, old thing!” “Tuppence, old bean!” The two young people greeted with affection. But, they blocked the Dover Street Tube exit for a moment. The adjective “old” was wrong. Together their ages would not add up to forty-five. Tommy sat down across from her. He was not wearing a hat. His red hair was finely slicked back. His face was pleasantly ugly. It was nondescript. But, it was the face of a gentleman. And it was the face of a sportsman. His brown suit was well cut. But, the material was worn thin. They were a modern-looking couple. Tuppence was not a beauty. But there was character in her little face. And there was charm. She looked a little like an elf. She had a determined chin. Her eyes were large. They were grey. And they were wide-apart. They looked out mistily. They peered from under straight, black brows. She wore a small, bright green hat. Her black hair was cut short. She wore a very short skirt. It was a little shabby. But it showed off her dainty ankles. Her look showed a brave try to be stylish. “Now then,” said Tommy. He took a big bite of bun. “Let’s get up-to-date. Remember, I haven’t seen you since that time in the hospital in 1916.” “Very well.” Tuppence took a large serving of buttered toast. “Here is the short story of Miss Prudence Cowley. She is the fifth daughter of Archdeacon Cowley. She grew up in Little Missendell, Suffolk. Miss Cowley left the fun (and boring) life of her home. Early in the war she came to London. There she got work at an officers’ hospital. In the first month, she washed up. She cleaned six hundred and forty-eight plates every day. In the second month, she was promoted. She got to dry those plates. What happened in the third © Shell Education

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month? She was promoted to peeling potatoes. In the fourth month she got another promotion. She got to cut bread and butter. What did the fifth month hold? She was promoted again. She was moved one floor up. There she was made a ward maid. She was given a mop. And, she got a pail! The sixth month she was promoted. This month she waited tables. What of the seventh month? Well, she gets a big promotion. She looks pleasant. She has nice manners. So she gets to wait on the Sisters! In the eight month, there was a problem. There was a check in her career. Sister Bond ate Sister Westhaven’s egg! Big Fight! Ward maid clearly to blame! She didn’t pay enough attention! She can’t be punished enough for such a huge failure. Mop and pail again! How are the mighty fallen! Next came the ninth month. I was promoted. This time I was sweeping out wards. There I found a childhood friend! It was Lieutenant Thomas Beresford!” Tommy bowed. “I had not seen him for five long years. The meeting was emotional! That gets us to the tenth month. The matron scolded me! I had been visiting the movies with one of the patients. Who could that be? Why, it was Tommy! In the eleventh and twelfth months, things got better. The parlor maid duties started back up. This was a success. At the end of the year she left the hospital in a blaze of glory! After that, the talented Miss Cowley drove. First, she drove a trade delivery van. Next, she drove a truck. And then she drove for a general! The last was the nicest. He was a young general!”

Element Focus: Character How did Tuppence spend her time during the war? Have you ever heard of other characters that remind you of her? Explain.

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Excerpt from

The Secret Adversary (Part I)

by Agatha Christie “TOMMY, old thing!” “Tuppence, old bean!” The two young people greeted each other with affection. As they did, they blocked the Dover Street Tube exit for a moment. The adjective “old” was not really true. Together their ages would not have added up to forty-five. Tommy sat down across from her. He was not wearing a hat. He had a head of finely slicked-back red hair. His face was pleasantly ugly. It was nondescript. But, it was the face of a gentleman and a sportsman. His brown suit was well cut. But, the material was worn thin. They were a modern-looking couple as they sat there. Tuppence had no claim to beauty. But there was character in her little face. And there was charm in its elfin lines. She had a determined chin. And her large, wide-apart grey eyes looked mistily out. They peered from under straight, black brows. She wore a small, bright green hat. Her black hair was cut in a bob. She wore a very short and rather shabby skirt. It showed off a pair of uncommonly dainty ankles. Her appearance showed a brave try at being stylish. “Now then,” said Tommy. He took a large bite of bun. “Let’s get up-to-date. Remember, I haven’t seen you since that time in the hospital in 1916.” “Very well.” Tuppence took a large serving of buttered toast. “Here is the short story of Miss Prudence Cowley. She is the fifth daughter of Archdeacon Cowley. She grew up in Little Missendell, Suffolk. Miss Cowley left the delights (and drudgeries) of her home life. Early in the war she came up to London. There she entered an officers’ hospital. In the first month, she washed up. She cleaned six hundred and forty-eight plates every day. In the second month, she was promoted. She got to dry © Shell Education

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those plates. What happened in the third month? She was promoted to peeling potatoes. In the fourth month, she got another promotion. She got to cut bread and butter. In the fifth month, she was promoted again. She was moved one floor up. There she was made a ward maid with mop and pail. And what of the sixth month? She was promoted to waiting at table. In the seventh month, she gets a big promotion. She had a pleasing appearance and nice manners. So she gets to wait on the Sisters! In the eight month, there was check in her career. Sister Bond ate Sister Westhaven’s egg! Big Fight! Ward maid clearly to blame! Inattention in such important matters cannot be too highly censured. Mop and pail again! How are the mighty fallen! Next came the ninth month. I was promoted to sweeping out wards. There I found a friend of my childhood in Lieutenant Thomas Beresford!” Tommy bowed. “I had not seen him for five long years. The meeting was emotional! That gets us to the tenth month. The matron scolded me for visiting the movies with one of the patients. Who could that be? Why, it was Lieutenant Thomas Beresford! In the eleventh and twelfth months, things improved. The parlor maid duties started back up. This was a success. At the end of the year, she left the hospital in a blaze of glory. After that, the talented Miss Cowley drove. First, she drove a trade delivery van. Next, she drove a truck. And then she drove for a general! The last was the nicest. He was quite a young general!”

Element Focus: Character Describe Tuppence. Does she seem to be a stereotype or a well-rounded character? Explain.

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Excerpt from

The Secret Adversary (Part I)

by Agatha Christie “TOMMY, old thing!” “Tuppence, old bean!” The two young people greeted each other affectionately. They momentarily blocked the Dover Street Tube exit in doing so. The adjective “old” was misleading. Their united ages would not have totaled forty-five. Tommy sat down opposite her. His bared head showed a shock of finely slicked-back red hair. His face was pleasantly ugly. It was nondescript. But, it was the face of a gentleman and a sportsman. His brown suit was well cut. But, the material was worn thin. They were a modern-looking couple as they sat there. Tuppence had no claim to beauty. But there was character in her little face. And there was charm in its elfin lines. She had a determined chin. And her large, wide-apart grey eyes looked mistily out. They peered from under straight, black brows. She wore a small, bright green hat over her black, bobbed hair. Her very short and rather shabby skirt showed a pair of uncommonly dainty ankles. Her appearance presented a valiant attempt at style. “Now then,” said Tommy. He took a large bite of bun. “Let’s get up-to-date. Remember, I haven’t seen you since that time in the hospital in 1916.” “Very well.” Tuppence helped herself liberally to buttered toast. “Here is a shortened biography of Miss Prudence Cowley. She is the fifth daughter of Archdeacon Cowley of Little Missendell, Suffolk. Miss Cowley left the delights (and drudgeries) of her home life. Early in the war she came up to London. There she entered an officers’ hospital. First month: Washed up six hundred and forty-eight plates every day. Second month: Promoted to drying those plates. Third month: Promoted to peeling potatoes. © Shell Education

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Fourth month: Promoted to cutting bread and butter. Fifth month: Promoted one floor up. She was given duties of ward maid with mop and pail. Sixth month: Promoted to waiting at tables. Seventh month: Her pleasing appearance and nice manners get her promoted to waiting on the Sisters! Eighth month: Slight check in career. Sister Bond ate Sister Westhaven’s egg! Big Fight! Ward maid clearly to blame! Inattention in such important matters cannot be too highly censured. Mop and pail again! How are the mighty fallen! Ninth month: Promoted to sweeping out wards, where I found a friend of my childhood in Lieutenant Thomas Beresford (bow, Tommy!), whom I had not seen for five long years. The meeting was affecting! Tenth month: Reproved by matron for visiting the pictures in company with one of the patients, namely the aforementioned Lieutenant Thomas Beresford. Eleventh and twelfth months: Parlor maid duties resumed with entire success. At the end of the year, left the hospital in a blaze of glory. After that, the talented Miss Cowley drove successively a trade delivery van, a motor-lorry, and a general! The last was the pleasantest. He was quite a young general!”

Element Focus: Character How would you describe the character of Tuppence? Does she seem to be a stereotype or a well-rounded character? Support your hypothesis with quotes from the text.

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Excerpt from

The Secret Adversary (Part I)

by Agatha Christie “TOMMY, old thing!” “Tuppence, old bean!” The two young people greeted each other affectionately, and momentarily blocked the Dover Street Tube exit in doing so. The adjective “old” was misleading. Their united ages would certainly not have totaled forty-five. Tommy sat down opposite her. His bared head revealed a shock of exquisitely slicked-back red hair. His face was pleasantly ugly—nondescript, yet unmistakably the face of a gentleman and a sportsman. His brown suit was well cut, but perilously near the end of its tether. They were an essentially modern-looking couple as they sat there. Tuppence had no claim to beauty, but there was character and charm in the elfin lines of her little face, with its determined chin and large, wide-apart grey eyes that looked mistily out from under straight, black brows. She wore a small bright green toque over her black bobbed hair, and her extremely short and rather shabby skirt revealed a pair of uncommonly dainty ankles. Her appearance presented a valiant attempt at smartness. “Now then,” said Tommy, taking a large bite of bun, “let’s get up-to-date. Remember, I haven’t seen you since that time in hospital in 1916.” “Very well.” Tuppence helped herself liberally to buttered toast. “Abridged biography of Miss Prudence Cowley, fifth daughter of Archdeacon Cowley of Little Missendell, Suffolk. Miss Cowley left the delights (and drudgeries) of her home life early in the war and came up to London, where she entered an officers’ hospital. First month: Washed up six hundred and forty-eight plates every day. Second month: Promoted to drying aforesaid plates. Third month: Promoted to peeling potatoes. Fourth month: © Shell Education

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Promoted to cutting bread and butter. Fifth month: Promoted one floor up to duties of ward maid with mop and pail. Sixth month: Promoted to waiting at tables. Seventh month: Pleasing appearance and nice manners so striking that am promoted to waiting on the Sisters! Eighth month: Slight check in career. Sister Bond ate Sister Westhaven’s egg! Grand row! Ward maid clearly to blame! Inattention in such important matters cannot be too highly censured. Mop and pail again! How are the mighty fallen! Ninth month: Promoted to sweeping out wards, where I found a friend of my childhood in Lieutenant Thomas Beresford (bow, Tommy!), whom I had not seen for five long years. The meeting was affecting! Tenth month: Reproved by matron for visiting the pictures in company with one of the patients, namely: the aforementioned Lieutenant Thomas Beresford. Eleventh and twelfth months: Parlor maid duties resumed with entire success. At the end of the year left hospital in a blaze of glory. After that, the talented Miss Cowley drove successively a trade delivery van, a motorlorry and a general! The last was the pleasantest. He was quite a young general!”

Element Focus: Character What are three things that you can learn about Tuppence’s personality from the passage. Do you believe she is a stereotype or a well-rounded character? Explain.

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Excerpt from

The Mysterious Affair at Styles by Agatha Christie

We drove through the village. Then, I remembered that I needed stamps. So we stopped at the post office. As I came out again, I ran into a little man. He was just going in. I said I was sorry. And I moved aside. But he gave a loud shout! He grabbed me. Then he kissed me on the cheeks. “Mon ami Hastings!” he cried. “Yes! It is mon ami Hastings!” (Mon ami means ‘friend’ in French.) “Poirot!” I said. “This is a very happy meeting for me! Miss Cynthia, this is my old friend. His name is Monsieur Poirot! I have not seen him for years.” “Oh, we know him,” said Cynthia. She was happy. “But I did not know he was your friend.” “Oh, yes,” said Poirot seriously. “I know Mademoiselle Cynthia. She is friends with the good Mrs. Inglethorp. And that lady has been very kind. It is because of her that I am here.” I looked questioningly at him. So he said, “Yes, she has given a home to seven of my country people. Alas! We are refugees! We had to run from our native land. We Belgians will always remember her with thanks.”

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Poirot was an unusual looking little man. He was not more than five feet, four inches tall. But, he had great dignity. His head was the shape of an egg. And he always held it a little on one side. His moustache was very stiff. It was cut like he was in the military. The neatness of his clothes was almost incredible. I think a speck of dust would have hurt him more than a bullet wound. I was sorry to see that he had changed. He now limped badly. Yet this odd, dressy little man had once been celebrated! He had been a detective. He had been a star member of the Belgian police. And his flair had been great. He had triumphs! He had unraveled some of the most difficult cases of the day. He pointed out a little house. It was the one inhabited by him and the other Belgians. I promised to go and see him soon. Then he raised his hat with a flourish to Cynthia. And we drove away. “He’s a dear little man,” said Cynthia. “I’d no idea you knew him.” “You did not know it. But, you have been entertaining a celebrity!” I said. Then, I told her many of the adventures of Hercule Poirot. And I told her about his triumphs!

Element Focus: Character Why is Hercule Poirot grateful to Mrs. Inglethorpe? Why had Hercule Poirot been celebrated?

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Excerpt from

The Mysterious Affair at Styles by Agatha Christie

We drove through the village. Then, I remembered that I needed stamps. So we stopped at the post office. As I came out again, I ran into a little man. He was just going in. I moved aside. Then I said I was sorry. But he gave a loud shout! He grabbed me in his arms. Then he kissed me on the cheeks. “Mon ami Hastings!” he cried. “Yes! It is mon ami Hastings!” (Mon ami means ‘friend’ in French.) “Poirot!” I said. “This is a very happy meeting for me! Miss Cynthia, this is my old friend. His name is Monsieur Poirot! I have not seen him for years.” “Oh, we know him,” said Cynthia happily. “But I had no idea he was your friend.” “Yes, indeed,” said Poirot seriously. “I know Mademoiselle Cynthia. Her friend, the good Mrs. Inglethorp, has given me charity. It is because of her that I am here.” I looked questioningly at him. So, he continued, “Yes, she had kindly given a home to seven of my country people. Alas! We are refugees from our native land. We Belgians will always remember her with gratitude.”

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Poirot was an extraordinary looking little man. He was not more than five feet, four inches tall. But he carried himself with great dignity. His head was exactly the shape of an egg. And he always perched it a little on one side. His moustache was very stiff and military. The neatness of his attire was almost incredible. I believe a speck of dust would have caused him more pain than a bullet wound. I was sorry to see that he now limped badly. Yet this quaint, dandified little man had been in his time one of the most celebrated members of the Belgian police. As a detective, his flair had been extraordinary. And he had achieved triumphs! He had unraveled some of the most baffling cases of the day. He pointed out the little house inhabited by him and his fellow Belgians. I promised to go and see him at an early date. Then he raised his hat with a flourish to Cynthia, and we drove away. “He’s a dear little man,” said Cynthia. “I’d no idea you knew him.” “You did not know it. But, you have been entertaining a celebrity!” I replied. And, for the rest of the way home, I told them many of the adventures and triumphs of Hercule Poirot.

Element Focus: Character Describe Hercule Poirot.

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Excerpt from

The Mysterious Affair at Styles by Agatha Christie

As we drove through the village, I remembered that I needed some stamps. So we pulled up at the post office. As I came out again, I cannoned into a little man who was just entering. I drew aside and apologized. But suddenly, with a loud exclamation, he clasped me in his arms and kissed me warmly on the cheeks. “Mon ami Hastings!” he cried. “It is indeed mon ami Hastings!” “Poirot!” I exclaimed. “This is a very pleasant meeting for me, Miss Cynthia. This is my old friend, Monsieur Poirot! I have not seen him for years.” “Oh, we know Monsieur Poirot,” said Cynthia happily. “But I had no idea he was a friend of yours.” “Yes, indeed,” said Poirot seriously. “I know Mademoiselle Cynthia. It is by the charity of her friend, the good Mrs. Inglethorp that I am here.” I looked at him inquiringly. So he continued, “Yes, my friend, she had kindly extended hospitality to seven of my country people. Alas! We are refugees from our native land. We Belgians will always remember her with gratitude.”

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Poirot was an extraordinary looking little man. He was hardly more than five feet, four inches tall. But he carried himself with great dignity. His head was exactly the shape of an egg, and he always perched it a little on one side. His moustache was very stiff and military. The neatness of his attire was almost incredible. I believe a speck of dust would have caused him more pain than a bullet wound. Yet this quaint, dandyfied little man who, I was sorry to see, now limped badly, had been in his time one of the most celebrated members of the Belgian police. As a detective, his flair had been extraordinary. And he had achieved triumphs by unraveling some of the most baffling cases of the day. He pointed out to me the little house inhabited by him and his fellow Belgians. I promised to go and see him at an early date. Then he raised his hat with a flourish to Cynthia, and we drove away. “He’s a dear little man,” said Cynthia. “I’d no idea you knew him.” “You’ve been entertaining a celebrity unawares,” I replied. And, for the rest of the way home, I recited to them the various exploits and triumphs of Hercule Poirot.

Element Focus: Character Describe some physical and personality traits of Hercule Poirot.

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Excerpt from

The Mysterious Affair at Styles by Agatha Christie

As we drove through the village, I remembered that I wanted some stamps, so accordingly we pulled up at the post office. As I came out again, I cannoned into a little man who was just entering. I drew aside and apologized, when suddenly, with a loud exclamation, he clasped me in his arms and kissed me warmly on the cheeks. “Mon ami Hastings!” he cried. “It is indeed mon ami Hastings!” “Poirot!” I exclaimed. “This is a very pleasant meeting for me, Miss Cynthia. This is my old friend, Monsieur Poirot, whom I have not seen for years.” “Oh, we know Monsieur Poirot,” said Cynthia happily. “But I had no idea he was a friend of yours.” “Yes, indeed,” said Poirot seriously. “I know Mademoiselle Cynthia. It is by the charity of her friend, the good Mrs. Inglethorp that I am here.” Then, as I looked at him inquiringly: “Yes, my friend, she had kindly extended hospitality to seven of my countrypeople who, alas, are refugees from their native land. We Belgians will always remember her with gratitude.”

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Poirot was an extraordinary looking little man. He was hardly more than five feet, four inches, but carried himself with great dignity. His head was exactly the shape of an egg, and he always perched it a little on one side. His moustache was very stiff and military. The neatness of his attire was almost incredible. I believe a speck of dust would have caused him more pain than a bullet wound. Yet this quaint dandyfied little man who, I was sorry to see, now limped badly, had been in his time one of the most celebrated members of the Belgian police. As a detective, his flair had been extraordinary, and he had achieved triumphs by unraveling some of the most baffling cases of the day. He pointed out to me the little house inhabited by him and his fellow Belgians, and I promised to go and see him at an early date. Then he raised his hat with a flourish to Cynthia, and we drove away. “He’s a dear little man,” said Cynthia. “I’d no idea you knew him.” “You’ve been entertaining a celebrity unawares,” I replied. And, for the rest of the way home, I recited to them the various exploits and triumphs of Hercule Poirot.

Element Focus: Character In what ways does Hercule Poirot’s appearance give you clues about his personality? Predict the role that Hercule Poirot might play in The Mysterious Affair At Styles.

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Excerpt from

Penny Nichols and the Knob Hill Mystery by Joan Clark

Penny let the subject drop. But she wondered. Was Herman Crocker telling the truth? Had the younger man visited his uncle? Had he tried to claim his inheritance? He had seemed very bitter. She thought of Walter Crocker. He was not the kind to be easily discouraged. Penny had learned from her past. If you don’t want trouble, don’t ask too many questions. Her curious mind had gotten her into some strange adventures. Right now, Penny did not want trouble. She decided to say no more. She would not talk about Walter Crocker. She would keep quiet. The old man could bring it up if he wanted. “I’ll get the things for you,” said Herman Crocker. They got to the kitchen door. “Just wait here.” Penny was surprised. He did not invite her in. “It won’t take me long,” he said. Then he closed the door firmly behind him. Penny sat on the steps. She was on a sagging porch. She kept her eye on Herman Crocker’s dog. The beast had sat only a few feet away. “That animal is vicious,” she thought uneasily. “I don’t see why he keeps it around.” Hearing a slight sound, Penny looked right. She spotted a small boy. He was peering at her from the corner of the house. He was tall. And he was very thin. But he did not look very old. He was maybe nine or ten.

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“Hello there,” said Penny. She used a friendly voice. “Hello,” answered the boy. He moved slowly toward her. His stare was a little blank. “You’re not Mr. Crocker’s little boy?” Penny asked. She was hoping to draw him into conversation. “I’m his grandson.” “Oh, his grandson,” said Penny. She was studying the boy with interest. He did look a little like Herman Crocker. “And is Rudy your dog?” “No!” said the boy. His voice was bitter. “I hate him. If I tried to go away from here, he’d attack me. My grandfather has trained him to do that.” Penny was not sure that she had understood right. She could not believe what she heard. How could Herman Crocker keep his grandson a prisoner here? “You don’t mean—” she began. But the words died away. The kitchen door had opened. Herman Crocker stood scowling at his grandson. “Perry!” he said harshly. “Get inside! There’s work to be done!” “Yes, sir,” said the boy meekly. The boy gave a frightened glance at Penny. Then he ran into the house. Mr. Crocker closed the door. “I think that old man was afraid to have me talk with his grandson!” Penny thought shrewdly. “How strange!”

Element Focus: Character Which character is the protagonist? Which is the antagonist? How can you tell?

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Excerpt from

Penny Nichols and the Knob Hill Mystery by Joan Clark

Penny let the subject drop. But she wondered if Herman Crocker were telling the truth. Had the younger man really visited his uncle? Had he tried to claim his inheritance? He had seemed very bitter toward the old fellow. From what she had seen of Walter Crocker, she did not think that he would be easily discouraged. Penny had learned from past experience. If one wishes to avoid trouble, it does not pay to ask too many questions. More than once a curious mind had gotten her into strange adventures. Right now, Penny did not want to involve herself in trouble. She decided to say no more about Walter Crocker. She would keep quiet unless the old man reopened the subject. “I’ll get the things for you,” said Herman Crocker. They reached the kitchen door. “Just wait here.” Penny was surprised. The old man did not invite her into the house. “It won’t take me long,” he said. Then he closed the door firmly behind him. Penny sat on the steps of the sagging porch. She kept her eye on Herman Crocker’s dog. The beast had set himself only a few feet away. “That animal is vicious,” she thought uneasily. “I don’t see why Crocker keeps him around.” Hearing a slight sound, Penny gazed toward the right. She was surprised to spot a small boy peering at her from the corner of the house. He was tall and very thin. But he did not look to be more than nine or ten years old.

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“Hello there,” said Penny. She used a friendly voice. “Hello,” answered the boy. He moved slowly toward her. His stare was a little blank. “You’re not Mr. Crocker’s little boy?” Penny asked. She was hoping to draw him into conversation. “I’m his grandson.” “Oh, his grandson,” repeated Penny. She was studying the lad with interest. He did look a little like Herman Crocker. “And is Rudy your dog?” “No!” replied the lad bitterly. “I hate him. If I tried to go away from here, he’d attack me. My grandfather has trained him to do that.” Penny was not sure that she had understood right. She could not believe that Herman Crocker kept his grandson a prisoner on the property. “You don’t mean—” she began. But the words died away. The kitchen door had opened. Herman Crocker stood scowling at his grandson. “Perry!” he said harshly. “Get inside! There’s work to be done!” “Yes, sir,” said the boy meekly. With a frightened glance at Penny he scuttled into the house. Mr. Crocker closed the door again. “I do believe that old man was afraid to have me talk with his grandson!” Penny thought shrewdly. “How strange!”

Element Focus: Character Predict what Penny will do next.

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Excerpt from

Penny Nichols and the Knob Hill Mystery by Joan Clark

Penny allowed the subject to drop, yet she wondered if Herman Crocker were telling the truth. Had the younger man really visited his uncle for the purpose of claiming an inheritance? He had seemed very bitter toward the old fellow. From her observation of Walter Crocker, she did not believe that he was a person who would be easily discouraged in his ambitious designs. Penny had learned from past experience that if one wished to avoid trouble, it did not pay to ask too many questions. More than once an inquiring turn of mind had involved her in strange adventures. At the moment, Penny was not eager to involve herself in trouble. She determined to say no more about Walter Crocker unless the old man reopened the subject. “I’ll get the things for you,” said Herman Crocker as they reached the kitchen door. “Just wait here.” Penny was a little surprised because the old man did not invite her into the house. “It won’t take me long,” he said, deliberately closing the door behind him. Penny seated herself on the steps of the sagging porch and kept her eye upon Herman Crocker’s dog which had stationed himself only a few feet away. “That animal is vicious,” she thought uneasily. “I don’t see why Crocker keeps him around.” Hearing a slight sound, Penny gazed toward the right and was surprised to observe a small boy peering at her from the corner of the house. He was tall and very thin but did not appear to be more than nine or ten years of age.

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“Hello there,” said Penny in a friendly voice. “Hello,” answered the boy. He moved slowly toward her, staring rather blankly. “You’re not Mr. Crocker’s little boy?” Penny asked, hoping to draw him into conversation. “I’m his grandson.” “Oh, his grandson,” repeated Penny, studying the lad with interest. He bore slight resemblance to Herman Crocker. “And is Rudy your dog?” “No!” replied the lad bitterly. “I hate him. If I tried to go away from here he’d attack me. My grandfather has trained him to do that.” Penny was not certain that she had understood correctly. She could not believe that Herman Crocker deliberately kept his grandson a prisoner on the property. “You don’t mean—” she began, but the words died away. The kitchen door had opened. Herman Crocker stood scowling at his grandson. “Perry!” he said harshly. “Get inside! There’s work to be done!” “Yes, sir,” replied the boy meekly. With a frightened glance directed toward Penny he scuttled into the house. Mr. Crocker closed the door again. “I do believe that old man was afraid to have me talk with his grandson!” Penny thought shrewdly. “How strange!”

Element Focus: Character Explain several reasons why a reader might determine that Herman Crocker is the antagonist of the story.

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Excerpt from

Penny Nichols and the Knob Hill Mystery by Joan Clark

Penny allowed the subject to drop, yet she wondered if Herman Crocker were telling the truth. Had the younger man really visited his uncle for the purpose of claiming an inheritance? He had seemed very bitter toward the old fellow, and from her observation of Walter Crocker she did not believe that he was a person who would be easily discouraged in his ambitious designs. Penny had learned from past experience that if one wished to avoid trouble it did not pay to ask too many questions. More than once an inquiring turn of mind had involved her in strange adventures and at the moment Penny was not eager to immerse herself in trouble. She determined to say no more about Walter Crocker unless the old man reopened the subject. “I’ll go fetch the things for you,” said Herman Crocker as they reached the kitchen door. “You just wait here and I will bring them out.” Penny was a little surprised because the old man did not invite her into the house. “It won’t take me long,” he said, deliberately closing the door behind him. Penny seated herself on the steps of the sagging porch and kept her eye upon Herman Crocker’s dog which had stationed himself only a few feet away. “That animal is clearly vicious,” she thought uneasily. “I can’t imagine why Crocker keeps him around.” Hearing a slight sound Penny gazed toward the right and was surprised to observe a small boy peering at her from the corner of the house. He was tall and extremely thin but did not appear to be more than nine or ten years of age. © Shell Education

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“Hello there,” Penny greeted him in a welcoming voice. “Hello,” answered the boy, approaching her slowly while staring rather blankly. “I don’t suppose you are Mr. Crocker’s little boy?” Penny asked, attempting to draw him into conversation. “I’m his grandson,” responded the child, succinctly. “Oh, his grandson,” repeated Penny, studying the lad with unveiled interest. She could see that he bore slight resemblance to Herman Crocker. “And is Rudy your dog?” inquired Penny, further. “No!” replied the lad with bitter emphasis. “I hate him, and if I tried to go away from here he’d attack me. My grandfather has trained him to do that.” Penny was not certain that she had understood correctly. She could not believe that Herman Crocker deliberately kept his grandson a prisoner on the property. “You don’t mean—” she began, but the words died away as she realized they were no longer alone. The kitchen door had opened and Herman Crocker stood at the entrance, scowling disapprovingly at his grandson. “Perry!” he said harshly. “Get inside, there’s work to be done!” “Yes, sir,” replied the boy meekly. With a frightened glance directed toward Penny he scuttled into the house and Mr. Crocker closed the door again. “I do believe that old man was afraid to have me speak with his grandson!” Penny thought shrewdly. “How strange!”

Element Focus: Character In what ways does Mr. Crocker’s behavior indicate his role as an antagonist in the story?

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Excerpt from

Penny Nichols Finds a Clue by Joan Clark

Mr. Nichols did not say much about the note. Penny read it to him later that evening. They were sitting at the dinner table. “Don’t let it worry you,” he said. “Just put it away for future reference. For now, forget about it.” “Future reference?” “Yes, it’s always wise to keep such things. One never knows when a sample of handwriting might be useful.” “I’m sure Jerry Barrows must have some good qualities. If not, he’d never have sent the message. Don’t you think so, Dad?” “Maybe. It’s clear, though. The boy was afraid to talk with me.” “But why warn you that your life is in danger? Do you think he knows something about the Molberg gang?” “It isn’t likely. But he may have some underworld connection.” “I’m getting more nervous every day,” Penny said. “I’ll never feel easy until everyone in the gang is caught.” “It may be harder than I thought,” her father sighed. He was frowning. “I know that Rap Molberg is hiding somewhere in the city. But so far none of my people have been able to find him.” “Maybe he’s through making trouble,” Penny said hopefully. “He’ll make enough. He just needs the right time.” “I have not heard of any car thefts for several days. Really, I haven’t heard of anything of the sort.”

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“That’s just it. Things have been too quiet. It’s like a lull before the storm. A bad sign.” Mr. Nichols left the table. He walked to the door. Then he came back. “I must go downtown again this evening,” he said. His voice said he was sorry. “I’ll leave the telephone number of my new office. That way you can reach me if you need to. It isn’t listed in the ‘phone book.’” “Your new office?” Penny asked. “What happened to your old one?” “It’s still there,” Mr. Nichols smiled. “Miss Arrow has taken charge. I have rented rooms. They are just temporary. They are on the tenth floor of the Atler building.” “Is that across from the Brunner garage?” “Yes. It is in the downtown theater district. Most of the car accessory thefts have been in that small area. From my new office I have a bird’s eye view. I can see all the nearby streets.” “But do you think you can catch the thieves while they steal car wheels?” Penny said. “It is the best way to get a conviction. A professional crook is clever. He knows how to cover his tracks completely. That is why you have to catch him at the scene of his crime. An amateur is rarely so good. He doesn’t know how to get rid of all the clues.” “May I visit your new office?” Penny asked. “Yes, if you are smart about it. And don’t come too often. I have rented it under a fake name—John Bradford. I don’t want my real name known for awhile.” “I’ll be very discreet if I come,” Penny promised.

Element Focus: Plot What sort of trouble has the Molberg gang been causing? Why has Mr. Nichols rented a second office?

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Excerpt from

Penny Nichols Finds a Clue by Joan Clark

Mr. Nichols did not have much to say about the note. Penny read it to him later that evening at the dinner table. “Don’t let it worry you,” he said. “Just put it away for future reference. For now, forget about it.” “Future reference?” “Yes, it’s always wise to keep such things. One never knows when a sample of handwriting might be useful.” “I’m sure Jerry Barrows must have some good qualities. If not, he’d never have sent the message. Don’t you think so, Dad?” “Maybe. It’s clear the boy was afraid to talk with me.” “But why should he warn you that your life is in danger? Do you think he knows something about the Molberg gang?” “It isn’t likely. But he may have some underworld connection.” “I’m getting more nervous every day,” Penny said. “I’ll never feel easy until all the members of that gang are captured.” “It may be more difficult than I thought,” her father sighed. He was frowning. “I know that Rap Molberg is hiding somewhere in the city. But so far none of my investigators have been able to trace him.” “Maybe he’s through making trouble,” Penny said hopefully. “He’ll make enough when the time comes.” “I’ve not heard of any auto thefts for several days. Really, I haven’t heard of anything of the sort.”

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“That’s just it. Things have been too quiet. It’s like a lull before the storm. A bad sign.” Mr. Nichols abruptly left the table. He walked to the door. Then he came back. “I must go downtown again this evening, Penny,” he said. His voice said he was sorry. “I’ll leave the telephone number of my new office. That way you can reach me if you need to. It isn’t listed in the ‘phone book,’ of course.” “Your new office?” Penny asked. “What happened to your old one?” “It’s still there,” Mr. Nichols smiled. “Miss Arrow has taken charge. I’ve taken up temporary rooms. They are on the tenth floor of the Atler building.” “Isn’t that just across from the Brunner garage?” “Yes. It is in the downtown theater district. Most of the auto accessory thefts have been in that small area. From the window of my new office I have a bird’s eye view. I can see all that goes on in nearby streets.” “Surely you don’t expect to catch the thieves in the act of stealing car wheels!” Penny exclaimed. “It will be the best way to get a conviction. A professional crook is clever enough to cover his tracks completely. That is why you have to catch him at the scene of his crime. An amateur is rarely so good at obliterating clues.” “May I visit this new office of yours?” Penny asked. “Yes, if you use discretion and don’t come too often. I have taken the office under an assumed name—John Bradford. I shouldn’t care to have my real name known for awhile.” “I’ll be very discreet if I come,” Penny promised.

Element Focus: Plot Describe the reasons Mr. Nichols is concerned about the Molberg gang.

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Excerpt from

Penny Nichols Finds a Clue by Joan Clark

Mr. Nichols did not have a great deal to say regarding the note which Penny read to him later that evening at the dinner table. “Don’t let it worry you,” he advised. “Just put it away for future reference and forget about it.” “Future reference?” “Yes, it’s always wise to keep such communications. One never knows when a sample of handwriting might prove useful.” “I’m sure Jerry Barrows must have some good qualities or he’d never have sent the message. Don’t you think so, Dad?” “Perhaps. It’s obvious the boy was afraid to talk with me.” “But why should he warn you that your life is in danger? Do you think he could know anything concerning the Molberg gang?” “It isn’t likely, but he may have some underworld connection.” “I’m getting more nervous every day,” Penny declared. “I’ll never feel very easy until all the members of that gang are captured.” “It may be a more difficult task than I at first believed,” her father remarked, frowning. “I know that Rap Molberg is hiding somewhere in the city but so far none of my investigators have been able to trace him.” “Perhaps he’s through causing trouble,” Penny said hopefully. “He’ll make enough when the time comes.” “I’ve not heard of any automobile thefts or anything of the sort for several days.”

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“That’s just it. Things have been altogether too quiet. It’s like a lull before the storm. A bad sign.” Mr. Nichols abruptly left the table. He walked to the door, then came back. “I must go downtown again this evening, Penny,” he said regretfully. “I’ll leave the telephone number of my new office in the event you should need to reach me. It isn’t listed in the ‘phone book,’ of course.” “Your new office?” Penny demanded. “What became of your old one, may I ask?” “It’s still there,” Mr. Nichols smiled. “Miss Arrow has assumed charge, and I’ve taken up temporary quarters on the tenth floor of the Atler building.” “Isn’t that almost directly across from the Brunner garage?” “Yes, it’s located in the downtown theater district. The bulk of the auto accessory thefts have taken place in this relatively small area. From the window of my new office I secure a bird’s eye view of all that goes on in nearby streets.” “Surely you don’t expect to catch the thieves in the act of stealing automobile wheels?” Penny marveled. “It will be the surest way of gaining a conviction. If a professional crook isn’t captured at the scene of his crime, he usually is clever enough to cover his tracks completely. An amateur is seldom so skillful in obliterating clues.” “May I visit this new office of yours?” Penny asked. “Yes, if you use discretion and don’t come too often. I have taken the office under an assumed name—John Bradford. I shouldn’t care to have my real name known for awhile.” “I’ll be very discreet if I come,” Penny promised.

Element Focus: Plot What sequel could result from this story?

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Excerpt from

Penny Nichols Finds a Clue by Joan Clark

Mr. Nichols did not share an abundance of words regarding the note which Penny read to him later that evening at the dinner table. “Don’t let it concern you,” he advised sagely. “Just put it away for future reference and forget about it.” “Future reference?” “Yes, it’s always wise to keep such communications since one never knows when a sample of handwriting might prove useful.” “I’m sure Jerry Barrows must have some admirable qualities, or he’d never have sent the message, don’t you agree, Dad?” “Perhaps, though it seems obvious the boy was afraid to talk with me himself.” “But why should he warn you that your life is in danger? Do you think that it’s possible he knows something of substance concerning the Molberg gang?” “It isn’t likely, but he may have some sort of underworld connection.” “I’m getting more nervous every day,” Penny declared with passion. “I’ll never feel secure until all the members of that gang are captured.” “It may be a more challenging undertaking than I at first envisioned,” her father remarked, frowning. “I know that Rap Molberg is hiding somewhere in the metropolitan area but so far none of my investigators have been able to trace him.” “Perhaps he’s through causing trouble,” Penny said hopefully. “He’ll make enough when the time comes.” “I’ve not heard about any automobile thefts or anything related for several days.” © Shell Education

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“That’s the very thing that concerns me because it feels as though things have been altogether too quiet. It reminds me most of the lull before the storm, which is never a comforting sensation.” Mr. Nichols abruptly left the table, walked to the door, then came back. “I must go downtown again this evening, Penny,” he said regretfully. “I’ll leave the telephone number of my new office in the event you should need to reach me. It isn’t listed in the ‘phone book,’ of course.” “Your new office?” Penny demanded. “What became of your old one, may I ask?” “It’s still there,” Mr. Nichols smiled. “Miss Arrow has assumed charge, and I’ve taken up temporary quarters on the tenth floor of the Atler building.” “Isn’t that almost directly across from the Brunner garage?” “Yes, it’s located in the midst of the downtown theater district. The bulk of the auto accessory thefts have taken place in this relatively small area, and from the window of my new office I secure a bird’s eye view of all that goes on in nearby streets.” “Surely you don’t expect to catch the thieves in the act of stealing automobile wheels!” Penny marveled. “I consider it to be the most definite way of gaining a conviction. If a professional crook isn’t captured at the scene of his crime, he usually is clever enough to cover his tracks completely. An amateur is seldom so skillful in obliterating incriminating clues.” “May I visit this new downtown office of yours?” Penny asked. “Yes, if you use discretion and don’t come too often. I have taken the office under an assumed name—John Bradford. I shouldn’t care to have my real name known for awhile.” “I’ll be very discreet if I come,” Penny promised.

Element Focus: Plot Predict the outcome of Penny’s visit to her father’s “new” office. Given the situation Mr. Nichols finds himself in, how might you act differently?

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Excerpt from

Penny Nichols and the Mystery of the Lost Key by Joan Clark

Penny’s sharp blue eyes looked at the ring tray. The large diamond was missing. She had not seen the man take it. He had been too skilled for that. But she knew for sure what had happened while the clerk’s back was turned. He had hidden the ring somewhere on his person. Penny did not wait. She ran after him. “Stop!” she cried. Surprised shoppers turned. She told them, “Don’t let that thief get away!” The man turned sharply. His face was twisted in anger. He used his cane to hit a big woman who grabbed his coat. A store detective blocked the main exit. Seeing that he could not escape that way, the thief turned. He bolted up an escalator. The moving stairs went to the second floor. They carried a full load of passengers. Penny, the detective, and a few energetic customers took up the chase. A thin girl in a worn business suit was bumped. Penny tried to save her from a hard fall. But she was only halfway up the moving stairway. She was not quick enough. Down the girl went. As she fell, her purse spilled out on the steps. This caused some confusion. The thief took advantage. He moved into a group of shoppers on the second floor. Store detectives kept chasing him. But Penny tried to help the terrified women get off of the moving stairs. “Are you hurt?” she asked the girl who had fallen. Penny helped her stand. “Never mind me! Save my purse!” the girl cried. She quickly grabbed at her things.

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The other people were not much help. They mostly got in the way. But Penny worked fast. She managed to grab nearly all of the lost items before reaching the top. “My letter!” The girl cried in alarm. Penny saw a white envelope on the uppermost step. She leaped up to where it was. She pounced on the letter. Penny grabbed it. She was just in time to keep it from disappearing under the flooring. Penny clutched the letter in her hand. She turned to help the girl who had lost it. “You are limping,” she said. “Here, lean on me.” “It’s nothing,” the girl said bravely. “I twisted my ankle when I fell.” Penny helped her to a chair. The girl’s words were brave. But her lips shook when she spoke. And her pretty face had turned grey. Strangely, she was not interested in her injury. Instead, she looked at the letter which she had nearly lost. “Thank you for saving it,” she told Penny gratefully. “I don’t know what I would do if I lost that letter. It means everything to me.” The girl’s name was Rosanna Winters. She lived at a rooming house on Sixty-fifth Street. That was not far from Penny’s own home. “If you hadn’t saved this for me, I should have lost everything.” “Then I’m glad I got it in time,” Penny smiled. “I’d like you to read it if you care to,” Rosanna said. She sounded a little shy. “Why, I’ll be glad to look at it if you wish,” Penny said. She was a little surprised at the request. “And I love to offer advice.” Rosanna gave her the envelope. She took out the folded letter. And a key dropped out into her lap. “What’s this?” Penny said. Rosanna laughed nervously. “Well, the letter says it is the key to my inheritance! But read for yourself.”

Element Focus: Plot What lessons could this story teach us?

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Excerpt from

Penny Nichols and the Mystery of the Lost Key by Joan Clark

Penny’s sharp blue eyes peered at the ring tray. The large diamond was missing. She had not seen the customer actually take it. He had been too skilled for that. But she knew for sure what had happened while the clerk’s back had been turned. He had hidden the ring somewhere on his person. Penny did not wait. She darted after him. “Stop!” she cried. Surprised shoppers turned at the sound of her voice. “Don’t let that thief get away!” The man turned sharply. His face was convulsed in anger. With his cane, he struck viciously at a stout woman who clutched him by the coat. A store detective blocked the main exit. Recognizing that he could not hope to escape that way, the thief turned. He bolted up an escalator. The moving stairs carried a full load of passengers to the second floor. Penny, the detective, and a few of the more energetic customers took up the chase. A thin girl in a worn business suit was bumped. Penny tried to save her from a hard fall. But she was only halfway up the moving stairway. She was not quick enough. Down the girl went. As she fell, her purse spilled out its contents on the steps. The thief took advantage of the resulting confusion. He melted into the throng of shoppers on the second floor. Store detectives kept chasing him. But Penny tried to help the terrified women to alight from the stairway. “Are you hurt?” she asked the girl who had fallen. Penny tried to help her stand up. “Never mind me! Save my purse!” the other cried. She frantically began to gather up the scattered objects.

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The other passengers on the stairway were more of a hindrance than a help. But Penny worked fast. She managed to grab nearly all of the lost items before reaching the top. “My letter!” At the other girl’s shrill cry, Penny saw a white envelope riding serenely on the uppermost step. With a bound, she covered the distance which separated her from it. She pounced on the letter. She grabbed it an instant before the moving belt disappeared into the flooring. Clutching it triumphantly in her hand, she turned to assist the girl who had lost it. “Why, you’re limping,” she observed. “Here, lean on me.” “It’s nothing,” the girl said staunchly. “I twisted my ankle when I fell.” Penny helped her to a chair. The girl’s words were brave. But her lips quivered when she spoke. And her attractive face had taken on an ashen hue. But, strangely, she seemed uninterested in her injury. Instead, she focused on the letter which she had nearly lost. “Thank you for saving it,” she told Penny gratefully. “I don’t know what I should have done if I’d lost that letter. It means everything to me.” The girl’s name was Rosanna Winters. She lived at a rooming house on Sixty-fifth Street, not a great distance from Penny’s own home. “If you hadn’t saved this for me, I should have lost everything.” “Then I’m glad I got it in time,” Penny smiled. “I’d like you to read it if you care to,” Rosanna said. She sounded a little shy. “Why, I’ll be glad to look at it if you wish,” Penny returned. She was a little surprised at the request. “And as far as advice is concerned, I love to offer it.” She accepted the envelope which Rosanna offered. She took out the folded letter. And a key dropped out into her lap. “What’s this?” Penny demanded. Rosanna laughed nervously. “If what the letter says is true, it seems to be the key to my inheritance! But read the letter for yourself.”

Element Focus: Plot What are some possible explanations for Rosanna’s mysterious letter and key?

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Excerpt from

Penny Nichols and the Mystery of the Lost Key by Joan Clark

Penny’s keen blue eyes riveted upon the ring tray. The large diamond was missing. She had not seen the customer actually take it—his movements had been too deft for that—yet she knew for a certainty that while the clerk’s back had been turned he had secreted it somewhere upon his person. Penny did not hesitate. She darted after him. “Stop!” she cried. And then to the surprised shoppers who turned at the sound of her voice: “Don’t let that thief get away!” The man wheeled sharply, his face convulsed in anger. With his cane he struck viciously at a stout woman who clutched him by the coat. A store detective blocked the main exit. Recognizing that he could not hope to escape that way, the thief turned and bolted up a moving escalator which was carrying a capacity load of passengers to the second floor. Penny, the detective, and a few of the more energetic customers took up the pursuit. A slender girl in a shabby business suit was rudely jostled. Penny, half way up the moving stairway, tried to save her from a hard fall. She was not quick enough. Down the girl went, and as she fell, the contents of her pocketbook spilled out upon the moving stairway. The thief took advantage of the resulting confusion to melt into the throng of shoppers at the top of the escalator. While store detectives carried on the pursuit, Penny tried to help the terrified women to alight from the stairway. “Are you hurt?” she asked the girl who had fallen, trying to assist her to her feet. “Never mind me! Save my pocketbook!” the other cried, frantically beginning to gather up the scattered objects.

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The other passengers upon the stairway were more of a hindrance than a help. Yet by working fast Penny managed to accumulate nearly all of the lost articles before the brief ride approached its end. “My letter!” At the other girl’s shrill cry, Penny saw a white envelope riding serenely on the uppermost step. With a bound she covered the distance which separated her from it, pouncing upon the letter an instant before the moving belt disappeared into the flooring. Clutching it triumphantly in her hand, she turned to assist the girl who had lost it. “Why, you’re limping,” she observed. “Here, lean on me.” “It’s nothing,” the girl maintained staunchly. “I twisted my ankle when I fell.” Penny helped her to a nearby chair. Despite the girl’s brave words, her lips quivered when she spoke and her attractive face had taken on an ashen hue. Yet, strangely, her interest centered not in her injury but in the letter which she had nearly lost. “Thank you for saving it,” she told Penny gratefully. “I don’t know what I should have done if I’d lost that letter. It means everything to me.” The girl’s name was Rosanna Winters. She lived at a rooming house on Sixty-fifth Street, not a great distance from Penny’s own home. “If you hadn’t saved this for me, I should have lost everything.” “Then I’m glad I snatched it up in time,” Penny smiled. “I’d like to have you read it if you care to,” Rosanna said a trifle timidly. “Why, I’ll be glad to look at it if you wish,” Penny returned, a little surprised at the request. “And as far as advice is concerned, I love to offer it.” She accepted the envelope which Rosanna proffered. As she took out the folded letter a key dropped out into her lap. “What’s this?” Penny demanded. Rosanna laughed nervously. “If what the letter says is true, it seems to be the key to my inheritance! But read the letter for yourself.”

Element Focus: Plot Describe two actions taken by Penny that might have changed Rosanna’s life. What if Penny had not noticed the thief stealing the ring? How might the outcome have been different?

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Excerpt from

Penny Nichols and the Mystery of the Lost Key by Joan Clark

Penny’s keen blue eyes, riveted upon the ring tray, immediately detected that the large diamond was missing. She had not seen the customer actually take it—his movements had been too deft for that—yet she knew for a certainty that while the clerk’s back had been turned, he had secreted it somewhere upon his person. Penny did not hesitate, darting quickly after him. “Stop!” she cried. And then to the surprised shoppers who turned at the sound of her voice: “Don’t let that thief get away!” The man wheeled sharply, his face convulsed in anger. With his cane, he struck viciously at a stout woman who clutched him by the coat. A store detective blocked the main exit. Recognizing that he could not hope to escape that way, the thief turned and bolted up a moving escalator which was carrying a capacity load of passengers to the second floor. Penny, the detective, and a few of the more energetic customers took up the pursuit. A slender girl in a shabby business suit was rudely jostled. Penny, half way up the moving stairway, tried to save her from a hard fall but was not quick enough. Down the girl went, and as she fell, the contents of her pocketbook spilled out upon the moving stairway. The thief took advantage of the resulting confusion to melt into the throng of shoppers at the top of the escalator. While store detectives carried on the pursuit, Penny attempted to assist the terrified women to alight from the escalator. “Are you hurt?” she asked the girl who had fallen, trying to assist her to her feet. “Never mind me! Save my pocketbook!” the other cried, frantically beginning to gather up the scattered objects. © Shell Education

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The other passengers upon the stairway were more of a hindrance than a help, yet by working fast, Penny managed to accumulate nearly all of the lost articles before the brief ride approached its end. “My letter!” At the other girl’s shrill cry, Penny saw a white envelope riding serenely on the uppermost step. With a bound, she covered the distance which separated her from it, pouncing upon the letter an instant before the moving belt disappeared into the flooring. Clutching it triumphantly in her hand, she turned to assist the girl who had lost it. “Why, you’re limping,” she observed with concern. “Here, lean on me.” “It’s nothing,” the girl maintained staunchly. “I only twisted my ankle when I fell.” Penny helped her to a nearby chair. Despite the girl’s brave words, her lips quivered when she spoke and her attractive face had taken on an ashen hue. Yet, strangely, her interest centered not in her injury, but in the letter which she had nearly lost. “Thank you for saving it,” she told Penny gratefully. “I don’t know what I should have done if I’d lost that letter. It means absolutely everything to me.” The girl’s name was Rosanna Winters and she lived at a rooming house on Sixty-fifth Street, not a great distance from Penny’s own home. “If you hadn’t saved this for me, I should have lost everything.” “Then I’m glad I snatched it up in time,” Penny smiled. “I’d like to have you read it if you care to,” Rosanna said a trifle timidly. “Why, I’ll be glad to look at it if you wish,” Penny returned, a little surprised at the request. “And as far as advice is concerned, I love to offer it.” She accepted the envelope which Rosanna proffered and was startled when, as she took out the folded letter, a key dropped out into her lap. “What’s this?” Penny demanded. Rosanna laughed nervously. “If what the letter says is true, it seems to be the key to my inheritance! But read the letter for yourself.”

Element Focus: Plot This is the beginning to a longer story, but it tells a complete story on its own. Describe the conflict and climax of this passage. How is the conflict resolved?

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Excerpt from

The Secret Adversary (Part II) by Agatha Christie

It was 2 p.m. on the afternoon of May 7, 1915. The Lusitania had been struck by two torpedoes. They hit one after the other. The ship was sinking fast. Life boats were being launched with all possible speed. The women and children were being lined up to wait their turn. Some still clung desperately to husbands and fathers. Others hugged their children closely to their chests. One girl stood alone. She was a little apart from the rest. She was quite young. She was not more than eighteen. She did not seem afraid. Her grave, steady eyes looked straight ahead. “I beg your pardon.” A man’s voice beside her made her start. She turned. She had noticed the speaker more than once. He was one of the first-class passengers. There had been a hint of mystery about him. This had appealed to her imagination. He spoke to no one. If anyone spoke to him, he was not friendly back. And he had a nervous way of looking over his shoulder. He used a swift, suspicious glance. She noticed now that he was upset. There were beads of sweat on his face. He was in a state of mastering fear. But he did not strike her as the kind of man who would be afraid to meet death! “Yes?” Her grave eyes met his inquiringly. He stood looking at her. He had a kind of desperate indecision. “It must be!” he muttered to himself. “Yes—it is the only way.” Then, aloud, he said abruptly: “You are an American?” “Yes.” “A patriotic one?” The girl flushed.

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“I guess you’ve no right to ask such a thing! Of course I am!” “Don’t be offended. You wouldn’t be if you knew how much there was at stake. But I’ve got to trust someone. And it must be a woman.” “Why?” “Because of ‘women and children first.’” He looked round. Then he lowered his voice. “I’m carrying papers. They are vitally important papers. They may make all the difference to the Allies in the war. You understand? These papers have GOT to be saved! They’ve more chance with you than with me. Will you take them?” The girl held out her hand. “Wait—I must warn you. There may be a risk—if I’ve been followed. I don’t think I have. But one never knows. If so, there will be danger. Have you the nerve to go through with it?” The girl smiled. “I’ll go through with it all right. And I’m real proud to be chosen! What am I to do with them afterwards?” “Watch the newspapers! I’ll advertise in the personal column of the Times. The ad will begin ‘Shipmate.’ At the end of three days if there’s nothing—well, you’ll know I’m down and out. Then take the packet to the American Embassy. Deliver it into the Ambassador’s own hands. Is that clear?” “Quite clear.” “Then be ready. I’m going to say good-bye.” He took her hand in his. “Good-bye. Good luck to you,” he said louder.

Element Focus: Plot How is this story similar to other stories you have read?

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Excerpt from

The Secret Adversary (Part II) by Agatha Christie

It was 2 p.m. on the afternoon of May 7, 1915. The Lusitania had been struck by two torpedoes in succession and was sinking rapidly, while the boats were being launched with all possible speed. The women and children were being lined up awaiting their turn. Some still clung desperately to husbands and fathers; others clutched their children closely to their breasts. One girl stood alone, slightly apart from the rest. She was quite young, not more than eighteen. She did not seem afraid, and her grave, steadfast eyes looked straight ahead. “I beg your pardon.” A man’s voice beside her made her start and turn. She had noticed the speaker more than once amongst the first-class passengers. There had been a hint of mystery about him which had appealed to her imagination. He spoke to no one. If anyone spoke to him, he was quick to rebuff the overture. Also he had a nervous way of looking over his shoulder with a swift, suspicious glance. She noticed now that he was greatly agitated. There were beads of perspiration on his brow. He was evidently in a state of overmastering fear. And yet he did not strike her as the kind of man who would be afraid to meet death! “Yes?” Her grave eyes met his inquiringly. He stood looking at her with a kind of desperate irresolution. “It must be!” he muttered to himself. “Yes—it is the only way.” Then aloud he said abruptly: “You are an American?” “Yes.” “A patriotic one?” The girl flushed.

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“I guess you’ve no right to ask such a thing! Of course I am!” “Don’t be offended. You wouldn’t be if you knew how much there was at stake. But I’ve got to trust some one—and it must be a woman.” “Why?” “Because of ‘women and children first.’” He looked round and lowered his voice. “I’m carrying papers— vitally important papers. They may make all the difference to the Allies in the war. You understand? These papers have GOT to be saved! They’ve more chance with you than with me. Will you take them?” The girl held out her hand. “Wait—I must warn you. There may be a risk—if I’ve been followed. I don’t think I have, but one never knows. If so, there will be danger. Have you the nerve to go through with it?” The girl smiled. “I’ll go through with it all right. And I’m real proud to be chosen! What am I to do with them afterwards?” “Watch the newspapers! I’ll advertise in the personal column of the Times, beginning ‘Shipmate.’ At the end of three days if there’s nothing—well, you’ll know I’m down and out. Then take the packet to the American Embassy, and deliver it into the Ambassador’s own hands. Is that clear?” “Quite clear.” “Then be ready—I’m going to say good-bye.” He took her hand in his. “Good-bye. Good luck to you,” he said in a louder tone.

Element Focus: Plot What if you were the mysterious man. How would you have picked a person to give the papers to?

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Excerpt from

The Secret Adversary (Part II) by Agatha Christie

It was 2 p.m. on the afternoon of May 7, 1915. The Lusitania had been struck by two torpedoes in succession and was sinking rapidly, while the life boats were being launched with all possible speed. The women and children were being lined up awaiting their turn, some still clinging desperately to husbands and fathers, while others clutched their children closely to their breasts. One girl stood alone, slightly apart from the rest. She was quite young, not more than eighteen, and she did not appear to be afraid as her grave, steadfast eyes gazed straight ahead. “I beg your pardon.” A man’s voice beside her made her startle and turn toward him. She had noticed the speaker frequently amongst the first-class passengers. There had been a hint of mystery about him which had appealed to her imagination as she had observed that he spoke to no one, and if anyone spoke to him, he was quick to rebuff the overture. Also he had a curiously nervous mannerism of looking over his shoulder with a swift, suspicious glance. She noticed now that he was greatly agitated. There were beads of perspiration on his brow indicating that he was currently in a state of overmastering fear. And yet, he did not even momentarily strike her as the kind of man who would be afraid to meet death! “Yes?” Her grave eyes met his inquiringly. He stood staring at her with a kind of desperate irresolution. “It must be!” he muttered firmly to himself. “Yes—it is the only way to accomplish it.” Then aloud he said abruptly to the girl: “You are an American, miss?” “Yes.” “A patriotic one?” The girl flushed crimson.

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“I suppose you’ve no right to enquire about such a thing! Of course I am!” “Don’t be offended. You wouldn’t be if you knew how much there was at stake, but I’ve no choice other than to trust some one—and it must necessarily be a woman.” “Why?” “Because of ‘women and children first.’” He peered around and lowered his voice, speaking in confidence between them. “I’m carrying papers—vitally important papers that may make all the difference to the Allies in the war. You must understand, it is imperative that these papers be saved! They’ve more chance with you than with me, so I implore you, will you take them?” In response, the girl held out her hand. “Wait—I must warn you that there may be a risk! If I’ve been followed. I don’t believe that I have, but one never knows. If so, there is bound to be danger. Have you still the nerve to go through with it?” The girl smiled bravely. “I’ll go through with it all right, and I’m real proud to be chosen! What am I to do with them afterwards?” “You must watch the newspapers! I’ll advertise in the personal column of the Times, beginning with the salutation ‘Shipmate.’ At the end of three days— if there’s nothing—well, you’ll know I’m down and out. Then you must take the packet to the American Embassy, and deliver it into the Ambassador’s own hands. Are the instructions clear?” “Quite clear.” “Then be prepared—I’m going to say good-bye.” He took her hand in his. “Good-bye and good luck to you,” he said in a louder tone.

Element Focus: Plot .

Describe why the man might have chosen the girl to carry the secret papers.

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Excerpt from

The Secret Adversary (Part II) by Agatha Christie

It was 2 p.m. on the afternoon of May 7, 1915, and the Lusitania had been struck by two torpedoes in succession. The great passenger liner was sinking rapidly while her life boats were presently being launched with all possible speed. The women and children were in the process of being lined up awaiting their turn to board, some still clinging desperately to husbands and fathers, while others clutched their children closely to their breasts. One girl stood alone, slightly apart from the rest of the group. She was quite young, certainly not more than eighteen, and she did not betray any aura of fear as her grave, steadfast eyes gazed directly ahead. “I beg your pardon.” A man’s voice beside her caused her to startle and turn toward him. She had noticed the speaker frequently amongst the group of first-class passengers. Indeed, there had been a hint of mystery about him which had appealed to her imagination as she had observed that he conversed with no one, and if anyone spoke to him, he was quick to rebuff the overture. Also he had a curiously nervous mannerism of looking over his shoulder with a swift, suspicious glance. She noted now that he was in a state of great agitation, displaying beads of perspiration on his brow which indicated that he was currently struggling to overmaster a grave apprehension. And yet, he did not even momentarily strike her as the variety of man who would be afraid to meet death! “Yes?” Her solemn eyes met his inquiringly. He stood stiffly, staring at her with an air of desperate irresolution. “It must be!” he eventually muttered firmly to himself. “Yes—it is the only way to accomplish it.” Then, aloud, he demanded abruptly of the girl: “You are an American, miss?” “Yes, I am an American.” “Are you a patriotic one?” The girl’s face flushed crimson. © Shell Education

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“I suppose you’ve no right to inquire about such a thing, but of course I am!” “Don’t be offended by my directness. You wouldn’t be offended if you knew how much there was at stake, but I’ve no choice other than to trust some one— and it must necessarily be a woman.” “Why is that?” “Because of ‘women and children first.’” He peered around and lowered his voice, speaking quietly in confidence between them. “I’m carrying papers—vitally important papers that may make all the difference to the Allies in the war. You must understand, it is imperative that these papers be protected! In our current situation, they’ve more chance with you than with me, so I implore you, will you take them?” In response, the girl held out her hand. “Wait—I must caution you that there may be a risk! If I’ve been followed, there is bound to be danger. I do not believe that I have been followed, I have taken precautions, but one can never tell for certain. Have you still the nerve to go through with it?” The girl smiled bravely at him. “I’ll go through with it all right, and I’m real proud to be chosen! What am I to do with the papers afterwards?” “You must watch the newspapers faithfully! If I am able, I’ll advertise in the personal column of the Times, beginning with the salutation ‘Shipmate.’ At the conclusion of three days—if there’s nothing—well, that will indicate without doubt that I’m down and out. In that case, you must convey the packet to the American Embassy and deliver it directly into the Ambassador’s own hands. Are the instructions clear to you?” “They are quite clear, indeed.” “Then prepare yourself—I’m going to say good-bye.” He took her hand in his. “Good-bye and good luck to you,” he said in a louder tone.

Element Focus: Plot Describe the reasons that the girl was selected to receive the papers. Support your answer from the text.

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Excerpt from

The Man with the Twisted Lip by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

“Mr. Holmes! What can I do for you?” “I called about that beggar man. He is called Boone. He is the one who was charged in the disappearance of Mr. Neville St. Clair, of Lee.” “Very good. Come this way, please.” He led us down a passage. Then he opened a barred door. We all passed down a winding stair. Finally, he brought us to a white corridor. A line of doors was on each side. “The third on the right is his,” said the inspector. “Here it is!” There was a panel in the upper part of the door. He quietly slid it back. He glanced through. “He is asleep,” said he. “You can see him.” We both put our eyes to the hole. The prisoner lay with his face towards us. He was in a very deep sleep. His breath was slow and heavy. He was a middlesized man. He was coarsely dressed. This made sense for a beggar. He wore a colored shirt. It poked through the rip in his tattered coat. He was very dirty. But the grime on his face could not hide its extreme ugliness. A broad scar ran right across it. It went from eye to chin. It pulled up one side of the upper lip. This left three of his teeth showing in a snarl. Very bright red hair grew low over his eyes and forehead. “He’s a beauty, isn’t he?” said the inspector. “He certainly needs a wash,” said Holmes. “I had an idea that he might. I brought the tools with me.” He opened his bag as he spoke. To my surprise, he took out a very large bath-sponge.

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“He! He! You are a funny one!” The inspector chuckled. “Now, please open that door very quietly. We will soon make him look much more respectable.” “Well, I don’t know why not,” said the inspector. “He doesn’t make the Bow Street cells look good, does he?” He put his key into the lock. We all very quietly entered the cell. The man half turned. Then he settled down again into a deep sleep. Holmes went to the water-jug. He wet his sponge. Then he rubbed it hard twice across the prisoner’s face. “Let me introduce you,” he shouted, “to Mr. Neville St. Clair, of Lee, in the county of Kent.” Never have I seen such a sight. The man’s face peeled off under the sponge! It was like the bark from a tree. Gone was the coarse brown tint! Gone, too, was the horrid scar! And the twisted lip which had given the awful sneer to the face vanished, too! A tug brought away the tangled red hair. There, sitting up in his bed, was a pale, sad-faced, refined-looking man. He was black-haired. He had smooth skin. He sat rubbing his eyes. It was staring about him with sleepy confusion. Then he suddenly realized that we could see him. He broke into a scream! Then he threw himself down with his face to the pillow. “Great heavens!” cried the inspector. “It is, indeed, the missing man. I know him from the photograph.” The prisoner turned. He now had the reckless air of a man who has given up to fate. “Be it so,” said he. “And pray what am I charged with?” “With making away with Mr. Neville St.—Oh, come, you can’t be charged with that unless they make a case of attempted suicide of it,” said the inspector with a grin. “Well, I have been twenty-seven years in the force, but this really takes the cake.”

Element Focus: Plot Why is the inspector surprised after Holmes washes the prisoner’s face? Why did Holmes bring the sponge?

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Excerpt from

The Man with the Twisted Lip by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

“What can I do for you, Mr. Holmes?” “I called about that beggar man, Boone. He is the one who was charged with being concerned in the disappearance of Mr. Neville St. Clair, of Lee.” “Very good. Come this way, if you please.” He led us down a passage. Then he opened a barred door and passed down a winding stair. Finally, he brought us to a whitewashed corridor with a line of doors on each side. “The third on the right is his,” said the inspector. “Here it is!” He quietly shot back a panel in the upper part of the door. He glanced through. “He is asleep,” said he. “You can easily see him.” We both put our eyes to the grating. The prisoner lay with his face towards us. He was in a very deep sleep. His breathing was slow and heavy. He was a middle-sized man. He was coarsely clad as became his calling. He wore a colored shirt poking through the rip in his tattered coat. He was, as the inspector had said, extremely dirty. But the grime which covered his face could not hide its repulsive ugliness. A broad scar ran right across it from eye to chin. By its contraction it had turned up one side of the upper lip. This left three of his teeth exposed in a perpetual snarl. A shock of very bright red hair grew low over his eyes and forehead. “He’s a beauty, isn’t he?” said the inspector. “He certainly needs a wash,” said Holmes. “I had an idea that he might. I took the liberty of bringing the tools with me.” He opened the Gladstone bag as he spoke. To my astonishment, he took out a very large bath-sponge.

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“He! He! You are a funny one,” chuckled the inspector. “Now, please have the goodness to open that door very quietly. We will soon make him cut a much more respectable figure.” “Well, I don’t know why not,” said the inspector. “He doesn’t look a credit to the Bow Street cells, does he?” He slipped his key into the lock. We all very quietly entered the cell. The sleeper half turned. Then he settled down once more into a deep slumber. Holmes stooped to the water-jug. He moistened his sponge. Then he rubbed it twice vigorously across and down the prisoner’s face. “Let me introduce you,” he shouted, “to Mr. Neville St. Clair, of Lee, in the county of Kent.” Never in my life have I seen such a sight. The man’s face peeled off under the sponge like the bark from a tree. Gone was the coarse brown tint! Gone, too, was the horrid scar which had seamed it across! And the twisted lip which had given the repulsive sneer to the face vanished, too! A twitch brought away the tangled red hair. There, sitting up in his bed, was a pale, sad-faced, refined-looking man. He was black-haired and smooth-skinned. He sat rubbing his eyes and staring about him with sleepy bewilderment. Then he suddenly realized the exposure. He broke into a scream! Then he threw himself down with his face to the pillow. “Great heavens!” cried the inspector. “It is, indeed, the missing man. I know him from the photograph.” The prisoner turned. He now had the reckless air of a man who abandons himself to his destiny. “Be it so,” said he. “And pray what am I charged with?” “With making away with Mr. Neville St.—Oh, come, you can’t be charged with that unless they make a case of attempted suicide of it,” said the inspector with a grin. “Well, I have been twenty-seven years in the force, but this really takes the cake.”

Element Focus: Plot Why does the prisoner believe he should be freed after his face has been washed?

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© Shell Education

Excerpt from

The Man with the Twisted Lip by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

“What can I do for you, Mr. Holmes?” “I called about that beggar man, Boone— the one who was charged with being concerned in the disappearance of Mr. Neville St. Clair, of Lee.” “Very good. Come this way, if you please.” He led us down a passage, opened a barred door, passed down a winding stair, and brought us to a whitewashed corridor with a line of doors on each side. “The third on the right is his,” said the inspector. “Here it is!” He quietly shot back a panel in the upper part of the door and glanced through. “He is asleep,” said he. “You can see him very well.” We both put our eyes to the grating. The prisoner lay with his face towards us, in a very deep sleep, breathing slowly and heavily. He was a middle-sized man, coarsely clad as became his calling, with a colored shirt protruding through the rent in his tattered coat. He was, as the inspector had said, extremely dirty, but the grime which covered his face could not conceal its repulsive ugliness. A broad wheal from an old scar ran right across it from eye to chin, and by its contraction had turned up one side of the upper lip, so that three teeth were exposed in a perpetual snarl. A shock of very bright red hair grew low over his eyes and forehead. “He’s a beauty, isn’t he?” said the inspector. “He certainly needs a wash,” remarked Holmes. “I had an idea that he might, and I took the liberty of bringing the tools with me.” He opened the Gladstone bag as he spoke, and took out, to my astonishment, a very large bath-sponge.

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“He! He! You are a funny one,” chuckled the inspector. “Now, if you will have the great goodness to open that door very quietly, we will soon make him cut a much more respectable figure.” “Well, I don’t know why not,” said the inspector. “He doesn’t look a credit to the Bow Street cells, does he?” He slipped his key into the lock, and we all very quietly entered the cell. The sleeper half turned, and then settled down once more into a deep slumber. Holmes stooped to the water-jug, moistened his sponge, and then rubbed it twice vigorously across and down the prisoner’s face. “Let me introduce you,” he shouted, “to Mr. Neville St. Clair, of Lee, in the county of Kent.” Never in my life have I seen such a sight. The man’s face peeled off under the sponge like the bark from a tree. Gone was the coarse brown tint! Gone, too, was the horrid scar which had seamed it across, and the twisted lip which had given the repulsive sneer to the face! A twitch brought away the tangled red hair, and there, sitting up in his bed, was a pale, sad-faced, refined-looking man, black-haired and smooth-skinned, rubbing his eyes and staring about him with sleepy bewilderment. Then suddenly realizing the exposure, he broke into a scream and threw himself down with his face to the pillow. “Great heavens!” cried the inspector, “it is, indeed, the missing man. I know him from the photograph.” The prisoner turned with the reckless air of a man who abandons himself to his destiny. “Be it so,” said he. “And pray what am I charged with?” “With making away with Mr. Neville St.—Oh, come, you can’t be charged with that unless they make a case of attempted suicide of it,” said the inspector with a grin. “Well, I have been twenty-seven years in the force, but this really takes the cake.”

Element Focus: Plot What lessons could this story teach us?

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Excerpt from

The Man with the Twisted Lip by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle “How might I be of assistance to you, Mr. Holmes?” “I called about that beggar man, Boone— the one who was charged with being concerned in the disappearance of Mr. Neville St. Clair, of Lee.” “Very good, gentlemen. Follow me this way, if you please.” He led us down a passage, opened a barred door, passed down a winding stair, and brought us to a whitewashed corridor with a line of doors on each side. “The third cell on the right is his,” conveyed the inspector. “Here it is!” He quietly slid aside a panel in the upper part of the door and glanced through to the occupant inside. “He is asleep,” he reported. “You can see him quite well.” We both put our eyes to the grating to view the prisoner who was laying with his face towards us, in a very deep sleep, breathing slowly and heavily. He was a middle-sized man, coarsely clad as became his calling, with a colored shirt protruding through the rent in his tattered coat. He was, as the inspector had said, extremely filthy, but the grime which encrusted his face was unable to conceal its repulsive ugliness. A broad wheal from an old scar ran right across it from eye to chin, and by its contraction had turned up one side of the upper lip, so that three teeth were exposed in a perpetual snarl. A shock of very bright red hair grew low over his eyes and forehead. “He’s a beauty, isn’t he?” commented the inspector ironically. “He is most definitely in dire need of a wash,” remarked Holmes. “I had an expectation that he might, and I took the liberty of bringing the tools with me.” He opened the Gladstone bag as he spoke, and removed, to my astonishment, an immense bath-sponge. © Shell Education

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“He! He! You are a funny one,” chuckled the amused inspector. “Now, if you will have the great goodness to open that door with as much silence as you can muster, we will soon endeavor to make him cut a much more respectable figure.” “Well, I can’t think of any reason why not,” said the inspector. “He doesn’t much present himself as a credit to the Bow Street cells, does he?” He slipped his key into the lock, and we all very quietly entered the cell. The sleeper half turned, and then settled down once more into a deep slumber. Holmes stooped to the water-jug, moistened his sponge, and then rubbed it twice vigorously across and down the prisoner’s face. “Gentlemen, let me introduce you,” he shouted theatrically, “to Mr. Neville St. Clair, of Lee, in the county of Kent.” Never in my life have I witnessed such an astonishing sight. The man’s face peeled off under the sponge like the bark from a tree. Gone was the coarse brown tint, along with the horrid scar which had seamed it across, and the twisted lip which had given the repulsive sneer to the face! A twitch brought away the tangled red hair, and there, sitting up in his bed, was a pale, sad-faced, refined-looking man, black-haired and smooth-skinned, rubbing his eyes and staring about him with sleepy bewilderment. Then, suddenly realizing the exposure, he broke into a scream and threw himself down, concealing his face with the pillow. “Great heavens!” cried the inspector, “it is, indeed, the missing man. I can identify him from the photograph.” The prisoner turned with the reckless air of a man who abandons himself to his destiny. “Be it so,” he acquiesced. “And pray what am I charged with?” “With making away with Mr. Neville St.—Oh, come, you can’t be charged with that unless they make a case of attempted suicide of it,” replied the inspector with an enlightened grin. “Well, I have been twenty-seven years in the force, but this really takes the cake.”

Element Focus: Plot What are some possible explanations for Mr. St. Clair’s masquerade as the ‘beggar man, Boone?’ What problems are created by discovering that Boone and St. Clair are the same person?

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Excerpt from

The Scarlet Lake Mystery by John Blaine

Big Mac’s voice boomed forth. “Careless Mesa ready and tracking.” The time: “Zero minus thirty minutes!” One by one, red lights on the main board turned off. Green lights came on in their places. Some showed circuits in use. Some showed controls in use. Only a few red lights were left. Rick looked through the glass ports. He saw the gantry crane wheeled away. Jeeps, trucks, and private cars were moving out of the area. You could see they were hurrying. Their wheels were spinning. Their drivers hunched. The movement was like a scurry of ants. Rick watched. He was taking in everything. He didn’t even notice when the huge door swung shut. It made a hissing sound. It closed into its airtight cushion. “Zero minus five minutes.” At last, the frenzy stopped. The rocket stood alone. It was clean. It was beautiful. And it was awesome. Only one cable tied it to earth. Rick couldn’t tear his eyes from the rocket. He didn’t even watch the last of the red lights flick out. The green glow showed readiness. Then, zero minus five...four...three...two...one... FIRE! A steady hand threw the final switch. Green flame stabbed from Orion’s tail. It grew to white intensity. The cable dropped from the rocket’s nose. It wiggled to the ground. Even through the thick walls of the blockhouse Rick heard the mighty rocket’s voice! It was ear-shattering! It was a roar of triumph. It sent sharp pain through his head. The rocket shuddered. It was eager to be away. Thrust built up, and up, and up. The exhaust light grew until it was like staring into the heart of a green sun. Then the great voice quieted. The shuddering increased. © Shell Education

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Rick gave a yell of pure horror. High on the rocket’s side, metal slowly peeled back! It was like disgusting steel lips opening! Green fire gushed out. The shuddering stopped. He knew the rocket was dead. The gash opened wider... wider... The blockhouse door swung open. Men poured out. They were silent, horrified men. They felt helpless. They couldn’t do anything but watch. They didn’t think of the danger. Rick went out with them. The fire engines sped down from the base camp. It was their job to save what could be saved. They needed to stop the flames. The Orion crew must be able to find out what had gone wrong. Behind the fire engines were jeeps, trucks, and cars. Each was loaded with grim men. The men carried picks, shovels, anything to help stop the fire. Scotty arrived right behind the fire engines. He ran to his friend. Rick was still stunned by the shocking turn of events. “What happened to it?” Scotty asked hoarsely. Rick shook his head. He couldn’t talk. John Gordon and the senior staff moved in. It was past noon before they emerged from their inch-by-inch examination of the rocket. But no one left to eat. No one went to change clothes. No one even sat down. No one thought of it. John Gordon motioned to Dr. Albert Hiller, the Orion project officer. Hiller nodded. He spoke quietly. But not one of the hundreds watching missed a single word. “It seems a fuel-pump bearing froze at the wrong moment. Boron hydride is an unstable fuel. So that made the difference. Internal pressure was too much. The shell could not take it.” The engineer paused. The room was tense. The waiting silence was almost too much to bear. Hiller knew what the men were waiting for.

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

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© Shell Education

Excerpt from

The Scarlet Lake Mystery by John Blaine

Big Mac’s voice boomed forth. “Careless Mesa ready and tracking.” The time: “Zero minus thirty minutes!” One by one, red lights on the main board winked out. Green lights came on in their places. These showed circuits and controls in use. Only a few red lights were left. Rick looked through the glass ports. He saw the gantry crane being wheeled away. Jeeps, trucks, and private cars were moving out of the area. Their haste was evident. They had spinning wheels and hunched drivers. The movement was like a scurry of ants. Rick watched. He was taking in everything. He didn’t even notice when the huge door was swung shut. It closed against its airtight cushion with a sibilant hiss. “Zero minus five minutes.” At last, the frenzy stopped. The rocket stood alone. It was clean, beautiful, and awesome. Only the instrument cable tied it to earth. Rick couldn’t tear his eyes from the rocket, even to watch the last of the red lights flick out. The green glow showed readiness. Then, zero minus five...four...three...two...one... FIRE! A steady hand threw the final switch. Green flame stabbed from Orion’s tail. It grew to white intensity. The instrument cable dropped from the rocket’s nose and writhed to the ground. Even through the thick walls of the blockhouse Rick heard the mighty rocket’s voice! It was an ear-shattering roar of triumph that sent lancing pain through his head. The rocket shuddered, eager to be away. Thrust built up, and up, and up. The exhaust light grew until it was like staring into the heart of a green sun. Then the great voice faltered. The shuddering increased. © Shell Education

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A yell of pure horror burst from Rick’s throat. High on the rocket’s side, metal slowly peeled back! It was like disgusting steel lips opening while green fire gushed forth. The shuddering ceased. He knew the rocket was dead. The gash opened wider...wider... The blockhouse door swung open. Men poured out—silent, horrified men, helpless to do anything but watch. They were oblivious to the danger. Rick went out with them. Speeding down from the base camp came the fire engines. It was their job to save what could be saved. They needed to stop the flames so the Orion crew might find out what had gone wrong. Behind the fire engines were jeeps, trucks, and cars, loaded with grim men. The men carried picks, shovels, anything to help still the holocaust. Scotty arrived right behind the fire engines. He ran to where Rick stood, still stunned by the shocking turn of events. “What happened to it?” Scotty asked hoarsely. Rick shook his head. He couldn’t talk. John Gordon and the senior staff moved in. It was past noon before they emerged from their inch-by-inch examination of the rocket. But no one left to eat. No one went to change clothes. No one even sat down. No one thought of it. John Gordon motioned to Dr. Albert Hiller, the Orion project officer. Hiller nodded. He spoke quietly. But not one of the hundreds watching missed a single word. “Apparently a fuel-pump bearing froze at the critical moment. Boron hydride is an unstable fuel. So that made the difference. Internal pressure was too much for the shell to take.” The engineer paused. The tense, waiting silence became almost too much to bear. Hiller knew what the men were waiting for.

Element Focus: Language Usage How do the words set the mood or tone?

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© Shell Education

Excerpt from

The Scarlet Lake Mystery by John Blaine

Big Mac’s voice boomed forth. “Careless Mesa ready and tracking.” The time: “Zero minus thirty minutes!” One by one red lights on the main board winked out and green lights came on in their places, showing circuits and controls in operation. Only a few red lights remained now. Rick looked through the glass ports and saw the gantry crane being wheeled away. Jeeps, trucks, and private cars were moving out of the area, haste evident in their spinning wheels and hunched drivers. The movement was like a scurry of ants. Rick watched, taking in everything. He didn’t even notice when the massive door was swung shut, closing against its airtight cushion with a sibilant hiss. “Zero minus five minutes.” At last, the frenzied activity ceased, and the rocket stood alone, clean, beautiful, and awesome, only the instrument cable tying it to earth. Rick couldn’t tear his eyes from the rocket, even to watch the last of the red lights flick out, the green glow showing readiness. Then, zero minus five...four...three...two...one... FIRE! A steady hand threw the final switch. Green flame stabbed from Orion’s tail, grew to white intensity. The instrument cable dropped from the rocket’s nose and writhed to the ground. Even through the thick walls of the blockhouse Rick heard the mighty rocket’s voice, an ear-shattering roar of triumph that sent lancing pain through his head. The rocket shuddered, eager to be away. Thrust built up, and up, and up, and the exhaust light grew until it was like staring into the heart of a green sun. Then the great voice faltered, the shuddering increased.

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A yell of pure horror burst from Rick’s throat. High on the rocket’s side, metal slowly peeled back like obscene steel lips opening, and green fire gushed forth. The shuddering ceased, and he knew the rocket was dead. The gash opened wider...wider... The blockhouse door swung open and men poured out—silent, horrified men, helpless to do anything but watch, oblivious to the danger. Rick went out with them. Speeding down from the base camp came the fire engines, to save what could be saved, to help still the flames so the Orion crew might find out what had gone wrong. Behind the fire engines were jeeps, trucks, and cars, loaded with grim men who carried picks, shovels, anything to help still the holocaust. Scotty arrived right behind the fire engines and ran to where Rick stood, still stunned by the shocking turn of events. “What happened to it?” Scotty asked hoarsely. Rick shook his head. He couldn’t talk. John Gordon and the senior staff moved in. It was past noon before they emerged from their inch-by-inch examination of the rocket, but no one left to eat, to change clothes, or even to sit down. No one thought of it. John Gordon motioned to Dr. Albert Hiller, the Orion project officer. Hiller nodded. He spoke quietly, but not one of the hundreds watching missed a single word. “Apparently a fuel-pump bearing froze at the critical moment. With an unstable fuel like boron hydride, that made the difference. Internal pressure was too much for the shell to take.” The engineer paused, and the tense, waiting silence became almost too much to bear. Hiller knew what the men were waiting for.

Element Focus: Language Usage What is a better way of describing this passage? Explain.

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© Shell Education

Excerpt from

The Scarlet Lake Mystery by John Blaine

Big Mac’s voice boomed forth. “Careless Mesa ready and tracking.” The time: “Zero minus thirty minutes!” One by one, red lights on the main board winked out and green lights illuminated in their stead, indicating circuits and controls in operation. Only a few red lights remained as Rick looked through the glass ports, watching the gantry crane being wheeled away. Jeeps, trucks, and private cars were moving out of the area, haste evident in their spinning wheels and hunched drivers. The movement was like a scurry of ants. Rick watched, taking in everything, not even noticing when the massive door was swung shut, closing against its airtight cushion with a sibilant hiss. “Zero minus five minutes.” At last, the frenzied activity ceased, and the rocket stood alone, clean, beautiful, and awesome, only the instrument cable tying it to earth. Rick couldn’t tear his eyes from the rocket, even to observe the last of the red lights flick out, the universally green glow indicating readiness. Then, zero minus five...four...three...two...one... FIRE! A steady hand threw the final switch. Green flame stabbed from Orion’s tail, increasing to white intensity. The instrument cable dropped from the rocket’s nose and writhed to the ground. Even through the thick walls of the blockhouse Rick was enveloped by the mighty rocket’s voice, an ear-shattering roar of triumph that sent lancing pain through his head. The rocket shuddered, eager to be away. Thrust built up, and up, and up, and the exhaust light grew until it was like staring into the heart of a green sun. Then the great voice faltered, the shuddering increased. © Shell Education

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A yell of pure horror erupted from Rick’s throat. High on the rocket’s side, metal slowly peeled back like obscene steel lips opening, and green fire gushed forth. The shuddering ceased, and he realized that the rocket was dead. The gash opened wider...wider... The blockhouse door swung open and men poured out—silent, horrified men, helpless to do anything but watch, oblivious to the danger. Rick emerged with them. Speeding down from the base camp charged the fire engines, their duty to save what could be saved, to help still the flames so the Orion crew might find out what had gone wrong. Following behind the fire engines were jeeps, trucks, and cars, loaded with grim men who carried picks, shovels, anything to help still the holocaust. Scotty arrived immediately behind the fire engines and raced to where Rick stood, still stunned by the shocking turn of events. “What happened to it?” Scotty asked hoarsely. Rick only shook his head, still unable to speak. John Gordon and the senior staff moved in. It was past noon before they emerged from their inch-by-inch examination of the rocket, but no one left to eat, to change clothes, or even to sit down. No one even considered it. John Gordon motioned to Dr. Albert Hiller, the Orion project officer, and Hiller nodded in reply. He spoke quietly, but not one of the hundreds watching missed a single word. “Apparently a fuel-pump bearing froze at the critical moment. With an unstable fuel like boron hydride, that made the difference. Internal pressure was too much for the shell to take.” The engineer paused, and the tense, waiting silence became almost too much to bear. Hiller knew what the men were waiting for.

Element Focus: Language Usage How can you improve upon the word selection of this passage? Explain.

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© Shell Education

Excerpt from

The Red House Mystery by A. A. Milne

The heat of the summer made everything seem sleepy. That afternoon the Red House was taking its siesta. There was a lazy sound of bees in the flowers. A soft cooing of pigeons could be heard up in the elms. Lawn mowers were working in the distance. That may be the most restful of all country sounds. Rest is sweeter when taken while others are working. Imagine walking down the drive in the August sun. The open door of the Red House is inviting. You can see the main hall. Just the sight is cooling. It was a big oak-beamed place. The roof is low. It has cream-washed walls. And there are diamond-paned windows with blue curtains. On the right and left are doors. These lead into other living rooms. But you face more windows. These looked on to a small grass court. And from open windows to open windows, the air moved playfully. The staircase goes up in wide, low steps. It climbs along the right-hand wall. Then it turns. To the left, steps lead you by a long gallery. This runs down the hall that leads to your bedroom. That is, if you are going to stay the night. Mr. Robert Ablett has not been invited, yet. Audrey came across the hall. She gave a little start! She suddenly saw Mr. Cayley. He was sitting in a seat by the window. He was quietly reading. There was no reason why he shouldn’t be there. It was a much cooler place than the golf-links on a hot day. But somehow the house felt deserted. It was as if all the guests were outside. Or maybe they were in the wisest place of all. Maybe they were up in their bedrooms, sleeping. Mr. Cayley was the master’s cousin. Seeing him was a surprise. Audrey blushed. She had given a little startled shout when she saw him. She said, “Oh, I beg your pardon, sir. I didn’t see you at first.” He looked up from his book and smiled at her.

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“If you please, sir,” she said. She spoke in a low, respectful voice. “Can you tell me where the master is? Mr. Robert is here.” “What?” said Cayley, looking up from his book. “Who?” She repeated her question. “I don’t know. Isn’t he in the office? He went up to the Temple after lunch. I don’t think I’ve seen him since.” “Thank you, sir. I will go up to the Temple.” Cayley went back to his book. The “Temple” was a brick summer-house. It was in the gardens at the back of the house. And it stood about three hundred yards back. Here Mark meditated sometimes. Then he would go to the “office” to write his thoughts down. The thoughts were not of great value. Plus, he would share them at dinner more often than he would write them on paper. And he wrote them more often than they were printed. But that did not keep the master of The Red House from being a little upset when a visitor treated the Temple carelessly. He did not like it when people acted as if it had been built for the usual reasons of flirting and smoking. Once, two of his guests had been found playing fives in it. Mark had said nothing at the time. He just asked them whether they couldn’t find anywhere else for their game. But the offenders were never asked to the Red House again.

Element Focus: Language Usage Find one example of personification in the passage. Describe the ways that the author helps you to imagine what it is like to be at the Red House.

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Excerpt from

The Red House Mystery by A. A. Milne

It was the drowsy heat of a summer afternoon. The Red House was taking its siesta. There was a lazy murmur of bees in the flower-borders. A soft cooing of pigeons could be heard in the tops of the elms. From distant lawns came the whir of a mowing-machine. That may be the most restful of all country sounds. Ease is made the sweeter when taken while others are working. To anyone who had just walked down the drive in the August sun, the open door of the Red House revealed a delightfully inviting hall. Even the mere sight of it was cooling. It was a big, low-roofed, oak-beamed place. It had creamwashed walls and diamond-paned windows, blue-curtained. On the right and left were doors leading into other living rooms. But on the side which faced you as you came in were windows again, looking on to a small grass court. And from open windows to open windows such air as there was played gently. The staircase went up in broad, low steps along the right-hand wall. Turning to the left, steps led you along a gallery, which ran across the width of the hall, to your bedroom. That is, if you were going to stay the night. Mr. Robert Ablett’s intentions in this matter were as yet unknown. Audrey came across the hall. She gave a little start as she saw Mr. Cayley suddenly. He was sitting quietly in a seat under a front window, reading. There was no reason why he shouldn’t be there. It was a much cooler place than the golf-links on such a day. But somehow there was a deserted air about the house. It was as if all the guests were outside. Or, maybe they were in the wisest place of all. Maybe they were up in their bedrooms, sleeping. Mr. Cayley, the master’s cousin, was a surprise. And, having given a little startled shout when she saw him, she blushed. She said, “Oh, I beg your pardon, sir. I didn’t see you at first.” He looked up from his book and smiled at her.

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“If you please, sir,” she said in a low, respectful voice, “can you tell me where the master is? It’s Mr. Robert called.” “What?” said Cayley, looking up from his book. “Who?” Audrey repeated her question. “I don’t know. Isn’t he in the office? He went up to the Temple after lunch. I don’t think I’ve seen him since.” “Thank you, sir. I will go up to the Temple.” Cayley went back to his book. The “Temple” was a brick summer-house. It was in the gardens at the back of the house. And it stood about three hundred yards back. Here Mark meditated sometimes. Then he would go to the “office” to put his thoughts upon paper. The thoughts were not of any great value. Plus, they were spoken at the dinner table more often than they got on to paper. And they got on to paper more often than they got into print. But that did not keep the master of the Red House from being a little upset when a visitor treated the Temple carelessly. He did not like it when people acted as if it had been built for the usual reasons of flirting and smoking. Once, two of his guests had been found playing fives in it. Mark had said nothing at the time. He just asked them whether they couldn’t find anywhere else for their game. But the offenders were never asked to the Red House again.

Element Focus: Language Usage Describe the ways the author used language to set the tone of the passage.

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Excerpt from

The Red House Mystery by A. A. Milne

In the drowsy heat of the summer afternoon the Red House was taking its siesta. There was a lazy murmur of bees in the flower-borders. A gentle cooing of pigeons could be heard in the tops of the elms. From distant lawns came the whir of a mowing-machine. That may be the most restful of all country sounds. Ease is made the sweeter when taken while others are working. To anyone who had just walked down the drive in the August sun, the open door of the Red House revealed a delightfully inviting hall. Even the mere sight of it was cooling. It was a big, low-roofed, oak-beamed place. It had creamwashed walls and diamond-paned windows, blue-curtained. On the right and left were doors leading into other living rooms. But on the side which faced you as you came in were windows again, looking on to a small grass court. And from open windows to open windows such air as there was played gently. The staircase went up in broad, low steps along the right-hand wall. Turning to the left, steps led you along a gallery, which ran across the width of the hall, to your bedroom. That is, if you were going to stay the night. Mr. Robert Ablett’s intentions in this matter were as yet unknown. As Audrey came across the hall, she gave a little start as she saw Mr. Cayley suddenly. He was sitting unobtrusively in a seat beneath one of the front windows, reading. There was no reason why he shouldn’t be there. It was certainly a much cooler place than the golf-links on such a day. But somehow there was a deserted air about the house that afternoon, as if all the guests were outside. Or, perhaps they were in the wisest place of all, up in their bedrooms, sleeping. Mr. Cayley, the master’s cousin, was a surprise. And, having given a little exclamation as she came suddenly upon him, she blushed. She said, “Oh, I beg your pardon, sir, I didn’t see you at first,” and he looked up from his book and smiled at her.

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“If you please, sir,” she said in a low, respectful voice, “can you tell me where the master is? It’s Mr. Robert called.” “What?” said Cayley, looking up from his book. “Who?” Audrey repeated her question. “I don’t know. Isn’t he in the office? He went up to the Temple after lunch. I don’t think I’ve seen him since.” “Thank you, sir. I will go up to the Temple.” Cayley returned to his book. The “Temple” was a brick summer-house, in the gardens at the back of the house. It stood about three hundred yards away. Here Mark meditated sometimes before retiring to the “office” to put his thoughts upon paper. The thoughts were not of any great value. Moreover, they were given off at the dinner table more often than they got on to paper. And they got on to paper more often than they got into print. But that did not prevent the master of the Red House from being a little pained when a visitor treated the Temple carelessly, as if it had been erected for the ordinary purposes of flirtation and cigarette-smoking. There had been an occasion when two of his guests had been found playing fives in it. Mark had said nothing at the time, save to ask with a little less than his usual point—whether they couldn’t find anywhere else for their game. But the offenders were never asked to the Red House again.

Element Focus: Language Usage How does the personification of the Red House in the first sentence affect the rest of the description of the setting throughout the passage?

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Excerpt from

The Red House Mystery by A. A. Milne

In the drowsy heat of the summer afternoon the Red House was taking its siesta. There was a lazy murmur of bees in the flower-borders, a gentle cooing of pigeons in the tops of the elms. From distant lawns came the whir of a mowing-machine, that most restful of all country sounds; making ease the sweeter in that it is taken while others are working. To anyone who had just walked down the drive in the August sun, the open door of the Red House revealed a delightfully inviting hall, of which even the mere sight was cooling. It was a big low-roofed, oak-beamed place, with creamwashed walls and diamond-paned windows, blue-curtained. On the right and left were doors leading into other living-rooms, but on the side which faced you as you came in were windows again, looking on to a small grass court, and from open windows to open windows such air as there was played gently. The staircase went up in broad, low steps along the right-hand wall, and, turning to the left, led you along a gallery, which ran across the width of the hall, to your bedroom. That is, if you were going to stay the night. Mr. Robert Ablett’s intentions in this matter were as yet unknown. As Audrey came across the hall she gave a little start as she saw Mr. Cayley suddenly, sitting unobtrusively in a seat beneath one of the front windows, reading. No reason why he shouldn’t be there; certainly a much cooler place than the golf-links on such a day; but somehow there was a deserted air about the house that afternoon, as if all the guests were outside, or—perhaps the wisest place of all—up in their bedrooms, sleeping. Mr. Cayley, the master’s cousin, was a surprise; and, having given a little exclamation as she came suddenly upon him, she blushed, and said, “Oh, I beg your pardon, sir, I didn’t see you at first,” and he looked up from his book and smiled at her.

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“If you please, sir,” she said in a low, respectful voice, “can you tell me where the master is? It’s Mr. Robert called.” “What?” said Cayley, looking up from his book. “Who?” Audrey repeated her question. “I don’t know. Isn’t he in the office? He went up to the Temple after lunch. I don’t think I’ve seen him since.” “Thank you, sir. I will go up to the Temple.” Cayley returned to his book. The “Temple” was a brick summer-house, in the gardens at the back of the house, about three hundred yards away. Here Mark meditated sometimes before retiring to the “office” to put his thoughts upon paper. The thoughts were not of any great value; moreover, they were given off at the dinner-table more often than they got on to paper, and got on to paper more often than they got into print. But that did not prevent the master of the Red House from being a little pained when a visitor treated the Temple carelessly, as if it had been erected for the ordinary purposes of flirtation and cigarette-smoking. There had been an occasion when two of his guests had been found playing fives in it. Mark had said nothing at the time, save to ask with a little less than his usual point—whether they couldn’t find anywhere else for their game, but the offenders were never asked to the Red House again.

Element Focus: Language Usage Describe the ways that the author uses imagery, personification and an anecdote in presenting the Red House and the Temple to the reader.

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Excerpt from

The Thirty-nine Steps by John Buchan

I was getting to like the little chap. His jaw had shut like a rat-trap. And there was the fire of battle in his pale eyes. If he was spinning me a yarn he could act up to it. ‘Where did you find out this story?’ I asked. The memory seemed to upset him. He gulped down some more whisky. ‘I saw a man standing in the street outside this block. I used to stay close in my room all day, and only slip out after dark for an hour or two. I watched him for a bit from my window. And I thought I recognized him. He came in and spoke to the porter. When I came back from my walk last night, I found a card in my letter-box. It bore the name of the man I want least to meet on God’s earth.’ My companion’s face showed a sheer naked scare. I think that the look in his eyes completed my belief of his honesty. My own voice sharpened a bit. I asked him what he did next. ‘I realized that I was bottled as sure as a pickled herring. There was only one way out. I had to die. If my pursuers knew I was dead, they would go to sleep again.’ ‘How did you manage it?’ ‘I told the man that valets me that I was feeling pretty bad. And I got myself up to look like death. That wasn’t hard. I’m no slouch at disguises. Then I got a corpse. You can always get a body in London if you know where to go for it. I fetched it back in a trunk on the top of a four-wheeler. I had to be assisted upstairs to my room. You see I had to pile up some evidence for the inquest. I went to bed and got my man to mix me a sleeping-draught. Then I told him to clear out. He wanted to fetch a doctor. But I swore some and said I couldn’t abide leeches. When I was left alone, I started in to fake up that corpse. He was my size. I judged he had died from too much alcohol. So I put some spirits

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handy about the place. The jaw was the weak point in the likeness. So I blew it away with a revolver. I daresay there will be somebody tomorrow to swear to having heard a shot. But there are no neighbors on my floor. So, I guessed I could risk it. I left the body in bed dressed up in my pajamas. I put a revolver on the bed-clothes and left a big mess around. Then I got into a suit of clothes I had kept waiting for emergencies. I didn’t dare to shave for fear of leaving tracks. Besides, it wasn’t any kind of use my trying to get into the streets. I had you in my mind all day. There seemed nothing to do but to ask you for help. I watched from my window till I saw you come home. Then I slipped down the stair to meet you. There, Sir, I guess you know about as much as me of this business.’ He sat blinking like an owl. He was fluttering with nerves. But, he was desperately determined. By this time, I was pretty well convinced that he was going straight with me. It was the wildest sort of narrative. But I had heard in my time many steep tales which had turned out to be true. And I had made a practice of judging the man rather than the story. If he had wanted to find my flat and then cut my throat, he would have pitched a milder yarn. I thought for an instant or two. ‘Right. I’ll trust you for the night. I’ll lock you into this room and keep the key. Just one word, Mr Scudder. I believe you’re straight. But if you are not, I should warn you that I’m a handy man with a gun.’

Element Focus: Language Usage Describe the context clues that help you to understand the metaphor “I was bottled as sure as a pickled herring.”

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Excerpt from

The Thirty-nine Steps by John Buchan

I was getting to like the little chap. His jaw had shut like a rat-trap. And there was the fire of battle in his pale eyes. If he was spinning me a yarn he could act up to it. ‘Where did you find out this story?’ I asked. The memory seemed to upset him. He gulped down some more whisky. ‘I saw a man standing in the street outside this block. I used to stay close in my room all day, and only slip out after dark for an hour or two. I watched him for a bit from my window. And I thought I recognized him. He came in and spoke to the porter. When I came back from my walk last night, I found a card in my letter-box. It bore the name of the man I want least to meet on God’s earth.’ My companion’s face showed a sheer naked scare. I think that the look in his eyes completed my belief of his honesty. My own voice sharpened a bit. I asked him what he did next. ‘I realized that I was bottled as sure as a pickled herring. There was only one way out. I had to die. If my pursuers knew I was dead, they would go to sleep again.’ ‘How did you manage it?’ ‘I told the man that valets me that I was feeling pretty bad. And I got myself up to look like death. That wasn’t hard. I’m no slouch at disguises. Then I got a corpse. You can always get a body in London if you know where to go for it. I fetched it back in a trunk on the top of a four-wheeler. I had to be assisted upstairs to my room. You see I had to pile up some evidence for the inquest. I went to bed and got my man to mix me a sleeping-draught. Then I told him to clear out. He wanted to fetch a doctor. But I swore some and said I couldn’t abide leeches. When I was left alone, I started in to fake up that corpse. He was my size. I judged he had died from too much alcohol. So I put some spirits

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handy about the place. The jaw was the weak point in the likeness. So I blew it away with a revolver. I daresay there will be somebody tomorrow to swear to having heard a shot. But there are no neighbors on my floor, and I guessed I could risk it. So I left the body in bed dressed up in my pajamas, with a revolver lying on the bed-clothes and a considerable mess around. Then I got into a suit of clothes I had kept waiting for emergencies. I didn’t dare to shave for fear of leaving tracks, and besides, it wasn’t any kind of use my trying to get into the streets. I had you in my mind all day, and there seemed nothing to do but to make an appeal to you. I watched from my window till I saw you come home, and then slipped down the stair to meet you...There, Sir, I guess you know about as much as me of this business.’ He sat blinking like an owl, fluttering with nerves and yet desperately determined. By this time, I was pretty well convinced that he was going straight with me. It was the wildest sort of narrative, but I had heard in my time many steep tales which had turned out to be true, and I had made a practice of judging the man rather than the story. If he had wanted to get a location in my flat, and then cut my throat, he would have pitched a milder yarn. I thought for an instant or two. ‘Right. I’ll trust you for the night. I’ll lock you into this room and keep the key. Just one word, Mr. Scudder. I believe you’re straight, but if it so be you are not, I should warn you that I’m a handy man with a gun.’

Element Focus: Language Usage Find at least two similes in the passage. How does the author’s use of colorful language affect the experience of a reader?

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© Shell Education

Excerpt from

The Thirty-nine Steps by John Buchan

I was getting to like the little chap. His jaw had shut like a rat-trap, and there was the fire of battle in his gimlety eyes. If he was spinning me a yarn he could act up to it. ‘Where did you find out this story?’ I asked. The recollection seemed to upset him, and he gulped down some more whisky. ‘I saw a man standing in the street outside this block. I used to stay close in my room all day, and only slip out after dark for an hour or two. I watched him for a bit from my window, and I thought I recognized him. He came in and spoke to the porter. When I came back from my walk last night, I found a card in my letter-box. It bore the name of the man I want least to meet on God’s earth.’ I think that the look in my companion’s eyes, the sheer naked scare on his face, completed my conviction of his honesty. My own voice sharpened a bit as I asked him what he did next. ‘I realized that I was bottled as sure as a pickled herring, and that there was only one way out. I had to die. If my pursuers knew I was dead, they would go to sleep again.’ ‘How did you manage it?’ ‘I told the man that valets me that I was feeling pretty bad, and I got myself up to look like death. That wasn’t difficult, for I’m no slouch at disguises. Then I got a corpse—you can always get a body in London if you know where to go for it. I fetched it back in a trunk on the top of a four-wheeler, and I had to be assisted upstairs to my room. You see I had to pile up some evidence for the inquest. I went to bed and got my man to mix me a sleeping-draught, and then told him to clear out. He wanted to fetch a doctor, but I swore some and said I couldn’t abide leeches. When I was left alone, I started in to fake up that

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corpse. He was my size, and I judged had perished from too much alcohol, so I put some spirits handy about the place. The jaw was the weak point in the likeness, so I blew it away with a revolver. I daresay there will be somebody tomorrow to swear to having heard a shot, but there are no neighbors on my floor, and I guessed I could risk it. So I left the body in bed dressed up in my pajamas, with a revolver lying on the bed-clothes and a considerable mess around. Then I got into a suit of clothes I had kept waiting for emergencies. I didn’t dare to shave for fear of leaving tracks, and besides, it wasn’t any kind of use my trying to get into the streets. I had you in my mind all day, and there seemed nothing to do but to make an appeal to you. I watched from my window till I saw you come home, and then slipped down the stair to meet you...There, Sir, I guess you know about as much as me of this business.’ He sat blinking like an owl, fluttering with nerves and yet desperately determined. By this time, I was pretty well convinced that he was going straight with me. It was the wildest sort of narrative, but I had heard in my time many steep tales which had turned out to be true, and I had made a practice of judging the man rather than the story. If he had wanted to get a location in my flat, and then cut my throat, he would have pitched a milder yarn. I thought for an instant or two. ‘Right. I’ll trust you for the night. I’ll lock you into this room and keep the key. Just one word, Mr. Scudder. I believe you’re straight, but if it so be you are not, I should warn you that I’m a handy man with a gun.’

Element Focus: Language Usage Explain several ways that the author’s use of simile, imagery, and other word choices help to keep the reader interested. What if the author wrote the passage without these choices?

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© Shell Education

Excerpt from

The Thirty-nine Steps by John Buchan

I was getting to like the little chap with his jaw had shut like a rat-trap and the fire of battle in his gimlety eyes. If he was spinning me a yarn his acting was convincing enough. ‘Where did you uncover this story?’ I demanded of my companion. The recollection seemed to upset him, and he gulped down some more whisky. ‘I saw a man standing in the street outside this block. I used to stay close in my room all day, and only slip out after dark for an hour or two, but I watched him for a bit from my window, and I thought I recognized him...He came in and spoke to the porter, so when I came back from my walk last night I found a card in my letter-box bearing the name of the man I want least to meet on God’s earth.’ I think that the look in my companion’s eyes, the sheer naked scare on his face, completed my conviction of his honesty. My own voice sharpened a bit as I enquired as to what he did next. ‘I realized that I was bottled as sure as a pickled herring, and that there was only one way out: I surely must die. If my pursuers believed I was dead they would go to sleep again.’ ‘How did you manage it?’ ‘I told the man that valets me that I was feeling pretty bad, and I got myself made up to look like death. That wasn’t particularly difficult, for I’m no slouch at disguises. Then I got a corpse—you can always get a body in London if you know where to go for it. I fetched it back in a trunk on the top of a four-wheeler, and I had to be assisted upstairs to my room. You see I had to pile up some evidence for the inquest. I went to bed and got my man to mix me a sleepingdraught, and then told him to clear out. He wanted to fetch a doctor, but I

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swore some and said I couldn’t abide leeches. When I was left alone I started in to fake up that corpse. He was my size, and I judged he had perished from too much alcohol, so I put some spirits handy about the place. The jaw was the weak point in the likeness, so I blew it away with a revolver. I daresay there will be somebody tomorrow to swear to having heard a shot, but there are no neighbors on my floor, and I judged I could risk it. So I left the body in bed dressed up in my pajamas, with a revolver lying on the bed-clothes and a considerable mess around. Then I got into a suit of clothes I had kept waiting for emergencies. I didn’t dare to shave for fear of leaving tracks, and besides, it wasn’t any kind of use my trying to get into the streets. I had you in my mind all day, and there seemed nothing to do but to make an appeal to you. I watched from my window till I saw you come home, and then slipped down the stair to meet you...There, Sir, I guess you know about as much as me of this business.’ He sat blinking like an owl, fluttering with nerves and yet desperately determined. By this time I was pretty well convinced that he was going straight with me. It was the wildest sort of narrative, but I had heard in my time many steep tales which had turned out to be true, and I had made a practice of judging the man rather than the story. If he had wanted to get a location in my flat, and then cut my throat, he would have pitched a milder yarn. I thought for an instant or two. ‘Right, I’ll trust you for the night, but I’ll lock you into this room and keep the key. Just one word of caution, Mr. Scudder. I am convinced you’re straight, but if so be you are not I should warn you that I’m a handy man with a gun.’

Element Focus: Language Usage Describe the ways in which the author uses simile, metaphor, imagery and other colorful word choices to capture a reader’s attention. How do you think your enjoyment of the story would be altered if the author had made more mundane choices?

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Excerpt from

Ruth Fielding of the Red Mill by Alice B. Emerson

The sound of the drumming wheels! It had roared in the ears of Ruth Fielding for hours. She sat on the comfortably soft seat. She was in the last car of the afternoon Limited. The train was whirling her from the West to the East. They went through the green valleys of Upper New York State. This had been a very long trip for the girl. But Ruth knew that it would soon come to an end. Cheslow was close now. She had looked it up on the railroad timetable and the map printed on the back of the sheet. The stations flew by. She spelled their names out with her quick eyes. Finally, dusk had fallen. She could no longer see. There were only the signal lamps and switch targets as the train went on. But she still stared through the window. This last car was fairly full. But she had been lucky. She had a seat all to herself. She was glad of this. A person in the seat with her might have seen how hard she worked not to cry. For Ruth Fielding was not one of the “crying kind.” And she had told herself that she would not have tears now. “We had all that out weeks ago. You know we did!” she whispered. “When we knew we had to leave dear old Darrowtown, and Miss True Pettis, and Patsy Hope....No, Ruth Fielding! Uncle Jabez Potter may be the very nicest kind of an old dear. And to live in a mill—and one painted red, too! That ought to make up for a good many disappointments—” Her speech was interrupted. There was a light tap on her shoulder. Ruth glanced around. She looked up quickly. Beside her was a tall old gentleman. He had been sitting two seats behind across the aisle since Buffalo.

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He was a thin old gentleman. He had a bony, eagle-beaked face. It was cleanly shaven but for a sweeping iron-gray mustache. His iron-gray hair waved over the collar of his black coat. It was a regular mane of hair. And it flowed out from under the brim of his well-brushed, soft-crowned hat. His face would have been very stern looking. But he had a little twinkle in his bright, dark eyes. “Why don’t you do it?” he asked Ruth, softly. “Why don’t I do what, sir?” she said. She gave a little gulp. That lump would rise in her throat. “Why don’t you cry?” asked the strange old gentleman. His voice was still soft. And he still had that twinkle in his eye. “Because I am determined not to cry, sir.” And now Ruth could smile a little. Though, maybe the corners of her mouth trembled a bit. The gentleman sat down beside her. She had not invited him to do so. But she was not at all afraid of him. In fact, she was glad to have him do it. “Tell me all about it,” he said. Ruth warmed more and more toward him. He seemed so confident. And he seemed interested. “I am Doctor Davison, my dear,” he said. “If you are going to live in Cheslow, you will hear all about Doctor Davison. And it is better to know him at first-hand. That way you can avoid mistakes.” His eyes twinkled more than ever. But his stern mouth never relaxed. “I expect that my new home is some little way outside of Cheslow,” Ruth said, timidly. “They call it the Red Mill.” She could see the signal lights along the tracks ahead. Then a sharp red flame appeared out of the darkness. It was past the rushing engine pilot. She startled. She knew what it meant. Danger! That is what that red light meant. The brakes clamped down upon the wheels. It was so sudden that the easily-riding coach jarred through all its parts. The red eye was winked out instantly. But the long and heavy train came to an abrupt stop.

Element Focus: Language Usage What is the best use of imagery in the passage? How is the color red used in the passage?

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© Shell Education

Excerpt from

Ruth Fielding of the Red Mill by Alice B. Emerson

The sound of the drumming wheels! It had roared in the ears of Ruth Fielding for hours. She sat on the comfortably upholstered seat. She was in the last car of the afternoon Limited. The train was whirling her from the West to the East. They went through the green valleys of Upper New York State. This had been a very long trip for the girl. But Ruth knew that it would soon come to an end. Cheslow was not many miles ahead now. She had looked it up on the railroad timetable and the map printed on the back of the sheet. The stations flew by. She spelled their names out with her quick eyes. Finally, dusk had fallen and she could no longer see. There were only the signal lamps and switch targets as the train whirled her on. But she still stared through the window. This last car was fairly full. But she had been lucky. She had a seat all to herself. She was glad this was so. A person in the seat with her might have seen how hard it was for her to keep back the tears. For Ruth Fielding was by no means one of the “crying kind.” And she had forbidden herself the luxury of tears now. “We had all that out weeks ago. You know we did!” she whispered. “When we knew we had to leave dear old Darrowtown, and Miss True Pettis, and Patsy Hope....No, Ruth Fielding! Uncle Jabez Potter may be the very nicest kind of an old dear. And to live in a mill—and one painted red, too! That ought to make up for a good many disappointments—” Her speech was interrupted. There was a light tap on her shoulder. Ruth glanced around. She looked up quickly. Beside her was a tall old gentleman. He had been sitting two seats behind across the aisle since the train left Buffalo. © Shell Education

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He was a thin old gentleman. He had a gaunt, eagle-beaked face. It was cleanly shaven but for a sweeping iron-gray mustache. His iron-gray hair waved over the collar of his black coat. It was a regular mane of hair which flowed out from under the brim of his well-brushed, soft-crowned hat. His face would have been very stern in its expression. But he had a little twinkle in his bright, dark eyes. “Why don’t you do it?” he asked Ruth, softly. “Why don’t I do what, sir?” she responded. She gave a little gulp, for that lump would rise in her throat. “Why don’t you cry?” asked the strange old gentleman. He was still speaking softly and with that little twinkle in his eye. “Because I am determined not to cry, sir.” And now Ruth could call up a little smile. Though maybe the corners of her mouth trembled a bit. The gentleman sat down beside her. She had not invited him to do so. She was not at all afraid of him. After all, perhaps she was glad to have him do it. “Tell me all about it,” he suggested. He had such an air of confidence and interest that Ruth warmed more and more toward him. “I am Doctor Davison, my dear,” he said. “If you are going to live in Cheslow, you will hear all about Doctor Davison. And you would better know him at first-hand, to avoid mistakes,” and his eyes twinkled more than ever. But his stern mouth never relaxed. “I expect that my new home is some little way outside of Cheslow,” Ruth said, timidly. “They call it the Red Mill.” She could see the signal lights along the tracks ahead and then—with a start, for she knew what it meant—a sharp red flame appeared out of the darkness beyond the rushing engine pilot. Danger! That is what that red light meant. The brakes clamped down upon the wheels again so suddenly that the easily-riding coach jarred through all its parts. The red eye was winked out instantly; but the long and heavy train came to an abrupt stop.

Element Focus: Language Usage How is the color red used as a symbol in the passage?

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Excerpt from

Ruth Fielding of the Red Mill by Alice B. Emerson

The sound of the drumming wheels! It had roared in the ears of Ruth Fielding for hours. She sat on the comfortably upholstered seat in the last car of the afternoon Limited. The train was whirling her from the West to the East. They passed through the fertile valleys of Upper New York State. This had been a very long journey for the girl. But Ruth knew that it would soon come to an end. Cheslow was not many miles ahead now. She had searched it out upon the railroad timetable and upon the map printed on the back of the sheet. As the stations flew by, she had spelled their names out with her quick eyes. Finally, dusk had fallen and she could no longer see more than the signal lamps and switch targets as the train whirled her on. But she still stared through the window. This last car of the train was fairly well filled. But she had been fortunate in having a seat all to herself. She was glad this was so, for a person in the seat with her might have discovered how hard it was for her to keep back the tears. For Ruth Fielding was by no means one of the “crying kind.” And she had forbidden herself the luxury of tears on this occasion. “We had all that out weeks ago, you know we did!” she whispered. “When we knew we had to leave dear old Darrowtown, and Miss True Pettis, and Patsy Hope....No, Ruth Fielding! Uncle Jabez Potter may be the very nicest kind of an old dear. And to live in a mill—and one painted red, too! That ought to make up for a good many disappointments—” Her soliloquy was interrupted by a light tap upon her shoulder. Ruth glanced around and up quickly. She saw standing beside her a tall old gentleman. He had been sitting two seats behind on the other side of the aisle ever since the train left Buffalo. © Shell Education

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He was a spare old gentleman. He had a gaunt, eagle-beaked face, cleanly shaven but for a sweeping iron-gray mustache. His iron-gray hair waved over the collar of his black coat—a regular mane of hair which flowed out from under the brim of his well-brushed, soft-crowned hat. His face would have been very stern in its expression had it not been for the little twinkle in his bright, dark eyes. “Why don’t you do it?” he asked Ruth, softly. “Why don’t I do what, sir?” she responded, not without a little gulp, for that lump would rise in her throat. “Why don’t you cry?” questioned the strange old gentleman, still speaking softly and with that little twinkle in his eye. “Because I am determined not to cry, sir,” and now Ruth could call up a little smile, though perhaps the corners of her mouth trembled a bit. The gentleman sat down beside her, although she had not invited him to do so. She was not at all afraid of him and, after all, perhaps she was glad to have him do it. “Tell me all about it,” he suggested, with such an air of confidence and interest that Ruth warmed more and more toward him. “I am Doctor Davison, my dear,” he said. “If you are going to live in Cheslow you will hear all about Doctor Davison, and you would better know him at first-hand, to avoid mistakes,” and his eyes twinkled more than ever, though his stern mouth never relaxed. “I expect that my new home is some little way outside of Cheslow,” Ruth said, timidly. “They call it the Red Mill.” She could see the signal lights along the tracks ahead and then—with a start, for she knew what it meant—a sharp red flame appeared out of the darkness beyond the rushing engine pilot. Danger! That is what that red light meant. The brakes clamped down upon the wheels again so suddenly that the easily-riding coach jarred through all its parts. The red eye was winked out instantly; but the long and heavy train came to an abrupt stop.

Element Focus: Language Usage At the end of the passage the color red is used to symbolize danger. How does this affect your perception of the Red Mill?

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Excerpt from

Ruth Fielding of the Red Mill by Alice B. Emerson

The sound of the drumming wheels! It had roared in the ears of Ruth Fielding for hours as she sat on the comfortably upholstered seat in the last car of the afternoon Limited, the train whirling her from the West to the East, through the fertile valleys of Upper New York State. This had been a very long journey for the girl, but Ruth knew that it would soon come to an end. Cheslow was not many miles ahead now; she had searched it out upon the railroad timetable, and upon the map printed on the back of the sheet; and as the stations flew by, she had spelled their names out with her quick eyes, until dusk had fallen and she could no longer see more than the signal lamps and switch targets as the train whirled her on. But she still stared through the window. This last car of the train was fairly well filled, but she had been fortunate in having a seat all to herself; she was glad this was so, for a person in the seat with her might have discovered how hard it was for her to keep back the tears. For Ruth Fielding was by no means one of the “crying kind,” and she had forbidden herself the luxury of tears on this occasion. “We had all that out weeks ago, you know we did!” she whispered, “When we knew we had to leave dear old Darrowtown, and Miss True Pettis, and Patsy Hope....No, Ruth Fielding! Uncle Jabez Potter may be the very nicest kind of an old dear. And to live in a mill—and one painted red, too! That ought to make up for a good many disappointments—” Her soliloquy was interrupted by a light tap upon her shoulder. Ruth glanced around and up quickly. She saw standing beside her the tall old gentleman who had been sitting two seats behind on the other side of the aisle ever since the train left Buffalo. © Shell Education

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He was a spare old gentleman, with a gaunt, eagle-beaked face, cleanly shaven but for a sweeping iron-gray mustache, his iron-gray hair waved over the collar of his black coat—a regular mane of hair which flowed out from under the brim of his well-brushed, soft-crowned hat. His face would have been very stern in its expression had it not been for the little twinkle in his bright, dark eyes. “Why don’t you do it?” he asked Ruth, softly. “Why don’t I do what, sir?” she responded, not without a little gulp, for that lump would rise in her throat. “Why don’t you cry?” questioned the strange old gentleman, still speaking softly and with that little twinkle in his eye. “Because I am determined not to cry, sir,” and now Ruth could call up a little smile, though perhaps the corners of her mouth trembled a bit. The gentleman sat down beside her, although she had not invited him to do so. She was not at all afraid of him and, after all, perhaps she was glad to have him do it. “Tell me all about it,” he suggested, with such an air of confidence and interest that Ruth warmed more and more toward him. “I am Doctor Davison, my dear,” he said. “If you are going to live in Cheslow you will hear all about Doctor Davison, and you would better know him at first-hand, to avoid mistakes,” and his eyes twinkled more than ever, though his stern mouth never relaxed. “I expect that my new home is some little way outside of Cheslow,” Ruth said, timidly. “They call it the Red Mill.” She could see the signal lights along the tracks ahead and then—with a start, for she knew what it meant—a sharp red flame appeared out of the darkness beyond the rushing engine pilot. Danger! That is what that red light meant. The brakes clamped down upon the wheels again so suddenly that the easily-riding coach jarred through all its parts. The red eye was winked out instantly; but the long and heavy train came to an abrupt stop.

Element Focus: Language Usage Describe the way the color red is used in the passage. Form a hypothesis about whether the symbolism of the red light at the end is meant to reveal anything about the Red Mill.

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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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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: Shakespeare

Leveled Texts for Classic Fiction: Humor

Leveled Texts for Classic Fiction: Fantasy & Science Fiction

Leveled Texts for Classic Fiction: Historical Fiction

Leveled Texts for Classic Fiction: Adventure

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