Aesop's Fox and Cat by Milo Winter (classic storybook illustration) A fox was boasting to a cat about his clever devices for escaping his enemies: “I have a whole bag of tricks,” he said, “which contains a hundred ways of escaping my enemies.” “I have only one,” said the cat, “but I can generally manage with that.” Just at that moment, they heard the cry of a pack of hounds coming towards them, and the cat immediately scampered up a tree and hid herself in the boughs. “This is my plan,” said the cat. “What are you going to do?” The fox thought first of one way, then another, and while he was debating the hounds came nearer and nearer. At last, the fox in his confusion was caught up by the hounds and soon killed by the huntsmen. Literary Elements
Experienced readers refer to plot, setting, character, and point of view when discussing literature to appreciate deep, rich storytelling. What do you know about the character traits of the fox and the cat from this story? Support your answer with evidence from the text. Inference Thoughtful readers will often draw conclusions beyond the facts stated in the story. Inferring based on reasoning and experience helps make a story or work of art more meaningful by looking for clues about the author's or artist's mindset. What inferences can you make about the kind of people the fox and the cat would be if they were human? What evidence from the text supports your inferences? Themes and Concepts Experienced readers can often identify a theme (the meaning, feeling, or message) or concept (a philosophy or outlook about how the world works) that may be stated clearly or left hidden by the author for readers to discover. How does Aesop illustrate or communicate his concept of "success?" Does he prefer the fox's way or the cat's way? What evidence do you have to support your answer? Putting it All Together: The Craft of Writing When we share our thoughts about reading, our ideas, organization, supporting details, voice, and use of conventions help other readers understand our message. Take a moment to review your responses to the questions about literary elements, inferences, and themes. Now, use that information to craft a paragraph-long response that will allow a reader to understand your topic: begin with a leading sentence that introduces the subject; share one of the ideas about theme you've arrived at; use the literary elements and inferences you've made to support your theme or concept; and finally, restate your observation about the theme in a concluding sentence.
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A SPARK Jacob's Ladder exercise to help you get the most out of the literature you read. Clay Marbles, Aleksei, & Me, by Kathleen Brown (Grades 4–5 Honorable Mention, Center for Gifted Education Talent Search, Williamsburg, VA)Every night I open my tin box and examine the clay marbles that my little friend Aleksei and I used to play with. As I hold them, I hope the rumors are not true. The Romanoffs must be alive, especially my little friend Aleksei. I remember the games we used to play with his beautiful glass marbles and my clay marbles. In the afternoon when the kitchen was quiet, I was ordered to take Aleksei a snack and keep him company. Whoever thought Sophia, the kitchen worker, would be allowed to hold the hands of Aleksei Nikolaevich, heir to the Russian throne? Whenever I would visit him I would take milk, cinnamon bread, jam, and marbles. As soon as he finished eating we would play games. These visits were wonderful. Soon after I started working for the Romanoffs, Aleksei and I became great friends. His parents, Tsar Nicholas and Tsarina Alexandra, encouraged our friendship, so the afternoon visits became a routine. We had to play quietly because Aleksei had hemophilia. I had been told that it is a serious blood disease. Aleksei had four sisters: Olga, Tatiana, Maria, and Anastasia who would sometimes play with us. I remember one cold afternoon we were shooting marbles into an empty milk cup, when suddenly there was a sharp knock at the door. Aleksei ran to answer it, hoping it was his father. When he opened the door there stood that filthy Grigory Rasputin. Rasputin was a special friend of the Tsar and Tsarina, and supposedly had magical powers. The Imperial Couple felt that these powers controlled hemophilia, so Rasputin was always welcomed. Aleksei told me that he did not like Rasputin because he was ugly and smelled bad. Rasputin gave orders that he was to examine Aleksei and that I should return to the kitchen. I quickly gathered the dishes on a tray and reluctantly said goodbye to my little friend. As I was walking down the long halls toward the kitchen I kept wondering why Rasputin fascinated the Tsarina. Was it because he could heal her son? I think he was an evil fraud. I well remember the time Aleksei was watching me bake bread at the winter palace. I received a message that Rasputin would join the family for dinner. Aleksei and I looked at each other and started laughing. We immediately knew I had to make another loaf full of hot spices. When it was time for dinner each plate was filled with fish, turkey, cabbage, potatoes, spiced apples, and a special slice of bread. While the family was talking and eating, Rasputin suddenly grabbed his throat and started drinking big gulps of cold water. His bread was so spicy that he could hardly talk. He called me to come to the table, grabbed my shoulders and said he had been poisoned. At the far end of the table Aleksei was trying not to giggle. I told Rasputin that no one in my kitchen would poison him or anyone else. He demanded that I sample his food. After taking small bites of everything, including the bread, he was reassured that he had not been poisoned. I quickly left the room, ran through the kitchen, knocking over a jug of milk, making my way outside to eat handfuls of snow. After that evening Rasputin ate fewer meals at the palace. Another palace visitor was Eugene Fabergé. Unlike Rasputin, he was an elegant gentleman and always so interesting. He was a royal craftsman and his family had made beautiful and unusual creations for the many Romanoffs. Every Easter the Fabergé family was ordered to design, create, and deliver an Imperial Easter Egg. They were full of jewels and delicate patterns. The special thing about each egg was the surprise inside. The Fabergés had complete control over these egg creations. The Tsar and Tsarina had no idea what the eggs would be like. The day before an egg delivery the palace was filled with joy. The servants were busy cleaning and cooking special foods. Little Aleksei watched out the window, ready to signal us when he caught sight of the royal automobile coming towards the palace. Preparing for this visitor seemed like a celebration. Eugene Fabergé was kind to everyone in the palace, but he seemed to have a special interest in my dear little Aleksei. Aleksei loved the Imperial Eggs and Fabergé loved telling how they were made. It was Easter, 1912, when Eugene Fabergé delivered my favorite Imperial Egg. We were staying at the Lividia Palace in Yalta and I remember hearing the Tsar say that Fabergé was traveling across Russia with the newest egg. We all knew he would be exhausted after his journey. His room was in order and we baked his favorite pies. When he arrived you would have never known that he had come such a very long way. As usual, his attention was focused on Aleksei. He held him in his lap while Tsarina Alexandra opened the new Imperial Easter Egg. Not only was the entire royal family there to see the new masterpiece, but the Tsar allowed the servants to watch as well. The egg was magnificent. It was blue lapis and gold. The surprise inside was a double-headed eagle with hundreds of diamonds that formed a miniature picture frame around my precious Aleksei. It was a double-sided picture. Not only could you see his beautiful face, but you could see the back of his head. I wanted to have the egg for myself and then I would have Aleksei forever, but all I have are my clay marbles. My life with the Romanoffs was always an adventure. I traveled to many places, and met unusual people. I was frequently in the company of five beautiful children. All I have to remember them by are my clay marbles and a tin box full of memories of my afternoons with Aleksei. Eugene Fabergé, The Romanoffs (Aleksei in front), and Grigory Rasputin.Literary Elements Experienced readers refer to plot, setting, character, and point of view when discussing literature to appreciate deep, rich storytelling.
Support your answer with evidence from the text Support your answer with evidence from the text. Inference Thoughtful readers will often draw conclusions beyond the facts stated in the story. Inferring based on reasoning and experience helps make a story or work of art more meaningful by looking for clues about the author's or artist's mindset.
Themes and Concepts Experienced readers can often identify a theme (the meaning, feeling, or message) or concept (a philosophy or outlook about how the world works) that may be stated clearly or left hidden by the author for readers to discover.
A SPARK Jacob's Ladder exercise to help you get the most out of the literature you read. Clay Marbles, Aleksei, & Me, by Kathleen Brown (Grades 4–5 Honorable Mention, Center for Gifted Education Talent Search, Williamsburg, VA)Every night I open my tin box and examine the clay marbles that my little friend Aleksei and I used to play with. As I hold them, I hope the rumors are not true. The Romanoffs must be alive, especially my little friend Aleksei. I remember the games we used to play with his beautiful glass marbles and my clay marbles. In the afternoon when the kitchen was quiet, I was ordered to take Aleksei a snack and keep him company. Whoever thought Sophia, the kitchen worker, would be allowed to hold the hands of Aleksei Nikolaevich, heir to the Russian throne? Whenever I would visit him I would take milk, cinnamon bread, jam, and marbles. As soon as he finished eating we would play games. These visits were wonderful. Soon after I started working for the Romanoffs, Aleksei and I became great friends. His parents, Tsar Nicholas and Tsarina Alexandra, encouraged our friendship, so the afternoon visits became a routine. We had to play quietly because Aleksei had hemophilia. I had been told that it is a serious blood disease. Aleksei had four sisters: Olga, Tatiana, Maria, and Anastasia who would sometimes play with us. I remember one cold afternoon we were shooting marbles into an empty milk cup, when suddenly there was a sharp knock at the door. Aleksei ran to answer it, hoping it was his father. When he opened the door there stood that filthy Grigory Rasputin. Rasputin was a special friend of the Tsar and Tsarina, and supposedly had magical powers. The Imperial Couple felt that these powers controlled hemophilia, so Rasputin was always welcomed. Aleksei told me that he did not like Rasputin because he was ugly and smelled bad. Rasputin gave orders that he was to examine Aleksei and that I should return to the kitchen. I quickly gathered the dishes on a tray and reluctantly said goodbye to my little friend. As I was walking down the long halls toward the kitchen I kept wondering why Rasputin fascinated the Tsarina. Was it because he could heal her son? I think he was an evil fraud. I well remember the time Aleksei was watching me bake bread at the winter palace. I received a message that Rasputin would join the family for dinner. Aleksei and I looked at each other and started laughing. We immediately knew I had to make another loaf full of hot spices. When it was time for dinner each plate was filled with fish, turkey, cabbage, potatoes, spiced apples, and a special slice of bread. While the family was talking and eating, Rasputin suddenly grabbed his throat and started drinking big gulps of cold water. His bread was so spicy that he could hardly talk. He called me to come to the table, grabbed my shoulders and said he had been poisoned. At the far end of the table Aleksei was trying not to giggle. I told Rasputin that no one in my kitchen would poison him or anyone else. He demanded that I sample his food. After taking small bites of everything, including the bread, he was reassured that he had not been poisoned. I quickly left the room, ran through the kitchen, knocking over a jug of milk, making my way outside to eat handfuls of snow. After that evening Rasputin ate fewer meals at the palace. Another palace visitor was Eugene Fabergé. Unlike Rasputin, he was an elegant gentleman and always so interesting. He was a royal craftsman and his family had made beautiful and unusual creations for the many Romanoffs. Every Easter the Fabergé family was ordered to design, create, and deliver an Imperial Easter Egg. They were full of jewels and delicate patterns. The special thing about each egg was the surprise inside. The Fabergés had complete control over these egg creations. The Tsar and Tsarina had no idea what the eggs would be like. The day before an egg delivery the palace was filled with joy. The servants were busy cleaning and cooking special foods. Little Aleksei watched out the window, ready to signal us when he caught sight of the royal automobile coming towards the palace. Preparing for this visitor seemed like a celebration. Eugene Fabergé was kind to everyone in the palace, but he seemed to have a special interest in my dear little Aleksei. Aleksei loved the Imperial Eggs and Fabergé loved telling how they were made. It was Easter, 1912, when Eugene Fabergé delivered my favorite Imperial Egg. We were staying at the Lividia Palace in Yalta and I remember hearing the Tsar say that Fabergé was traveling across Russia with the newest egg. We all knew he would be exhausted after his journey. His room was in order and we baked his favorite pies. When he arrived you would have never known that he had come such a very long way. As usual, his attention was focused on Aleksei. He held him in his lap while Tsarina Alexandra opened the new Imperial Easter Egg. Not only was the entire royal family there to see the new masterpiece, but the Tsar allowed the servants to watch as well. The egg was magnificent. It was blue lapis and gold. The surprise inside was a double-headed eagle with hundreds of diamonds that formed a miniature picture frame around my precious Aleksei. It was a double-sided picture. Not only could you see his beautiful face, but you could see the back of his head. I wanted to have the egg for myself and then I would have Aleksei forever, but all I have are my clay marbles. My life with the Romanoffs was always an adventure. I traveled to many places, and met unusual people. I was frequently in the company of five beautiful children. All I have to remember them by are my clay marbles and a tin box full of memories of my afternoons with Aleksei. Eugene Fabergé, The Romanoffs (Aleksei in front), and Grigory Rasputin.Details
When discussing literature, people recall specific details that are memorable or significant about the story. List details about the the narrator from the story: List details about Rasputin from the story: List details about Fabergé from the story: Classification When discussing several ideas or details, people often group them into related categories. Classification helps identify what sets of ideas or details have in common. Using your lists of above, compare and contrast the narrator and Rasputin. How are they alike and how are they different? Using your lists of above, compare and contrast Rasputin and Fabergé. How are they alike and how are they different? Using your lists of above, compare and contrast the narrator and Fabergé. How are they alike and how are they different? Generalizations When we develop experience as readers, we begin to move from the concrete details stated in the story to more abstract ideas that apply to larger categories of literature or personal experience. When you consider the story and the story teller, what generalizations can you make about the type of person the narrator is? The Blue Heron by Mary A.G. Embery Blue Heron, glass mosaic by Lizzie Tucker Story as a Google Doc: The Blue Heron, by Mary A.G. Embery You are welcome to open the story in a new tab and view the story and the questions side-by-side. As I looked through the cold April drizzle at the Great Blue Heron perched on the log, I thought, “God went all out on this one!” It was a foul day. The drizzle was cold, and everything reeked of swamp and decaying wood. I stared at the heron encircled in a wreath of Spanish moss. It was a perfect picture. I wished with all my soul that I would have a camera in my hands instead of a rifle when I looked down. It didn’t happen and I was thinking of a way out of the situation, when my father interrupted my thoughts. “Shoot, Jon!” He whispered fiercely, “It’s going to fly away before you can even raise the blasted gun!” My pa was touchy because he knew that if I let this shot slip, it would be a lot of money down the drain. Reluctantly, I raised the sight to my eye, not wanting to spoil the view. Hesitantly, I aimed, shut my eyes tightly, and fired. I heard the shot ring out, and I prayed that God would forgive me for killing one of his creatures that is as beautiful as this. I never wanted to shoot any bird, but if I told my pa that, he would disown me. When I looked up, it looked as if an invisible hand had swiped the heron from its perch. My pa sprang up to get the prize. He carried it back and handed it to me so he could pat me on the shoulder. “Nice job, Jon! Clean through the eye!” The best I could give him in return was a quavery smile and a weak, “Thanks,” although praise from my father came about as often as a snowstorm in a desert. Pa didn’t notice the quiver in my voice, but kept on walking, talking about how I would become an excellent hunter one day, and how much money I was going to bring the family. As we headed home, I tried to clear my mind, but all I could see was the heron being knocked off its perch, and my pa showing me the bullet hole where the eye had once been. I was so engrossed in wallowing in pity for the bird that I nearly walked into the cypress tree next to our house. Pa called me into the barn to help with the evening chores. After the chores were done, Pa left me to skin the bird. It was then that I realized that the bird was a female, and it also was nesting season. Then the harsh reality hit me as hard as the bullet must have hit the heron; that poor mother had been luring us away from her nest. I went to bed with a sick stomach and tossed and turned the entire night with guilt. The next morning it was raining so hard that I could barely find my way to the barn to do my chores. I wondered if there were any chicks in the nest. Concentrating on anything was impossible, as my mind kept wandering to the heron. I couldn’t even hear, and my parents grew worried. My mother took me into the pantry and looked at my tongue, turned my eyelid inside out, and made me swallow a spoonful of bitter, black medicine. After that, she put me to bed for the rest of the day. The next morning was beautiful, and after I had convinced my mother that I was healthy, I told her that I was going out to play. I stole some cornbread, and went to the place where I had shot the heron. The water was about a foot higher than it had been, and I traipsed all around the swamp, finding three small chicks in it. I leaned down to see if any of them were alive. Two were dead, but the third one twitched and squeaked. It gave such a weak cry that my heart almost broke. I stooped down, crumbled the cornbread in my hand, and mixed it with swamp water, so I had a type of cornbread clabber. As gently I could, I pried open the mouth of this chick, and poured the crude mixture down its throat. After I had forced the chick to eat, I took off my shirt and bundled the chick in it. The path home was rough, and it was a task of gargantuan proportion trying not to jolt the pitiful little thing in my arms. Once at home, I carefully snuck the baby bird into the warmest, driest, and most remote corner of the hayloft that I could find. I lay the chick in a little nest that I scooped out, and piled some hay up next to it, so it was completely hidden. The warmth of the stock beneath it, and the sound of the horses and cows chewing their hay, and the content snorting of the pigs put it right to sleep. I decided to name it Crest. The bird was quite safe there and for the next 4 weeks, Crest remained a secret. I snuck up to feed him 3 times a day when I was doing the chores. We quickly became friends, and he surprised me one day by stumbling around the loft, flapping his wings. This frightened me because if my pa ever came up and saw him stumbling around, there would be trouble. In the end, I had to resort to the cruelest measure of torture by tying his feet together and pinioning his wings. I was thankful that Crest was a quiet creature. My thankfulness didn’t last long. One day, 2 months after I’d first found Crest, Pa came in from the barn after feeding the horses, carrying in a struggling Crest by his legs. “Son?” he questioned me fiercely, “I heard a rustle in the hayloft, and went up there to find this!” Pa presented my bird triumphantly and shook it. My father hated any man that took pity on animals that could bring in money. “Pa! I can explain!” I cried desperately. “He was dying! He would’ve died!” “If he didn’t die then, he’s gonna die now!” He flung the bird on the floor and got his shotgun from against the wall. My mother ran out of the room, terrified. “Pa! NO!” I screamed. I lunged forward and managed to dive in front of the bird milliseconds before the shot reach the animal. All of a sudden, I felt a sudden numbness in my stomach, then white fire. The room started spinning in an uncontrollable vertigo. I saw my two sisters, their faces buried in my mother’s skirt; my mother, hands pressed tightly against her lips, her face white with terror. I saw my father on his knees, looking toward the heavens, screaming, and then Crest. I made a final lunge for him, and then black overcame me. I slipped in and out of consciousness for a week. When I finally woke up, I thought, “What a terrible dream!” I tried to roll over, but I felt white fire in my stomach. I groaned in agony. “So, it wasn’t a dream?” I whispered. My vision blurred, then cleared. My mother came toward me and pressed a cool damp cloth against my forehead. My father gently touched her on the shoulder, and she stepped aside. “Son?” he said gruffly, “How are you?” “I’ve been better.” I managed a feeble laugh. “I’m sorry.” His voice cracked, “So sorry . . .” My pa’s voice trailed off and he began to cry. That sight startled me, but I had to be strong now. “It’s all right,” I said in a soothing voice. “Everything will be OK.” He gulped, and my mother stepped forward, “Jon, your father has something he wants to give to you.” Pa looked at my mother doubtfully, and she gave him a gentle push toward the door. He returned a few moments later carrying a bewildered Crest, and delivered him right into my arms. From then on, not another bird was shot; not for food, nor for profit, nor for pleasure. I was finally able to explain to my father what I really wanted to do with birds; I wanted to take pictures of them in their natural glory. I think my father finally understood, because for my birthday gift, I received a camera, and a card inscribed with the words: “May all your dreams come true.” Details When discussing literature, people recall specific details that are memorable or significant about the story.
Classification When discussing several ideas or details, people often group them into related categories. Classification helps identify what sets of ideas or details have in common.
Generalizations
When we develop experience as readers, we begin to move from the concrete details stated in the story to more abstract ideas that apply to larger categories of literature or personal experience.
The Blue Heron |
Near Galactic Cluster 1512 in visible light. Astronomers classify galaxies by their shape; NGC 1512 is a barred spiral, which we think is similar to our own galaxy. In order to better understand the Milky Way galaxy from the inside out (usually represented by NGC 6744, M81, or the Andromeda Galaxy in art and entertainment), astronomers study the formation of the galaxies we can observe from the outside in. | An image of NCG 1512 in the infrared spectrum helps astronomers understand temperatures of distant stars making up the galaxy. This helps in inferring how close together stars are and their size. |
An image of NCG 1512 in the x-ray spectrum helps astronomers understand the density of matter making up the galaxy, including dust and gases that have not formed stars or other bodies. | An image of NCG 1512 in the ultraviolet spectrum helps astronomers understand the chemical composition of distant stars making up the galaxy, which is helpful in determining the likely age of the stars. |
A close-up magnification of the visible light given off by the inner ring of NGC 1512.
Using different lenses and filters, astronomers pick up details that they may have previously missed.
The study of stars using different lenses, sensors, and filters helps astronomers understand the universe better and create a more accurate model of what is happening around us.
Each time you use the tools of literary analysis to better understand a new story, it gives you added experience in the craft of writing and communication to add to your personal knowledge. Each analysis of quality literature has the potential to make your own writing and storytelling skill more powerful.
Each time you use the tools of literary analysis to better understand a new story, it gives you added experience in the craft of writing and communication to add to your personal knowledge. Each analysis of quality literature has the potential to make your own writing and storytelling skill more powerful.
Authors
Mrs. Jennifer Hethcox and Mr. Kevin Durden.
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