Upper Level Literature Posttest

Theme is __________

To a Daughter Leaving Home

By Linda Pastan

When I taught you

at eight to ride a bicycle,

loping along

beside you

as you wobbled away

on two round wheels,

my own mouth rounding

in surprise when you pulled

ahead down the curved

path of the park,

I kept waiting

for the thud

of your crash as I

sprinted to catch up,

while you grew smaller, more breakable

with distance,

pumping, pumping

for your life, screaming

with laughter,

the hair flapping

behind you

like a handkerchief

waving goodbye

What is the theme of this text?

It had been a long and miserable winter for Wolf. His hunting had not gone well for many weeks and his ribs were nearly sticking through his skin.

One night, as Wolf was out seeking something to eat, he met a house dog.

“You are looking very well, Cousin,” said Wolf. “Here I am, near starvation, and you are clearly well-fed. What is your secret?”

“Oh, there is no secret,” said Dog. “I simply have a wonderful job. I guard my master’s house and keep away any thieves. In return, he treats me very well.”

“Lucky for you! If only I had it so easy. For me, life is a constant struggle.”

“But you can have this grand life, too,” said Dog.

“Just travel with me to my master’s house and help me keep the thieves away.”

“Happily,” said Wolf. “I’d love to have a belly full of food for a change.”

While they were trotting along together, Wolf spotted a mark on Dog’s neck. Curious, he asked what had caused it.

“Oh, that’s nothing much,” replied Dog. “Perhaps my collar was a little tight.” “You wear a collar?” Wolf backed away from Dog.

“That’s nothing to worry about," said Dog. "I wear a collar so my master can hook my chain to it."

“You are chained?” cried Wolf in surprise. “You mean you are not free to go wherever you please?”

“Not exactly,” said the dog, looking embarrassed. “You see, my master thinks I’m a bit wild and so he ties me up in the daytime. But he lets me run free at night.” Wolf backed a few more steps away from Dog. “Wolf, it’s a good deal,” said Dog. “I get plenty of sleep during the day, and then I am free at night. I am my master's favorite and he feeds me very well.” Wolf turned and started to walk toward the forest.

“But wait, where are you going?” cried Dog.

“Good night to you, poor Cousin,” said Wolf. “You are welcome to your grand life — and your chains. As for me, I will keep my freedom.”

What is the theme of this text?

Not for the first time, an argument had broken out over breakfast at number four, Privet Drive. Mr. Vernon Dursley had been woken in the early hours of the morning by a loud, hooting noise from his nephew Harry’s room.

“Third time this week!” he roared across the table. “If you can’t control that owl, it’ll have to go!”

Harry tried, yet again, to explain. “She’s bored,” he said. “She’s used to flying around outside. If I could just let her out at night —”

“Do I look stupid?” snarled Uncle Vernon, a bit of fried egg dangling from his bushy mustache. “I know what’ll happen if that owl’s let out.”

He exchanged dark looks with his wife, Petunia. Harry tried to argue back but his words were drowned by a long, loud belch from the Dursleys’ son, Dudley.

What point of view is presented in this text?

The ghost that got into our house on the night of November 17, 1915, raised such a hullabaloo of misunderstandings that I am sorry I didn’t just let it keep on walking, and go to bed. Its advent caused my mother to throw a shoe through a window of the house next door and ended up with my grandfather shooting a patrolman. I am sorry, therefore, as I have said, that I ever paid any attention to the footsteps. They began about a quarter past one o’clock in the morning, a rhythmic, quick-cadenced walking around the dining-room table. My mother was asleep in one room upstairs, my brother Herman in another; grandfather was in the attic, in the old walnut bed which, as you will remember, once fell on my father. I had just stepped out of the bathtub and was busily rubbing myself with a towel when I heard the steps. They were the steps of a man walking rapidly around the dining room table downstairs. The light from the bathroom shone down the back steps, which dropped directly into the dining-room; I could see the faint shine of plates on the plate-rail; I couldn’t see the table. The steps kept going round and round the table; at regular intervals a board creaked, when it was trod upon. I supposed at first that it was my father or my brother Roy, who had gone to Indianapolis but were expected home at any time. I suspected next that it was a burglar. It did not enter my mind until later that it was a ghost.

What point of view is used in this story?

An omniscient third-person narrator is ______________

A summary is _________

Write a summary of the following text:

Every afternoon, as they were coming from school, the children used to go and play in the Giant’s garden. It was a large lovely garden, with soft green grass. Here and there over the grass stood beautiful flowers like stars, and there were twelve peachtrees that in the spring-time broke out into delicate blossoms of pink and pearl, and in the autumn bore1 rich fruit. The birds sat on the trees and sang so sweetly that the children used to stop their games in order to listen to them. ‘How happy we are here!’ they cried to each other.

One day the Giant came back. He had been to visit his friend the Cornish ogre, and had stayed with him for seven years. After the seven years were over he had said all that he had to say, for his conversation was limited, and he determined to return to his own castle. When he arrived he saw the children playing in the garden. “What are you doing here?” he cried in a very gruff voice, and the children ran away. “My own garden is my own garden,” said the Giant; “any one can understand that, and I will allow nobody to play in it but myself.” So he built a high wall all round it, and put up a notice-board.

TRESPASSERS WILL BE PROSECUTED

He was a very selfish Giant.

One morning the Giant was lying awake in bed when he heard some lovely music. It sounded so sweet to his ears that he thought it must be the King’s musicians passing by. It was really only a little bird singing outside his window, but it was so long since he had heard a bird sing in his garden that it seemed to him to be the most beautiful music in the world. Then the Hail stopped dancing over his head, and the North Wind ceased roaring, and a delicious perfume came to him through the open casement. “I believe the Spring has come at last,” said the Giant; and he jumped out of bed and looked out.

And the Giant’s heart melted as he looked out. “How selfish I have been!” he said; “now I know why the Spring would not come here. I will put that poor little boy on the top of the tree, and then I will knock down the wall, and my garden shall be the children’s playground for ever and ever.” He was really very sorry for what he had done.

Years went over, and the Giant grew very old and feeble. He could not play about any more, so he sat in a huge armchair, and watched the children at their games, and admired his garden. “I have many beautiful flowers,” he said; “but the children are the most beautiful flowers of all.”