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Question
Who reaps the benefits when the wind blows through the trees?
Options
Birds
Passersby
Adults
All of these
Solution
All of these
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RELATED QUESTIONS
Thinking about Poem
How has the tree grow to its full size? List the words suggestive of its life and activity.
Thinking about the Poem
What does the poet wish for the snake?
“A slumber did my spirit seal,” says the poet. That is, a deep sleep ‘closed off’ his soul (or mind). How does the poet react to his loved one’s death? Does he feel bitter grief? Or does he feel a great peace?
Now read the story
- "Ma!" Mrs. Bramble looked up, beaming with a kind of amiable fat-headedness. A domestic creature, wrapped up in Bill, her husband, and Harold, her son. At the present moment only the latter was with her. He sat on the other side of the table, his lips gravely pursed and his eyes a trifle cloudy behind their spectacles. Before him on the red tablecloth lay an open book. His powerful brain was plainly busy.
- "Yes, dearie?"
- "Will you hear me?"
- Mrs. Bramble took the book.
- "Yes, mother will hear you, precious."
- A slight frown, marred the smoothness of Harold Bramble's brow. It jarred upon him, this habit of his mother's, of referring to herself in the third person, as if she were addressing a baby, instead of a young man of ten who had taken the spelling and dictation prize last term on his head.
- He cleared his throat and fixed his eyes upon the cut-glass hangings of the chandelier.
- "Be good, sweet maid," he began, with the toneless rapidity affected by youths of his age when reciting poetry…..
- "You do study so hard, dearie, you'll give yourself a headache. Why don't you take a nice walk by the river for half an hour, and come back nice and fresh?"
- The spectacled child considered the point for a moment gravely. Then nodding, he arranged his books in readiness for his return and went out. The front door closed with a decorous softness.
- It was a constant source of amazement to Mrs. Bramble that she should have brought such a prodigy as Harold into the world. Harold was so different from ordinary children, so devoted to his books, such a model of behaviour, so altogether admirable. The only drawback was, that his very 'perfection' had made necessary a series of evasions and even deliberate falsehoods, on the part of herself and her husband, highly distasteful to both. They were lovers of truth, but they had realized that there are times when truth must be sacrificed. At any cost, the facts concerning Mr. Bramble's profession must be kept from Harold.
- While he was a baby it had not mattered so much. But when he began to move about and take notice, Mrs. Bramble said to Mr. Bramble, "Bill, we must keep it from Harold." A little later, when the child had begun to show signs of being about to become a model of goodness and intelligence, and had already taken two prizes at the Sunday-school, the senior curate of the parish, meeting Mr. Bramble one morning, said nervously-for after all, it was a delicate subject to broach, "Er-Bramble, I think, on the whole, it would be as well to-er-keep it from Harold."
- And only the other day, Mrs. Bramble's brother, Major Percy Stokes, dropping in for a cup of tea, had said, "I hope you are keeping it from Harold. It is the least you can do", and had gone on to make one or two remarks about men of wrath which, considering that his cheek-bones were glistening with Mr. Bramble's buttered toast, were in poor taste. But Percy was like that. Enemies said that he liked the sound of his own voice.
- Certainly he was very persuasive. Mr. Bramble had fallen in with the suggestion without demur. In private life he was the mildest and most obliging of men, and always yielded to everybody. The very naming of Harold had caused a sacrifice on his part.
- When it was certain that he was about to become a father, he had expressed a desire that the child should be named John, if a boy, after Mr John L. Sullivan, or, if a girl, Marie, after Miss Marie Lloyd. But Mrs Bramble saying that Harold was such a sweet name, he had withdrawn his suggestions with the utmost goodhumour.
- Nobody could help liking this excellent man which made it all the greater pity that his walk in life was of such a nature that it simply had to be kept from Harold.
- He was a professional boxer. That was the trouble.
- Before the coming of Harold, he had been proud of being a professional boxer. His ability to paste his fellow-man in the eye while apparently meditating an attack on his stomach, and vice versa, had filled him with that genial glow of self-satisfaction which comes to philanthropists and other benefactors of the species. It had seemed to him a thing on which to congratulate himself that of all London's teeming millions there was not a man, weighing eight stone four, whom he could not overcome in a twenty-round contest. He was delighted to be the possessor of a left hook which had won the approval of the newspapers.
- And then Harold had come into his life, and changed him into a furtive practitioner of shady deeds. Before, he had gone about the world with a match-box full of press-notices, which he would extract with a pin and read to casual acquaintances. Now, he quailed at the sight of his name in print, so thoroughly had he become imbued with the necessity of keeping it from Harold.
- With an ordinary boy it would not have mattered. However, Harold was different. Secretly proud of him as they were, both Bill and his wife were a little afraid of their wonderful child. The fact was, as Bill himself put it, Harold was showing a bit too much class for them. He had formed a corner in brains, as far as the Bramble family was concerned. They had come to regard him as being of a superior order.
- Yet Harold, defying the laws of heredity, had run to intellect as his father had run to muscle. He had learned to read and write with amazing quickness. He sang in the choir.
- And now, at the age of ten, a pupil at a local private school where they wore mortar boards and generally comported themselves like young dons, he had already won a prize for spelling and dictation. You simply couldn't take a boy like that aside and tell him that the father whom he believed to be a commercial traveller was affectionately known to a large section of the inhabitants of London, as "Young Porky." There were no two ways about it. You had to keep it from him.
- So, Harold grew in stature and intelligence, without a suspicion of the real identity of the square-jawed man with the irregularly-shaped nose who came and went mysteriously in their semi-detached, red-brick home. He was a self-centred child, and, accepting the commercial traveller fiction, dismissed the subject from his mind and busied himself with things of more moment. And time slipped by.
- Mrs. Bramble, left alone, resumed work on the sock which she was darning. For the first time since Harold had reached years of intelligence she was easy in her mind about the future. A week from tonight would see the end of all her anxieties. On that day Bill would fight his last fight, the twenty-round contest with that American Murphy at the National Sporting Club for which he was now training at the White Hart down the road. He had promised that it would be the last. He was getting on. He was thirty-one, and he said himself that he would have to be chucking the game before it chucked him. His idea was to retire from active work and try for a job as an instructor at one of these big schools or colleges. He had a splendid record for respectability and sobriety and all the other qualities which headmasters demanded in those who taught their young gentlemen to box and several of his friends who had obtained similar posts described the job in question as extremely soft. So that it seemed to Mrs. Bramble, that all might now be considered well. She smiled happily to herself as she darned her sock.
- She was interrupted in her meditations by a knock at the front door. She put down her sock and listened.
- Martha, the general, pattered along the passage, and then there came the sound of voices speaking in an undertone. Footsteps made themselves heard in the passage. The door opened. The head and shoulders of Major Percy Stokes insinuated themselves into the room.
- The Major cocked a mild blue eye at her.
- "Harold anywhere about?"
- "He's gone out for a nice walk. Whatever brings you here, Percy, so late? "
- Percy made no answer. He withdrew his head.
- He then reappeared, this time in his entirety, and remained holding the door open. More footsteps in the passage, and through the doorway in a sideways fashion suggestive of a diffident crab, came a short, sturdy, red-headed man with a broken nose and a propitiatory smile, at the sight of whom Mrs. Bramble, dropping her sock, rose as if propelled by powerful machinery, and exclaimed, "Bill!"
- Mr. Bramble - for it was he - scratched his head, grinned feebly, and looked for assistance to the Major.
- "The scales have fallen from his eyes."
- "What scales?" demanded Mrs. Bramble, a literal-minded woman. "And what are you doing here, Bill, when you ought to be at the White Hart, training?"
- "That's just what I'm telling you," said Percy. "I’ve been wrestling with Bill, and I have been vouchsafed the victory."
- "You!" said Mrs. Bramble, with uncomplimentary astonishment, letting her gaze wander over her brother's weedy form.
- "Jerry Fisher's a hard nut," said Mr. Bramble, apologetically. "He don't like people coming round talking to a man he's training, unless he introduces them or they're newspaper gents."
- "After that I kept away. But I wrote the letters and I sent the tracts. Bill, which of the tracts was it that snatched you from the primrose path?"
- "It wasn't so much the letters, Perce. It was what you wrote about Harold. You see, Jane---"
- "Perhaps you'll kindly allow me to get a word in edgeways, you two," said Mrs.Bramble, her temper for once becoming ruffled. "You can stop talking for half an instant, Percy, if you know how, while Bill tells me what he's doing here when he ought to be at the White Hart with Mr. Fisher, doing his bit of training."
- Mr. Bramble met her eye and blinked awkwardly.
- " Percy's just been telling you, Jane. He wrote---"
- "I haven't made head or tail of a single word that Percy's said, and I don't expect to. All I want is a plain answer to a plain question. What are you doing here, Bill, instead of being at the White Hart? "
- "I've come home, Jane."
- "Glory!" exclaimed the Major.
- "Percy, if you don't keep quiet, I'll forget I'm your sister and let you have one. What
do you mean, Bill, you've come home? Isn't there going to be the fight next week,
after all?" - "The fight's over," said the unsuppressed Major, joyfully, "and Bill's won, with me
seconding him." - "Percy!"
- Mr. Bramble pulled himself together with a visible effort.
- "I'm not going to fight, Jane," he said, in a small voice.
- '' You're not going--!"
- "He's seen the error of his ways," cried Percy, the resilient."That's what he's gone
and done. At the eleventh hour." - "Oh! I have waited for this joyful moment. I have watched for it. I---"
- "You're not going to fight!"
- Mr. Bramble, avoiding his wife's eye, shook his head.
- "And how about the money?"
- "What's money? " said the Major, scornfully.
- "You ought to know," snapped Mrs. Bramble, turning on him. "You've borrowed
enough of it from me in your time." - The Major waved a hand in wounded silence. He considered the remark in poor
taste. - "How about the money?" repeated Mrs. Bramble. "Goodness knows I've never liked your profession, Bill, but there is this to be said for it, that it's earned you good money and made it possible for us to give Harold as good an education as any Duke ever had, I'm sure. And you know, you yourself said that the five hundred pounds you were going to get if you beat this Murphy, and even if you lost it would be a hundred and twenty, was going to be a blessing, because it would let us finish him off proper and give him a better start in life than you or me ever had, and now
you let this Percy come over you with his foolish talk, and now I don't know what will happen." - There was an uncomfortable silence. Even Percy seemed to be at a loss for words. Mrs. Bramble sat down and began to sob. Mr. Bramble shuffled his feet.
- "Talking of Harold," said Mr. Bramble at last, " That's , really what I'm driving at. It was him only whom I was thinking of when I hopped it from the White Hart. It would be written up in all the papers, instead of only in the sporting ones. As likely as not there would be a piece about it in the Mail, with a photograph of me. And you know Harold reads his Mail regularly. And then, don't you see, the fat would be in the fire. "That's what Percy pointed out to me, and I seen what he meant, so I hopped it."
- "At the eleventh hour," added the Major, rubbing in the point.
- "You see, Jane---" Mr. Bramble was beginning, when there was a knock at the door, and a little, ferret-faced man in a woollen sweater and cycling knickerbockers entered, removing as he did so a somewhat battered bowler hat.
- "Beg pardon, Mrs. Bramble," he said, " coming in like this. Found the front door ajar, so came in, to ask if you'd happened to have seen-"
- He broke off and stood staring wildly at the little group.
- "I thought so!" he said, and shot through the air towards Percy.
- "Jerry !" said Bill.
- "Mr. Fisher!" said Mrs. Bramble,
- "Be reasonable," said the Major, diving underneath the table and coming up the other side like a performing seal.
- "Let me get at him," begged the intruder, struggling to free himself from Bill's restraining arms.
- Mrs. Bramble rapped on the table.
- "Kindly remember there's a lady present, Mr. Fisher."
- The little man's face became a battlefield on which rage, misery, and a respect for the decencies of social life struggled for mastery.
- "It's hard," he said at length, in a choked voice. "I just wanted to break his neck for him, but I suppose it's not to be. I know it's him that's at the bottom of it. And here I find them together, so I know it's him. Well, if you say so, Mrs. B., I suppose I mustn't put a hand on him. But it's hard. Bill, you come back along with me to the White Hart. I'm surprised at you. Ashamed of you, I am. All the time you and me have known each other, I've never known you do such a thing. You are such a pleasure to train as a rule. It all comes of getting with bad companions."
- Mr. Bramble looked at his brother-in-law miserably.
- "You tell him," he said.
- "You tell him, Jane," said the Major.
- "I won't," said Mrs. Bramble.
- "Tell him what? " asked the puzzled trainer.
- "Well?"
- "It's only that I'm not going to fight on Monday."
- "What!"
- "Bill has seen a sudden bright light," said Percy, edging a few inches to the left, so that the table was exactly between the trainer and himself. "At the eleventh hour, he has turned from his wicked ways. You ought to be singing with joy, Mr. Fisher, if you really loved Bill. This ought to be the happiest evening you've ever known. You ought to be singing like a little child."
- A strange, guttural noise escaped the trainer. It may have been a song, but it did not sound like it.
- "It's true, Jerry," said Bill, unhappily. "I have been thinking it over, and I'm not going to fight on Monday."
- "Glory!" said the Major, tactlessly.
- Jerry Fisher's face was a study in violent emotions. His eyes seemed to protrude from their sockets like a snail's. He clutched the tablecloth.
- "I'm sorry, Jerry," said Bill. " I know it's hard on you. But I've got to think of Harold. This fight with Jimmy Murphy being what you might call a kind of national affair, in a way of speaking, will be reported in The Mail as like as not, with a photograph of me, and Harold reads The Mail regular. We've been keeping it from him all these years that I'm in the profession, and we can't let him know now. He would die of shame, Jerry."
- Tears appeared in Jerry Fisher's eyes.
- "Bill," he cried, " you're off your head. Think of the purse!"
- "Ah!" said Mrs. Bramble.
- "Think of all the swells that'll be coming to see you. Think of what the papers'll say. Think of me."
- "I know, Jerry, it's chronic. But Harold---"
- "Think of all the trouble you've taken for the last few weeks getting yourself into condition."
- "I know. But Har---"
- "You can't not fight on Monday."
- "But Harold, Jerry. He'd die of the disgrace of it. He ain't like you and me, Jerry. He's a little gentleman. I got to think of Harold"
- "What about me, pa?" said a youthful voice at the door; and Bill's honest blood froze at the sound. His jaw fell, and he goggled dumbly.
- There, his spectacles gleaming in the gaslight, his cheeks glowing with the exertion of the nice walk, his eyebrows slightly elevated with surprise, stood Harold himself.
- "Halloa, pa! Halloa, Uncle Percy! Somebody's left the front door open. What were you saying about thinking about me, pa? Ma, will you hear me, my piece of poetry again? I think I've forgotten it."
- The four adults surveyed the innocent child in silence.
- On the faces of three of them consternation was written. In the eyes of the fourth, Mr. Fisher, there glittered that nasty, steely expression of the man, who sees his way to getting a bit of his own back, Mr. Fisher's was not an un-mixedly chivalrous nature. He considered that he had been badly treated, and what he wanted most at the moment was revenge. He had been fond and proud of Bill Bramble, but those emotions belonged to the dead past. Just at present, he felt that he disliked Bill rather more than anyone else in the world, with the possible exception of Major Percy Stokes.
- "So you're Harold, are you, Tommy? " he said, in a metallic voice." Then just you listen here a minute."
- "Jerry," cried Bill, advancing, "you keep your mouth shut, or I'll dot you one."
- Mr. Fisher retreated and, grasping a chair, swung it above his head.
- "You better! " he said, curtly.
- ''Mr. Fisher, do be a gentleman," entreated Mrs. Bramble.
- "My dear sir." There was a crooning winningness in Percy's voice. "My dear sir, do nothing hasty. Think before you speak. Don't go and be so silly as to act like a mutton-head. I'd be ashamed to be so spiteful. Respect a father's feelings."
- "Tommy," said Mr. Fisher, ignoring them all, "you think your pa's a commercial. He ain't. He's a fighting-man, doing his eight-stone-four ringside, and known to all the heads as ' Young Porky.' "
- Bill sank into a chair. He could see Harold's round eyes staring at him.
- "I'd never have thought it of you, Jerry," he said, miserably. "If anyone had come to me and told me that you could have acted so raw I'd have dotted him one."
- "And if anyone had come to me and told me that I should live to see the day when you broke training a week before a fight at the National, I'd given him one for himself."
- "Harold, my lad," said Percy, "you mustn't think none the worse of your pa for having been a man of wrath. He hadn't seen the bright light then. It's all over now. He's given it up for ever, and there's no call for you to feel ashamed."
- Bill seized on the point.
- "That's right, Harold," he said, reviving, "I've given it up. I was going to fight an American named Murphy at the National next Monday, but I ain't going to now, not if they come to me on their bended knees. Not even if the King of England came to me on his bended knees."
- Harold drew a deep breath.
- "Oh!" he cried, shrilly. "Oh, aren't you? Then what about my two bob? What about my two bob, I've betted Dicky Saunders that Jimmy Murphy won't last ten rounds?"
- He looked round the room wrathfully.
- "It's thick," he said in the crisp, gentlemanly, voice of which his parents were so proud. "It's jolly thick. That's what it is. A chap takes the trouble to study form and saves up his pocket-money to have a bet on a good thing, and then he goes and gets let down like this. It may be funny to you, but I call it rotten. And another thing I call rotten is you having kept it from me all this time that you were 'Young Porky,' pa. That's what I call so jolly rotten! There's a fellow at our school who goes about swanking in the most rotten way because he once got Phil Scott's autograph. Fellows look up to him most awfully, and all the time they might have been doing it to me. That's what makes me so jolly sick. How long do you suppose they'd go on calling me, 'Goggles' if they knew that you were my father? They'd chuck it tomorrow, and look up to me like anything, I do call it rotten. And chucking it up like this is the limit. What do you want to do it for? It's the silliest idea, I've ever heard. Why, if you beat Jimmy Murphy they'll have to give you the next chance with Sid
Sampson for the Lonsdale belt. Jimmy beat Ted Richards, and Ted beat the Ginger Nut, and the Ginger Nut only lost on a foul to Sid Sampson, and you beat Ted Richards, so they couldn't help letting you have the next go at Sid." - Mr. Fisher beamed approval.
- "If I've told your pa that once, I've told him twenty times," he said. "You certainly know a thing or two, Tommy."
- "Well, I've made a study of it since I was a kid, so I jolly well ought to. All the fellows at our place are frightfully keen on it. One chap's got a snapshot of Jimmy Wilde. At least, he says it's Jimmy Wilde, but I believe it's just some ordinary fellow. Anyhow, it's jolly blurred, so it might be anyone. Pa, can't you give me a picture of yourself boxing? I could swank like anything. And you don't know how sick a chap gets of having chaps call him, 'Goggles.' "
- "Bill," said Mr. Fisher, "you and me had better be getting back to the White Hart."
- Bill rose and followed him without a word.
- Harold broke the silence which followed their departure. The animated expression which had been on his face as he discussed the relative merits of Sid Sampson and the Ginger Nut had given place to the abstracted gravity of the student.
- "Ma!"
- Mrs. Bramble started convulsively.
- "Yes, dearie?"
- "Will you hear me? "
- Mrs. Bramble took the book.
- ''Yes, mother will hear you, precious," she said, mechanically.
- Harold fixed his eyes upon the cut-glass hangings of the chandelier.
- "Be good, sweet maid, and let who will be clever-clever. Do noble things.. "
About the Author
Sir Pelham Grenville Wodehouse, KBE (15 October 1881 - 14 February 1975) was a comic writer who enjoyed enormous popular success during his career as an acknowledged master of English prose. Wodehouse has been admired both by his contemporaries such as Hilaire Belloc, Evelyn Waugh and Rudyard Kipling and by modern writers such as Douglas Adams, Salman Rushdie, Zadie Smith and Terry Pratchett.
Best known today for his Jeeves and Blandings Castle novels and short stories, Wodehouse was also a playwright and lyricist who was part author and writer of 15 plays and of 250 lyrics for some 30 musical comedies. He worked with Cole Porter on the musical 'Anything Goes' (1934) and frequently collaborated with Jerome Kern and Guy Bolton. He wrote the lyrics for the hit song "Bill" in Kern's Show Boat (1927), wrote the lyrics for the Gershwin - Romberg’s musical Rosalie (1928) and collaborated with Rudolf Friml on a musical version of The Three Musketeers (1928).
Know all about Chess . Read and enjoy :
You now know a little about Koneru Humpychess player but do you know how to play chess? Let's know more about it:
Have you ever played chess? Did you know that chess is the oldest skill game in the world? But chess is more than just a. game of skill. It can tell you much about the way people lived in medieval times. If you look at the way a chess board is set up, then study the pieces and how they are used, you will realise that chess is a history of medieval times in miniature. The six different chess pieces on the board represent a cross section of medieval life with its many ceremonies grandeur ,and wars .
Chess was played many centuries ago in China, India, and Persia. No one really knows for sure in which country it originated. Then, in the eighth century, armies of Arabs known as Moors invaded Persia. The Moors learned chess from the Persians. When the Moors later invaded Spain, the soldiers brought the game of chess with them. Soon the Spanish were playing chess, too. From Spain, the popularity of chess quickly spread throughout all of Europe
Europeans gave chess pieces the names we know today; they probably had trouble pronouncing and spelling the Persian names, so they modernized them to reflect the way they lived. Today, the names certainly aren't modem but a thousand years ago they represented the very way in which both ordinary people and persons of rank lived their lives.
The pawns on the chess board represent serfs, or labourers. There are more of them than any other piece on the board, and often they are sacrificed to save the more valuable pieces. In medieval times, serfs were considered no more than the property of landowners, or chattels. Life was brutally hard for serfs during this era of history. They worked hard and died young. They were often left unprotected while wars raged around them. They could be traded, used as a diversion, or even sacrificed to allow the landowners to escape harm.
The castle piece on a chess board is the home, or the refuge, just as it was a home in medieval times. In Chess, each side has two castles, or rooks, as they are sometimes called.
The knight on a chess board represents the professional soldier of medieval times whose job it was to protect persons of rank, and there are two of them per side in a game of chess. Knights in a game of chess are more important than pawns, but less important than bishops, kings, or queens. Their purpose in the game of chess is to protect the more important pieces, and they can be sacrificed to save those pieces just as pawns can.
There is a bishop in the game of chess, who represents the church. The Church was a rich and mighty force in medieval times, and religion played a large part in every person's life. It is no wonder that a figure that represented the concept of religion found its way into the game. A bishop was the name for a priest in the Catholic church who had risen through the ranks to a more powerful position. In the game of chess, there are two bishops for each side.
The queen is the only piece on the board during a chess game that represents a woman, and she is the most powerful piece of the game.
The king is the tallest piece on the board, and is as well defended on the chessboard as in medieval life. In medieval times, the surrender of the king would mean the loss of the kingdom to invading armies and that could mean change for the worse. It was to everyone's advantage, from the lowest serf to the highest-ranking official, to keep the king safe from harm.. The king is the most important, but not the most powerful piece in chess. If you do not protect your king, you lose the game.
The next time you set up your chessboard and get ready 7 to play a friendly game or two, think of chess as a 6 history lesson. The pieces on the board represent a way 5 of life that is no more, and the real life dramas that occurred in medieval times are now only a game.
Six humans trapped by happenstance
In black and bitter cold.
Each one possessed a stick of wood,
Or so the story's told.
Their dying fire in need of logs;
The first man held his back.
For on the faces around the fire,
He noticed one was black.
Read the lines given above and answer the question that follow:
Explain with reference to context
"Now tell us what 'twas all about,"
Young Peterkin, he cries;
And little wilhelmine looks up
with wonder-waiting eyes;
"Now tell us all about the war,
And what they fought each other for."
"It was the English," Kaspar cried,
"Who put the French to rout;
But what they fought each other for,
I could not well make out;
But everybody said,"quoth he,
"That 'twas a famous victory.
Read the lines given above and answer the question that follow.
Why does Kasper repeat the line ‘twas a great victory?
The angel wrote and vanished.
The next night, It came again with a great wakening light,
And show's the names whom love of God had blest,
And Lo! Bin Adhem's name led all the rest.
Read the lines given above and answer the following question.
Mention two other words used by the poet to refer to the angel.
“Jane,” said the wheelwright, with an impressiveness of tone that greatly subdued his wife, “I read in the Bible sometimes, and find much said about little children. How the Savior rebuked the disciples who would not receive them; how he took them up in his arms, and blessed them; and how he said that ‘whosoever gave them even a cup of cold water should not go unrewarded.’ Now, it is a small thing for us to keep this poor motherless little one for a single night; to be kind to her for a single night; to make her life comfortable for a single night.”
The voice of the strong, rough man shook, and he turned his head away, so that the moisture in his eyes might not be seen. Mrs. Thompson did not answer, but a soft feeling crept into her heart.
“Look at her kindly, Jane; speak to her kindly,” said Joe. “Think of her dead mother, and the loneliness, the pain, the sorrow that must be on all her coming life.” The softness of his heart gave unwonted eloquence to his lips.
Read the extract given below and answer the question that follow.
Why does the author make the character repeat the phrase, ‘a single night’?
Margot stood apart from these children who could never remember a time when there wasn’t rain and rain and rain. They were all nine years old, and if there had been a day, seven years ago, when the sun came out for an hour and showed its face to the stunned world, they could not recall. Sometimes, at night, she heard them stir, in remembrance, and she knew they were dreaming and remembering an old or a yellow crayon or a coin large enough to buy the world with. She knew they thought they remembered a warmness, like a blushing in the face, in the body, in the arms and legs and trembling hands. But then they always awoke to the tatting drum, the endless shaking down of clear bead necklaces upon the roof, the walk, the gardens, the forests, and their dreams were gone. All day yesterday they had read in class about the sun. About how like a lemon it was, and how hot. And they had written small stories or essays or poems about it:
I think the snn is a flower,
That blooms for just one hour.
Read the extract given below and answer the question that follow.
What memory disturbed the children at night sometimes?
Read the following passage carefully and answer the questions that follow:
Every Monday, on his way back from work, Bipin Chowdhury would drop in at New Market to buy books. He had to buy at least five at a time to last him through the week. He lived alone, was not a good mixer, had few friends, and didn't like spending time in idle chat. Those who called in· the evening got through their business quickly and left. Those who didn't show signs of leaving would be told around eight o'clock by Bipin Babu that he was under doctor's orders to have dinner at eight-thirty. After dinner, he would rest for half an hour and then tum in with a book. This was a routine that had persisted unbroken for years
Today, Bipin Babu had the feeling that someone was observing him from close quarters. He turned around and found himself looking at a round-faced, meek-looking man who now broke into a smile.
"I don't suppose you recognize me." Bipin Babu felt ill at ease. It didn't seem that he had ever encountered this man before. The face seemed quite unfamiliar.
"Have we met before ?" asked Bipin Babu.
The man looked greatly surprised. "We met every day for a whole week. I arranged for a car to take you to the Hudroo falls. My name is Parimal Chose."
"Ranchi?"
Now Bipin Babu realized this man was making a mistake. Bipin Babu had never been to Ranchi. He smiled and said, "Do you know who I am?"
The man raised his eyebrows, and said, "Who doesn't know Bipin Chowdhury ?"
Bipin Babu turned towards the bookshelves and said, "You've to make a mistake. I've never been to Ranchi."
The man now laughed aloud.
"What are you saying, Mr. Chowdhury? You had a fall in Hudroo and cut your right knee. I brought you iodine. I had fixed up a car for you to go to Netarhat the next day, but you couldn't because of the pain in the knee. Can't you recall anything? Someone else you know was also in Ranchi at that time. Mr. Dinesh Mukherjee. You stayed in a bungalow. You said you didn't like hotel food. I'll tell you more; you always carried a bag with your books in it on your sightseeing trips. Am I right or not ?"
Bipin Babu spoke quietly, his eyes still on the books. "Which month in Nineteen fifty-eight are you talking about?"
The man said, "October."
"No, sir," said Bipin Babu. "I spent October Nineteen fifty-eight with a friend in Kanpur. You're making a mistake. Good day."
But the man didn't go, nor did he stop talking.
"Very strange. One evening I had tea with you on the verandah of your bungalow.
You spoke about your family. You said you had no children, and that you had lost your wife a decade ago."
When Bipin Babu had paid for the books and was leaving the shop, the man was still looking at him in utter disbelief.
Bipin Babu's car was safely parked in Bertram Street. He told the driver as he got into the car, "Just drive by the Ganga, will you, Sitaram." Driving up the Strand Road, Bipin Babu regretted having paid so much attention to the intn1der. He had never been to Ranchi. He had an excellent memory.
Unless he was losing his mind!
(a) Give the meaning of the following words as used in the passage.
One word answers or short phrases will be accepted.
(i) persisted (line 7)
(ii) decade (line 38)
(iii) intruder (line 43)
(b) Answer the following questions briefly in your our words:
(i) How did Bipin Chowdhury find time to read five books a week?
(ii) How did he get rid of visitors who stayed late?
(iii) Which sentence tells you that Bipin Babu will uncomfortable?
(iv) What strong argument did Bipin Babu give to prove that he was not in Ranchi at that time?
(v)What does Bipin Babu regret?
(vi) What is Bipin Babu's feelings at the end of the passage?
(c) (i) What memories of the trip does Parimal Ghose evoke to prove that Bipin Babu was indeed in Ranchi? Answer in not more than 60 words.
(ii) Give a title to your summary in 3(c) (i), Give a reason to justify your choice.
Describe the hermit in one or two sentences.
What were the remarks of two men on seeing Gopal in the market?
Author’s friend had taken out the parts of the bicycle easily, but he really had tough time fixing them Explain this with suitable example.
Why was Tilloo escorted back home?
Who oiled the motor?
What was the connection between the motor and the fan’s Chatter?
Discuss the question in pairs before you write the answer.
Who did he first choose as his master? Why did he leave that master?
Do you agree with what the poet says? Talk to your partner and complete these sentences.
(i) A house is made of ____________.
(ii) It has ____________.
(iii) A home is made by ____________.
(iv) It has ____________.
Read the following extract from Robert Browning's poem, “The Patriot” and answer the question that follows.
|
Alack, it was I who leaped at he sun To give it my loving friends to keep! Nought man could do, have I left undone: And you see my harvest, what I reap This very day, now a year is run. |
- What can you conclude of the Patriot's mood from the given lines?
Quote the line from the given extract which tells us that the Patriot did his utmost to satisfy his people? [3] - The last line of the extract suggests that a year has gone by.
How had the speaker been treated a year ago? [3] - How did the situation change a year later? Give details of his present state. [3]
- Why were only a ‘palsied few” onlookers seated at the windows?
‘Where had the other townspeople gone?‘Why had they gone there? [3] - How is the speaker's faith in God revealed at the end of the poem?
Do you think the poem ends on a note of hope or despair? Justify your answer. [4]
