Character Narrative Passage

Personal narrative
Personal narrative
• In this type of passage, the events prompt the narrator to reflect
within him or herself.
• Point of view: first-person
• While there might be other character, they are presented in relation
to how they affect the narrator, and the narrator’s commentary on
them will often reveal something about his or her perspective on life,
resulting in an indirect characterization of the narrator.
• One traditional and common form of the narrative essay is the
Reflective Essay.
• A Reflective Essay tells the story of a past experience, recalling how
the writer was involved and how the experience affected the writer at
the time; then reflects upon that experience from the present,
exploring how the writer feels about it now (e.g., why it still matters
to you, regrets, things you wish you’d done differently, why you are
glad for the experience, what you’ve learned that you still carry with
you, etc.)
Structure
The SAT personal/fictional narrative passages may
have some or all stages of the common narrative
structure, and simply adds the reflection along the
development of the story or at the end.
• exposition (setting the scene or context);
• narrative hook (introducing a potential problem or
conflict);
• conflict (the opposition of forces; what’s at stake);
• rising action (the story and conflict develops);
• climax (the critical moment; the height of conflict);
• resolution (how it all turns out).
• reflection (how you feel about it all now).
SAT Narrative Passage Analysis
• The common conflict or climax in this type of essay is usually to bring
about the change in the narrator’s or the protagonist’s attitude or
perspective.
• Pay attention to the effect of the setting, events, or other character
on the narrator/protagonist’s perspective.
Character/ Event Description Effect on narrator/protagonist’s
perspective
Example

Character/ Event Description Narrator/protagonist’s insight

As a child, the narrator watched
her mother happily cooked for
the family
Physical details of kitchen, mom
and daughter’s conversation,
description of the ingredients and
the smell of the final dish, family
meal
The narrator learned that love is
expressed through action (for
example cooking) - what you can
do for others
The passage explores the narrator’s development into a young adult through her relationship with her mother.
I clamber out of the bumble bee bus that chugs to a stop outside my house, run through the wide front door, and skid to a stop in the kitchen
where my mother stands waiting. She turns to me and follows the age-old tradition of asking how my first day of school was. As I settle down for
my afternoon snack, she begins to fill out all the school forms I've brought home - forms for emergency contact, lunch orders, PEA membership,
photo censorship, medical allowances, forms for individual teachers, the works.
"Mom?" I ask, wiping my chin clean of juice, "what's that blue paper for?"
She doesn't look up from her pen but replies in Chinese. "It's asking what allergies you have."
"I don't have any, right?"
"Right," she says and swiftly checks off a few more boxes before planting her sweeping signature on the bottom of the page.
"And this one?” I ask, peering user her shoulder. “It says …’ sibling ... age ... school…’ Are they asking about sis?““Mhm.”
"She's in fourth grade, right? I can't wait until I'm that old!"
"And then you can fill out these forms by yourself," she replies, switching to English, and gives me a smile.
I still remember that day, and the many more like it. When my mother gave me a look that made me wonder when I would grow up. At the time,
growing up seemed like an impossibility. The future was a dip in a road obscured by mist, while my mother was a more tangible presence that
stood next to me. It's weird, though, how soon you reach the dip and how quickly the mist disappears to reveal a new path.

Character/ Event Description Narrator/protagonist’s insight

Growing up
I still remember that day, and the many more like it. When my mother gave me a look that made me wonder when I would grow up. At
the time, growing up seemed like an impossibility. The future was a dip in a road obscured by mist, while my mother was a more tangible
presence that stood next to me. It's weird, though, how soon you reach the dip and how quickly the mist disappears to reveal a new path.

Character/ Event Description Narrator/protagonist’s insight

I push open the front door and walk into the kitchen where my mother sits in front of her computer, her brows arched in
frustration. I'm a high school student now and, with routine casualness, I sling my backpack onto an empty chair and walk
over to my mother.
"Back from school? Anyway, can you help me with this? I just can't understand what they're asking me."
Without a word, I commandeer my mother's computer and peruse her screen: she is inspecting an online questionnaire
from a hotel we've stayed at recently. “They're just asking us how our stay was, mom, things like room service quality."
"Oh well, can you fill it out for me?"
“But it's so simple, mom, they're just asking -"
“No no, I know, but you can fill it out for me."
Character/ Event Description Narrator/protagonist’s insight
The next day, she asks me to proofread an e-mail to a friend because her English grammar, in her opinion, is quite
deficient. The day after that, I am called to look over her resume so that she can find another job. A week later, I
help her answer questions at the customs office while we get our passports approved. When I get the annual
deluge of forms from school, my pen marks its way through all of them, leaving only the line at the bottom of each
page for a parent's signature. And one day, I muse, I'll be helping her sign that for me too.
It's a Chinese tradition, though, that when children grow up they must take care of their parents. It's a
responsibility that grows with the children; when you are very young, you are allowed to be innocent and ignorant
because you do not understand, but when you grow up and your mind widens, you must accept a series of new
revelations and responsibilities. My mother's brief moments of helplessness occasionally remind me of myself
when I was still in grade school, but maybe they're actually signs that she is growing even older. It’s a thought that I
can’t quite wrap my mind around yet, but I know that while she grows, I grow too. That’s why, when she asks me
for help, I habitually take a deep breath and reply in English, “Sure, I can fill out those forms for you.”

Character/ Event Description Narrator/protagonist’s insight

Growing up other elements
• Point of view:
• Setting:
• Theme:
• Literary technique: flashback, parallelism, simile/metaphor,
foreshadow
Some of the question types…
I clamber out of the bumble bee bus that chugs to a stop
outside my house, run through the wide front door, and skid
to a stop in the kitchen where my mother stands waiting. She
turns to me and follows the age-old tradition of asking how my
first day of school was. As I settle down for my afternoon
snack, she begins to fill out all the school forms I've brought
home - forms for emergency contact, lunch orders, PEA
membership, photo censorship, medical allowances, forms for
individual teachers, the works.
"Mom?" I ask, wiping my chin clean of juice, "what's that blue
paper for?"
She doesn't look up from her pen but replies in Chinese. "It's
asking what allergies you have."
"I don't have any, right?"
"Right," she says and swiftly checks off a few more boxes
before planting her sweeping signature on the bottom of the
page.
"And this one?” I ask, peering user her shoulder. “It says …’
sibling ... age ... school…’ Are they asking about sis?“
“Mhm.”
"She's in fourth grade, right? I can't wait until I'm that old!"
"And then you can fill out these forms by yourself," she replies,
switching to English, and gives me a smile.
I still remember that day, and the many more like it when my
mother gave me a look that made me wonder when I would
grow up. At the time, growing up seemed like an impossibility.
The future was a dip in a road obscured by
mist, while my mother was a more tangible presence that It's a Chinese tradition, though, that when children grow up
stood next to me. It's weird, though, how soon you reach the they must take care of their parents. It's a responsibility that
grows with the children; when you are very young, you are
dip and how quickly the mist disappears to reveal a new path.
allowed to be innocent and ignorant because you do not
I push open the front door and walk into the kitchen where understand, but when you grow up and your mind widens, you
my mother sits in front of her computer, her brows arched in must accept a series of new revelations and responsibilities.
frustration. I'm a high school student now and, with routine My mother's brief moments of helplessness occasionally
casualness, I sling my backpack onto an empty chair and walk remind me of myself when I was still in grade school, but
maybe they're actually signs that she is growing even older. It’s
over to my mother.
a thought that I can’t quite wrap my mind around yet, but I
"Back from school? Anyway, can you help me with this? I just know that while she grows, I grow too. That’s why, when she
can't understand what they're asking me." asks me for help, I habitually take a deep breath and reply in
English, “Sure, I can fill out those forms for you.”
Without a word, I commandeer my mother's computer and
peruse her screen: she is inspecting an online questionnaire
from a hotel we've stayed at recently. “They're just asking us
how our stay was, mom, things like room service quality."
[Summarizing]
"Oh well, can you fill it out for me?"
This passage can best be described as
“But it's so simple, mom, they're just asking -" A) a stirring recollection of a parent who is no longer
“No no, I know, but you can fill it out for me." part of the narrator's life.
B) an account of the psychological pressures facing
The next day, she asks me to proofread an e-mail to a friend
Asian-American students.
because her English grammar, in her opinion, is quite
C) a rumination on the nature of a particular family
deficient. The day after that, I am called to look over her
responsibility.
resume so that she can find another job. A week later, I help
D) a discussion of the dangers that individual desires
her answer questions at the customs office while we get our pose to traditional family structures.
passports approved. When I get the annual deluge of forms
from school, my pen marks its way through all of them,
leaving only the line at the bottom of each page for a parent's
signature. And one day, I muse, I'll be helping her sign that for
me too.
I clamber out of the bumble bee bus that chugs to a stop
outside my house, run through the wide front door, and skid
to a stop in the kitchen where my mother stands waiting. She
turns to me and follows the age-old tradition of asking how
my first day of school was. As I settle down for my afternoon
snack, she begins to fill out all the school forms I've brought
home - forms for emergency contact, lunch orders, PEA
membership, photo censorship, medical allowances, forms
for individual teachers, the works.
"Mom?" I ask, wiping my chin clean of juice, "what's that
blue paper for?"
She doesn't look up from her pen but replies in Chinese. "It's
asking what allergies you have."
"I don't have any, right?"
"Right," she says and swiftly checks off a few more boxes
before planting her sweeping signature on the bottom of the
page.
"And this one?” I ask, peering user her shoulder. “It says …’
sibling ... age ... school…’ Are they asking about sis?“
“Mhm.”
"She's in fourth grade, right? I can't wait until I'm that old!"
"And then you can fill out these forms by yourself," she
replies, switching to English, and gives me a smile.
I still remember that day, and the many more like it when my
mother gave me a look that made me wonder when I would
grow up. At the time, growing up seemed like an impossibility.
The future was a dip in a road obscured by
mist, while my mother was a more tangible presence that
stood next to me. It's weird, though, how soon you reach the
dip and how quickly the mist disappears to reveal a new path.
I push open the front door and walk into the kitchen where
my mother sits in front of her computer, her brows arched in
frustration. I'm a high school student now and, with routine
casualness, I sling my backpack onto an empty chair and walk
over to my mother.
"Back from school? Anyway, can you help me with this? I just
can't understand what they're asking me."
Without a word, I commandeer my mother's computer and
peruse her screen: she is inspecting an online questionnaire
from a hotel we've stayed at recently. “They're just asking us
how our stay was, mom, things like room service quality."
"Oh well, can you fill it out for me?"
“But it's so simple, mom, they're just asking -"
“No no, I know, but you can fill it out for me."
The next day, she asks me to proofread an e-mail to a friend
because her English grammar, in her opinion, is quite
deficient. The day after that, I am called to look over her
resume so that she can find another job. A week later, I help
her answer questions at the customs office while we get our
passports approved. When I get the annual deluge of forms
from school, my pen marks its way through all of them,
leaving only the line at the bottom of each page for a parent's
signature. And one day, I muse, I'll be helping her sign that for
me too.
It's a Chinese tradition, though, that when children grow up
they must take care of their parents. It's a responsibility that
grows with the children; when you are very young, you are
allowed to be innocent and ignorant because you do not
understand, but when you grow up and your mind widens, you
must accept a series of new revelations and responsibilities.
My mother's brief moments of helplessness occasionally
remind me of myself when I was still in grade school, but
maybe they're actually signs that she is growing even older. It’s
a thought that I can’t quite wrap my mind around yet, but I
know that while she grows, I grow too. That’s why, when she
asks me for help, I habitually take a deep breath and reply in
English, “Sure, I can fill out those forms for you.”
[Close reading]
When the narrator initially brings home school-related
papers (line 1 – 24), she is
A) curious about the purposes served by the forms.
B) oblivious to the stress the forms bring her mother.
C) intrusive in demanding that her mother read the
forms for her.
D) puzzled that her mother does not know sufficient
English to fill out the forms.
I clamber out of the bumble bee bus that chugs to a stop
outside my house, run through the wide front door, and skid
to a stop in the kitchen where my mother stands waiting. She
turns to me and follows the age-old tradition of asking how my
first day of school was. As I settle down for my afternoon
snack, she begins to fill out all the school forms I've brought
home - forms for emergency contact, lunch orders, PEA
membership, photo censorship, medical allowances, forms for
individual teachers, the works.
"Mom?" I ask, wiping my chin clean of juice, "what's that blue
paper for?"
She doesn't look up from her pen but replies in Chinese. "It's
asking what allergies you have."
"I don't have any, right?"
"Right," she says and swiftly checks off a few more boxes
before planting her sweeping signature on the bottom of the
page.
"And this one?” I ask, peering user her shoulder. “It says …’
sibling ... age ... school…’ Are they asking about sis?“
“Mhm.”
"She's in fourth grade, right? I can't wait until I'm that old!"
"And then you can fill out these forms by yourself," she
replies, switching to English, and gives me a smile.
I still remember that day, and the many more like it when my
mother gave me a look that made me wonder when I would
grow up. At the time, growing up seemed like an impossibility.
The future was a dip in a road obscured by
mist, while my mother was a more tangible presence that It's a Chinese tradition, though, that when children grow up
stood next to me. It's weird, though, how soon you reach the they must take care of their parents. It's a responsibility that
grows with the children; when you are very young, you are
dip and how quickly the mist disappears to reveal a new path.
allowed to be innocent and ignorant because you do not
I push open the front door and walk into the kitchen where understand, but when you grow up and your mind widens, you
my mother sits in front of her computer, her brows arched in must accept a series of new revelations and responsibilities.
frustration. I'm a high school student now and, with routine My mother's brief moments of helplessness occasionally
casualness, I sling my backpack onto an empty chair and walk remind me of myself when I was still in grade school, but
maybe they're actually signs that she is growing even older. It’s
over to my mother.
a thought that I can’t quite wrap my mind around yet, but I
"Back from school? Anyway, can you help me with this? I just know that while she grows, I grow too. That’s why, when she
can't understand what they're asking me." asks me for help, I habitually take a deep breath and reply in
English, “Sure, I can fill out those forms for you.”
Without a word, I commandeer my mother's computer and
peruse her screen: she is inspecting an online questionnaire
from a hotel we've stayed at recently. “They're just asking us
how our stay was, mom, things like room service quality." [Technique]
"Oh well, can you fill it out for me?" The mother's remark about fourth grade in line 23 can
best be described as
“But it's so simple, mom, they're just asking -"
A) foreshadowing.
“No no, I know, but you can fill it out for me." B) threatening.
The next day, she asks me to proofread an e-mail to a friend C) apologetic.
D) admonishing.
because her English grammar, in her opinion, is quite
deficient. The day after that, I am called to look over her
resume so that she can find another job. A week later, I help
her answer questions at the customs office while we get our
passports approved. When I get the annual deluge of forms
from school, my pen marks its way through all of them,
leaving only the line at the bottom of each page for a parent's
signature. And one day, I muse, I'll be helping her sign that for
me too.
I clamber out of the bumble bee bus that chugs to a stop
outside my house, run through the wide front door, and skid
to a stop in the kitchen where my mother stands waiting. She
turns to me and follows the age-old tradition of asking how my
first day of school was. As I settle down for my afternoon
snack, she begins to fill out all the school forms I've brought
home - forms for emergency contact, lunch orders, PEA
membership, photo censorship, medical allowances, forms for
individual teachers, the works.
"Mom?" I ask, wiping my chin clean of juice, "what's that blue
paper for?"
She doesn't look up from her pen but replies in Chinese. "It's
asking what allergies you have."
"I don't have any, right?"
"Right," she says and swiftly checks off a few more boxes
before planting her sweeping signature on the bottom of the
page.
"And this one?” I ask, peering user her shoulder. “It says …’
sibling ... age ... school…’ Are they asking about sis?“
“Mhm.”
"She's in fourth grade, right? I can't wait until I'm that old!"
"And then you can fill out these forms by yourself," she replies,
switching to English, and gives me a smile.
I still remember that day, and the many more like it when my
mother gave me a look that made me wonder when I would
grow up. At the time, growing up seemed like an impossibility.
The future was a dip in a road obscured by
mist, while my mother was a more tangible presence
that stood next to me. It's weird, though, how soon you
reach the dip and how quickly the mist disappears to
reveal a new path.
I push open the front door and walk into the kitchen
where my mother sits in front of her computer, her
brows arched in frustration. I'm a high school student
now and, with routine casualness, I sling my backpack
onto an empty chair and walk over to my mother.
"Back from school? Anyway, can you help me with this? I
just can't understand what they're asking me."
Without a word, I commandeer my mother's computer
and peruse her screen: she is inspecting an online
questionnaire from a hotel we've stayed at recently.
“They're just asking us how our stay was, mom, things
like room service quality."
"Oh well, can you fill it out for me?"
“But it's so simple, mom, they're just asking -"
“No no, I know, but you can fill it out for me."
The next day, she asks me to proofread an e-mail to a
friend because her English grammar, in her opinion, is
quite deficient. The day after that, I am called to look
over her resume so that she can find another job. A week
later, I help her answer questions at the customs office
while we get our passports approved. When I get the
annual deluge of forms from school, my pen marks its
way through all of them, leaving only the line at the
bottom of each page for a parent's signature. And one
day, I muse, I'll be helping her sign that for me too.
It's a Chinese tradition, though, that when children grow up
they must take care of their parents. It's a responsibility that
grows with the children; when you are very young, you are
allowed to be innocent and ignorant because you do not
understand, but when you grow up and your mind widens, you
must accept a series of new revelations and responsibilities.
My mother's brief moments of helplessness occasionally
remind me of myself when I was still in grade school, but
maybe they're actually signs that she is growing even older. It’s
a thought that I can’t quite wrap my mind around yet, but I
know that while she grows, I grow too. That’s why, when she
asks me for help, I habitually take a deep breath and reply in
English, “Sure, I can fill out those forms for you.”
[Close Reading]
The "dip" discussed in lines 28 and 31 expresses the
author's sense that growing up
A) is a descent into an unpleasant world of
responsibilities and hardship.
B) seems too distant to be real until one actually grows
up.
C) can change one's life instantly and irrevocably.
D) requires a period of confusion followed by steady
advancement.
I clamber out of the bumble bee bus that chugs to a stop
outside my house, run through the wide front door, and skid
to a stop in the kitchen where my mother stands waiting. She
turns to me and follows the age-old tradition of asking how my
first day of school was. As I settle down for my afternoon
snack, she begins to fill out all the school forms I've brought
home - forms for emergency contact, lunch orders, PEA
membership, photo censorship, medical allowances, forms for
individual teachers, the works.
"Mom?" I ask, wiping my chin clean of juice, "what's that blue
paper for?"
She doesn't look up from her pen but replies in Chinese. "It's
asking what allergies you have."
"I don't have any, right?"
"Right," she says and swiftly checks off a few more boxes
before planting her sweeping signature on the bottom of the
page.
"And this one?” I ask, peering user her shoulder. “It says …’
sibling ... age ... school…’ Are they asking about sis?“
“Mhm.”
"She's in fourth grade, right? I can't wait until I'm that old!"
"And then you can fill out these forms by yourself," she replies,
switching to English, and gives me a smile.
I still remember that day, and the many more like it when my
mother gave me a look that made me wonder when I would
grow up. At the time, growing up seemed like an impossibility.
The future was a dip in a road obscured by
mist, while my mother was a more tangible presence that
stood next to me. It's weird, though, how soon you reach the
dip and how quickly the mist disappears to reveal a new path.
I push open the front door and walk into the kitchen where
my mother sits in front of her computer, her brows arched in
frustration. I'm a high school student now and, with routine
casualness, I sling my backpack onto an empty chair and walk
over to my mother.
"Back from school? Anyway, can you help me with this? I just
can't understand what they're asking me."
Without a word, I commandeer my mother's computer and
peruse her screen: she is inspecting an online questionnaire
from a hotel we've stayed at recently. “They're just asking us
how our stay was, mom, things like room service quality."
"Oh well, can you fill it out for me?"
“But it's so simple, mom, they're just asking -"
“No no, I know, but you can fill it out for me."
The next day, she asks me to proofread an e-mail to a friend
because her English grammar, in her opinion, is quite
deficient. The day after that, I am called to look over her
resume so that she can find another job. A week later, I help
her answer questions at the customs office while we get our
passports approved. When I get the annual deluge of forms
from school, my pen marks its way through all of them,
leaving only the line at the bottom of each page for a parent's
signature. And one day, I muse, I'll be helping her sign that for
me too.
It's a Chinese tradition, though, that when children grow up
they must take care of their parents. It's a responsibility that
grows with the children; when you are very young, you are
allowed to be innocent and ignorant because you do not
understand, but when you grow up and your mind widens, you
must accept a series of new revelations and responsibilities.
My mother's brief moments of helplessness occasionally
remind me of myself when I was still in grade school, but
maybe they're actually signs that she is growing even older. It’s
a thought that I can’t quite wrap my mind around yet, but I
know that while she grows, I grow too. That’s why, when she
asks me for help, I habitually take a deep breath and reply in
English, “Sure, I can fill out those forms for you.”
[Inference & Evidence]
It can be inferred from the passage that the narrator's
role in helping her mother fill out forms is
A) a purely sentimental means of expressing her love
for her mother.
B) a service which may become requested even more
often as time passes.
C) an irritating intervention in her mother's affairs,
D) a clever way of avoiding more pressing obligations
within her family.
Which choice provides the best evidence for the answer
to the previous question?
E) Lines 25-28 ("I still ... impossibility")
F) Lines 47-49 (“The next ... deficient')
G) Lines 52-55 ("When I ... too")
H) Lines 66-68 ("That's why ... you")
I clamber out of the bumble bee bus that chugs to a stop
outside my house, run through the wide front door, and skid
to a stop in the kitchen where my mother stands waiting. She
turns to me and follows the age-old tradition of asking how my
first day of school was. As I settle down for my afternoon
snack, she begins to fill out all the school forms I've brought
home - forms for emergency contact, lunch orders, PEA
membership, photo censorship, medical allowances, forms for
individual teachers, the works.
"Mom?" I ask, wiping my chin clean of juice, "what's that blue
paper for?"
She doesn't look up from her pen but replies in Chinese. "It's
asking what allergies you have."
"I don't have any, right?"
"Right," she says and swiftly checks off a few more boxes
before planting her sweeping signature on the bottom of the
page.
"And this one?” I ask, peering user her shoulder. “It says …’
sibling ... age ... school…’ Are they asking about sis?“
“Mhm.”
"She's in fourth grade, right? I can't wait until I'm that old!"
"And then you can fill out these forms by yourself," she replies,
switching to English, and gives me a smile.
I still remember that day, and the many more like it when my
mother gave me a look that made me wonder when I would
grow up. At the time, growing up seemed like an impossibility.
The future was a dip in a road obscured by
mist, while my mother was a more tangible presence that
stood next to me. It's weird, though, how soon you reach the
dip and how quickly the mist disappears to reveal a new path.
I push open the front door and walk into the kitchen where
my mother sits in front of her computer, her brows arched in
frustration. I'm a high school student now and, with routine
casualness, I sling my backpack onto an empty chair and walk
over to my mother.
"Back from school? Anyway, can you help me with this? I just
can't understand what they're asking me."
Without a word, I commandeer my mother's computer and
peruse her screen: she is inspecting an online questionnaire
from a hotel we've stayed at recently. “They're just asking us
how our stay was, mom, things like room service quality."
"Oh well, can you fill it out for me?"
“But it's so simple, mom, they're just asking -"
“No no, I know, but you can fill it out for me."
The next day, she asks me to proofread an e-mail to a friend
because her English grammar, in her opinion, is quite
deficient. The day after that, I am called to look over her
resume so that she can find another job. A week later, I help
her answer questions at the customs office while we get our
passports approved. When I get the annual deluge of forms
from school, my pen marks its way through all of them,
leaving only the line at the bottom of each page for a parent's
signature. And one day, I muse, I'll be helping her sign that for
me too.
It's a Chinese tradition, though, that when children grow up
they must take care of their parents. It's a responsibility that
grows with the children; when you are very young, you are
allowed to be innocent and ignorant because you do not
understand, but when you grow up and your mind widens, you
must accept a series of new revelations and responsibilities.
My mother's brief moments of helplessness occasionally
remind me of myself when I was still in grade school, but
maybe they're actually signs that she is growing even older. It’s
a thought that I can’t quite wrap my mind around yet, but I
know that while she grows, I grow too. That’s why, when she
asks me for help, I habitually take a deep breath and reply in
English, “Sure, I can fill out those forms for you.”
[Inference & Evidence]
The narrator views her duties to her mother as
A) an unfair burden that she wishes to relinquish.
B) an affectionate gesture motivated by the unique
relationship she shares with her mother.
C) an occasion for reflection on the nature of maturity.
D) an unnecessary but well-known custom that she
maintains out of nostalgia.
Which choice provides the best evidence for the answer
to the previous question?
E) Lines 5-9 ("As I settle works")
F) Lines 44-46 ("Oh well ... me”)
G) Lines 56-57 ("It's a Chinese ... their parents”)
H) Lines 61-64 (“My mother's ... Older”)
Fictional narrative
• Fictional narrative has the same structure and content as personal
narrative, except for point of view is third-person, instead of first-
person.
 Eleanora closed the front door and stood with her back
against it. Outside, she heard the hoofbeats of Lars' horse and
the slick sound of his sleigh's runners on the snow-covered
ground.
After tonight, she had no doubt that Lars intended to ask for
her hand. He had kissed her as they sat in the sleigh behind
Peterson's general store, watching the stars.
She had let him kiss her. knowing that it was something they
should only be doing if they were betrothed. But she had no
fear. Lars was reliable. She had the feeling that he intended to
propose tonight, except that she had interrupted him,
complaining that her feet were getting cold.
They weren't actually any colder than they had been for the
last half hour. She just hadn't wanted to have him ask her. Not
yet.
Was that foolish of her? She was eighteen now and it was
high time she started to raise a family. Most of her friends
already had, or were planning to marry that summer.
Except Agnes. Agnes had surprised everyone by going to
America. By herself. She hadn't even told Eleanora, her best
friend, what she had been planning.
Agnes had always been different. Her mother had died when
Agnes was only three. Ever since, her father had complained
about the expense of raising a girl who would never be able to
do a man's work on the farm.
He wouldn't miss Agnes. thought Eleanora. Then she smiled.
Agnes wouldn't miss him either.
Just today, Eleanora had received a letter from Agnes. It was
a surprise to see her neat handwriting on the
envelope. Eleanora put her hand inside her purse, touching
the letter. She had carried it all day long, reading it over and
over.
Agnes had a job working as a maid in a wealthy family's
home. She had her own room in the house and took her
meals there, too. So she could save practically everything she
earned.
"You wouldn't believe how many buildings there are here,"
Agnes had written. "And there are so many wagons and cans
going from place to place. Everybody moves so fast. But it's so
much fun. It seems like nobody goes to bed until ten o'clock
or even later! There's something happening all the time."
Agnes liked that, Eleanora knew. Something so happening all
the time. She was always restless here in Skara, where you
had to go to bed early because work started before the sun
came up.
What would it be like to live there, Eleanora wondered. She
had some money saved from selling needlework. If only...
Eleanora noticed that Mama had left a lamp burning in the
parlor. She went to turn it out, and was surprised to find
Mama there, knitting socks, even though the church bell had
already struck so eight.
Mama gave her a look, and at first Eleanora feared she
might give her a scolding. It was awfully late to be out.
Instead, Mama asked, "Did you and Lars have a good time?"
"Oh, yes," Eleanora answered. She didn't want to tell Mama
about the kiss.
After a moment. Mama said, "He didn't say anything you'd
want to tell me?"
Eleanora shook her head. "No, Mama. Not yet. But he will. You
know Lars. He's reliable."
Mama nodded. "He's a good young man," she said. "But you
shouldn't let him become too familiar unless..." She trailed off,
but Eleanora knew what she meant.
"By the way," Mama continued, "you didn't let me read the
letter that came from Agnes."
Eleanora took off her coat and sat down by the fireplace. "Oh,
I threw it away. Mama. She just said some silly things. Nothing
you'd be interested in."
Mama put her knitting in a bag and stood up. "I'm going to
bed," she said. "You'd better not stay up much later."
“I won't, Mama," said Eleanora. "I just want to sit by the fire
and warm up."
Mama left and Eleanora looked into the remnants of the logs
that would soon burn out. She took the letter from her purse
and dropped it into the fire. It blazed up.
Lars was reliable. Next time she would let him ask.
1. Which of the following best captures what happens in the
passage?
A) A young woman goes on a date.
B) A young woman is influenced by a letter.
C) A young woman deceives her mother.
D) A young woman reaches a decision.
2. Over the course of the passage, the main focus of the
narrative shifts from
A) Eleanora's indecision to her decision.
B) Lars proposing marriage to Eleanora's deciding to accept.
C) Eleanora's kissing Lars to her concealing it from her mother.
D) Eleanora's refusing to marry Lars to her changing her mind.
 Eleanora closed the front door and stood with her back
against it. Outside, she heard the hoofbeats of Lars' horse and
the slick sound of his sleigh's runners on the snow-covered
ground.
After tonight, she had no doubt that Lars intended to ask for
her hand. He had kissed her as they sat in the sleigh behind
Peterson's general store, watching the stars.
She had let him kiss her. knowing that it was something they
should only be doing if they were betrothed. But she had no
fear. Lars was reliable. She had the feeling that he intended to
propose tonight, except that she had interrupted him,
complaining that her feet were getting cold.
They weren't actually any colder than they had been for the
last half hour. She just hadn't wanted to have him ask her. Not
yet.
Was that foolish of her? She was eighteen now and it was
high time she started to raise a family. Most of her friends
already had, or were planning to marry that summer.
Except Agnes. Agnes had surprised everyone by going to
America. By herself. She hadn't even told Eleanora, her best
friend, what she had been planning.
Agnes had always been different. Her mother had died when
Agnes was only three. Ever since, her father had complained
about the expense of raising a girl who would never be able to
do a man's work on the farm.
He wouldn't miss Agnes. thought Eleanora. Then she smiled.
Agnes wouldn't miss him either.
Just today, Eleanora had received a letter from Agnes. It was
a surprise to see her neat handwriting on the
envelope. Eleanora put her hand inside her purse, touching
the letter. She had carried it all day long, reading it over and
over.
Agnes had a job working as a maid in a wealthy family's
home. She had her own room in the house and took her
meals there, too. So she could save practically everything she
earned.
"You wouldn't believe how many buildings there are here,"
Agnes had written. "And there are so many wagons and cans
going from place to place. Everybody moves so fast. But it's so
much fun. It seems like nobody goes to bed until ten o'clock
or even later! There's something happening all the time."
Agnes liked that, Eleanora knew. Something so happening all
the time. She was always restless here in Skara, where you
had to go to bed early because work started before the sun
came up.
What would it be like to live there, Eleanora wondered. She
had some money saved from selling needlework. If only...
Eleanora noticed that Mama had left a lamp burning in the
parlor. She went to turn it out, and was surprised to find
Mama there, knitting socks, even though the church bell had
already struck so eight.
Mama gave her a look, and at first Eleanora feared she
might give her a scolding. It was awfully late to be out.
Instead, Mama asked, "Did you and Lars have a good time?"
"Oh, yes," Eleanora answered. She didn't want to tell Mama
about the kiss.
After a moment. Mama said, "He didn't say anything you'd
want to tell me?"
Eleanora shook her head. "No, Mama. Not yet. But he will. You
know Lars. He's reliable."
Mama nodded. "He's a good young man," she said. "But you
shouldn't let him become too familiar unless..." She trailed off,
but Eleanora knew what she meant.
"By the way," Mama continued, "you didn't let me read the
letter that came from Agnes."
Eleanora took off her coat and sat down by the fireplace. "Oh,
I threw it away. Mama. She just said some silly things. Nothing
you'd be interested in."
Mama put her knitting in a bag and stood up. "I'm going to
bed," she said. "You'd better not stay up much later."
“I won't, Mama," said Eleanora. "I just want to sit by the fire
and warm up."
Mama left and Eleanora looked into the remnants of the logs
that would soon burn out. She took the letter from her purse
and dropped it into the fire. It blazed up.
Lars was reliable. Next time she would let him ask.
3. The passage implies that Eleanora may best be thought of as
A) an envious friend.
B) a devoted daughter.
C) an undecided young woman.
D) an impatient girlfriend.
4. The narrator frequently describes Lars as "reliable" (lines 11,
71, 91). In this context, the word is most likely meant to convey
the idea that Lars is
A) punctual.
B) a diligent worker.
C) honorable.
D) not easily dissuaded.
 Eleanora closed the front door and stood with her back
against it. Outside, she heard the hoofbeats of Lars' horse and
the slick sound of his sleigh's runners on the snow-covered
ground.
After tonight, she had no doubt that Lars intended to ask for
her hand. He had kissed her as they sat in the sleigh behind
Peterson's general store, watching the stars.
She had let him kiss her. knowing that it was something they
should only be doing if they were betrothed. But she had no
fear. Lars was reliable. She had the feeling that he intended to
propose tonight, except that she had interrupted him,
complaining that her feet were getting cold.
They weren't actually any colder than they had been for the
last half hour. She just hadn't wanted to have him ask her. Not
yet.
Was that foolish of her? She was eighteen now and it was
high time she started to raise a family. Most of her friends
already had, or were planning to marry that summer.
Except Agnes. Agnes had surprised everyone by going to
America. By herself. She hadn't even told Eleanora, her best
friend, what she had been planning.
Agnes had always been different. Her mother had died when
Agnes was only three. Ever since, her father had complained
about the expense of raising a girl who would never be able to
do a man's work on the farm.
He wouldn't miss Agnes. thought Eleanora. Then she smiled.
Agnes wouldn't miss him either.
Just today, Eleanora had received a letter from Agnes. It was
a surprise to see her neat handwriting on the
envelope. Eleanora put her hand inside her purse, touching
the letter. She had carried it all day long, reading it over and
over.
Agnes had a job working as a maid in a wealthy family's
home. She had her own room in the house and took her
meals there, too. So she could save practically everything she
earned.
"You wouldn't believe how many buildings there are here,"
Agnes had written. "And there are so many wagons and cans
going from place to place. Everybody moves so fast. But it's so
much fun. It seems like nobody goes to bed until ten o'clock
or even later! There's something happening all the time."
Agnes liked that, Eleanora knew. Something so happening all
the time. She was always restless here in Skara, where you
had to go to bed early because work started before the sun
came up.
What would it be like to live there, Eleanora wondered. She
had some money saved from selling needlework. If only...
Eleanora noticed that Mama had left a lamp burning in the
parlor. She went to turn it out, and was surprised to find
Mama there, knitting socks, even though the church bell had
already struck so eight.
Mama gave her a look, and at first Eleanora feared she
might give her a scolding. It was awfully late to be out.
Instead, Mama asked, "Did you and Lars have a good time?"
"Oh, yes," Eleanora answered. She didn't want to tell Mama
about the kiss.
After a moment. Mama said, "He didn't say anything you'd
want to tell me?"
Eleanora shook her head. "No, Mama. Not yet. But he will. You
know Lars. He's reliable."
Mama nodded. "He's a good young man," she said. "But you
shouldn't let him become too familiar unless..." She trailed off,
but Eleanora knew what she meant.
"By the way," Mama continued, "you didn't let me read the
letter that came from Agnes."
Eleanora took off her coat and sat down by the fireplace. "Oh,
I threw it away. Mama. She just said some silly things. Nothing
you'd be interested in."
Mama put her knitting in a bag and stood up. "I'm going to
bed," she said. "You'd better not stay up much later."
“I won't, Mama," said Eleanora. "I just want to sit by the fire
and warm up."
Mama left and Eleanora looked into the remnants of the logs
that would soon burn out. She took the letter from her purse
and dropped it into the fire. It blazed up.
Lars was reliable. Next time she would let him ask.
5. Based on the passage, which choice most nearly describes the
difference between Eleanora and Agnes?
A) Eleanora has a better relationship with her father than Agnes
does.
B) Eleanora does not have as strong a work ethic as Agnes.
C) Eleanora has a stronger sense of duty than Agnes does.
D) Eleanora is more flighty than Agnes.
6. The main purpose of lines 42-48 (“You wouldn't… time") is to
show how
A) different Agnes' life was in America
B) many people lived in Agnes new home
C) shallow life in America seemed to Eleanora.
D) much money Agnes was saving
 Eleanora closed the front door and stood with her back
against it. Outside, she heard the hoofbeats of Lars' horse and
the slick sound of his sleigh's runners on the snow-covered
ground.
After tonight, she had no doubt that Lars intended to ask for
her hand. He had kissed her as they sat in the sleigh behind
Peterson's general store, watching the stars.
She had let him kiss her. knowing that it was something they
should only be doing if they were betrothed. But she had no
fear. Lars was reliable. She had the feeling that he intended to
propose tonight, except that she had interrupted him,
complaining that her feet were getting cold.
They weren't actually any colder than they had been for the
last half hour. She just hadn't wanted to have him ask her. Not
yet.
Was that foolish of her? She was eighteen now and it was
high time she started to raise a family. Most of her friends
already had, or were planning to marry that summer.
Except Agnes. Agnes had surprised everyone by going to
America. By herself. She hadn't even told Eleanora, her best
friend, what she had been planning.
Agnes had always been different. Her mother had died when
Agnes was only three. Ever since, her father had complained
about the expense of raising a girl who would never be able to
do a man's work on the farm.
He wouldn't miss Agnes. thought Eleanora. Then she smiled.
Agnes wouldn't miss him either.
Just today, Eleanora had received a letter from Agnes. It was
a surprise to see her neat handwriting on the
envelope. Eleanora put her hand inside her purse, touching
the letter. She had carried it all day long, reading it over and
over.
Agnes had a job working as a maid in a wealthy family's
home. She had her own room in the house and took her
meals there, too. So she could save practically everything she
earned.
"You wouldn't believe how many buildings there are here,"
Agnes had written. "And there are so many wagons and cans
going from place to place. Everybody moves so fast. But it's so
much fun. It seems like nobody goes to bed until ten o'clock
or even later! There's something happening all the time."
Agnes liked that, Eleanora knew. Something so happening all
the time. She was always restless here in Skara, where you
had to go to bed early because work started before the sun
came up.
What would it be like to live there, Eleanora wondered. She
had some money saved from selling needlework. If only...
Eleanora noticed that Mama had left a lamp burning in the
parlor. She went to turn it out, and was surprised to find
Mama there, knitting socks, even though the church bell had
already struck so eight.
Mama gave her a look, and at first Eleanora feared she
might give her a scolding. It was awfully late to be out.
Instead, Mama asked, "Did you and Lars have a good time?"
"Oh, yes," Eleanora answered. She didn't want to tell Mama
about the kiss.
After a moment. Mama said, "He didn't say anything you'd
want to tell me?"
Eleanora shook her head. "No, Mama. Not yet. But he will. You
know Lars. He's reliable."
Mama nodded. "He's a good young man," she said. "But you
shouldn't let him become too familiar unless..." She trailed off,
but Eleanora knew what she meant.
"By the way," Mama continued, "you didn't let me read the
letter that came from Agnes."
Eleanora took off her coat and sat down by the fireplace. "Oh,
I threw it away. Mama. She just said some silly things. Nothing
you'd be interested in."
Mama put her knitting in a bag and stood up. "I'm going to
bed," she said. "You'd better not stay up much later."
“I won't, Mama," said Eleanora. "I just want to sit by the fire
and warm up."
Mama left and Eleanora looked into the remnants of the logs
that would soon burn out. She took the letter from her purse
and dropped it into the fire. It blazed up.
Lars was reliable. Next time she would let him ask.
7. The passage most strongly suggests that Eleanora
A) is deeply in love with Lars.
B) thinks Agnes has made a foolish decision
C) considers going to America herself
D) feels sorry for Agnes.
8. Which choice provides the best evidence for the answer to the
previous question?
A) Lines 22-23 ("Except Agnes...planning)
B) Lines 38-41 (“Agnes had...earned')
C) Lines 53-55 ("What would...only")
D) Lines 91-92 ("Lars was… ask")
 Eleanora closed the front door and stood with her back
against it. Outside, she heard the hoofbeats of Lars' horse and
the slick sound of his sleigh's runners on the snow-covered
ground.
After tonight, she had no doubt that Lars intended to ask for
her hand. He had kissed her as they sat in the sleigh behind
Peterson's general store, watching the stars.
She had let him kiss her. knowing that it was something they
should only be doing if they were betrothed. But she had no
fear. Lars was reliable. She had the feeling that he intended to
propose tonight, except that she had interrupted him,
complaining that her feet were getting cold.
They weren't actually any colder than they had been for the
last half hour. She just hadn't wanted to have him ask her. Not
yet.
Was that foolish of her? She was eighteen now and it was
high time she started to raise a family. Most of her friends
already had, or were planning to marry that summer.
Except Agnes. Agnes had surprised everyone by going to
America. By herself. She hadn't even told Eleanora, her best
friend, what she had been planning.
Agnes had always been different. Her mother had died when
Agnes was only three. Ever since, her father had complained
about the expense of raising a girl who would never be able to
do a man's work on the farm.
He wouldn't miss Agnes. thought Eleanora. Then she smiled.
Agnes wouldn't miss him either.
Just today, Eleanora had received a letter from Agnes. It was
a surprise to see her neat handwriting on the
envelope. Eleanora put her hand inside her purse, touching
the letter. She had carried it all day long, reading it over and
over.
Agnes had a job working as a maid in a wealthy family's
home. She had her own room in the house and took her
meals there, too. So she could save practically everything she
earned.
"You wouldn't believe how many buildings there are here,"
Agnes had written. "And there are so many wagons and cans
going from place to place. Everybody moves so fast. But it's so
much fun. It seems like nobody goes to bed until ten o'clock
or even later! There's something happening all the time."
Agnes liked that, Eleanora knew. Something so happening all
the time. She was always restless here in Skara, where you
had to go to bed early because work started before the sun
came up.
What would it be like to live there, Eleanora wondered. She
had some money saved from selling needlework. If only...
Eleanora noticed that Mama had left a lamp burning in the
parlor. She went to turn it out, and was surprised to find
Mama there, knitting socks, even though the church bell had
already struck so eight.
Mama gave her a look, and at first Eleanora feared she
might give her a scolding. It was awfully late to be out.
Instead, Mama asked, "Did you and Lars have a good time?"
"Oh, yes," Eleanora answered. She didn't want to tell Mama
about the kiss.
After a moment. Mama said, "He didn't say anything you'd
want to tell me?"
Eleanora shook her head. "No, Mama. Not yet. But he will. You
know Lars. He's reliable."
Mama nodded. "He's a good young man," she said. "But you
shouldn't let him become too familiar unless..." She trailed off,
but Eleanora knew what she meant.
"By the way," Mama continued, "you didn't let me read the
letter that came from Agnes."
Eleanora took off her coat and sat down by the fireplace. "Oh,
I threw it away. Mama. She just said some silly things. Nothing
you'd be interested in."
Mama put her knitting in a bag and stood up. "I'm going to
bed," she said. "You'd better not stay up much later."
“I won't, Mama," said Eleanora. "I just want to sit by the fire
and warm up."
Mama left and Eleanora looked into the remnants of the logs
that would soon burn out. She took the letter from her purse
and dropped it into the fire. It blazed up.
Lars was reliable. Next time she would let him ask.
9. The passage most strongly suggests that Eleanora's mother
waited up for her because
A) She wanted to see the letter from Agnes.
B) She expected that Lars might have asked Eleanora to many him.
C) She didn't like Eleanora staying out so late.
D) She worried that Eleanora would go to America.
10 Which choice provides the best support for the answer to the
previous question?
A) Lines 57-60 ("She went...eight")
B) Lines 61-63 ("Mama gave...out")
C) Lines 68-69 (After a... me")
D) Lines 76-77 ("By the... Agnes”)
 Eleanora closed the front door and stood with her back
against it. Outside, she heard the hoofbeats of Lars' horse and
the slick sound of his sleigh's runners on the snow-covered
ground.
After tonight, she had no doubt that Lars intended to ask for
her hand. He had kissed her as they sat in the sleigh behind
Peterson's general store, watching the stars.
She had let him kiss her. knowing that it was something they
should only be doing if they were betrothed. But she had no
fear. Lars was reliable. She had the feeling that he intended to
propose tonight, except that she had interrupted him,
complaining that her feet were getting cold.
They weren't actually any colder than they had been for the
last half hour. She just hadn't wanted to have him ask her. Not
yet.
Was that foolish of her? She was eighteen now and it was
high time she started to raise a family. Most of her friends
already had, or were planning to marry that summer.
Except Agnes. Agnes had surprised everyone by going to
America. By herself. She hadn't even told Eleanora, her best
friend, what she had been planning.
Agnes had always been different. Her mother had died when
Agnes was only three. Ever since, her father had complained
about the expense of raising a girl who would never be able to
do a man's work on the farm.
He wouldn't miss Agnes. thought Eleanora. Then she smiled.
Agnes wouldn't miss him either.
Just today, Eleanora had received a letter from Agnes. It was
a surprise to see her neat handwriting on the
envelope. Eleanora put her hand inside her purse, touching
the letter. She had carried it all day long, reading it over and
over.
Agnes had a job working as a maid in a wealthy family's
home. She had her own room in the house and took her
meals there, too. So she could save practically everything she
earned.
"You wouldn't believe how many buildings there are here,"
Agnes had written. "And there are so many wagons and cans
going from place to place. Everybody moves so fast. But it's so
much fun. It seems like nobody goes to bed until ten o'clock
or even later! There's something happening all the time."
Agnes liked that, Eleanora knew. Something so happening all
the time. She was always restless here in Skara, where you
had to go to bed early because work started before the sun
came up.
What would it be like to live there, Eleanora wondered. She
had some money saved from selling needlework. If only...
Eleanora noticed that Mama had left a lamp burning in the
parlor. She went to turn it out, and was surprised to find
Mama there, knitting socks, even though the church bell had
already struck so eight.
Mama gave her a look, and at first Eleanora feared she
might give her a scolding. It was awfully late to be out.
Instead, Mama asked, "Did you and Lars have a good time?"
"Oh, yes," Eleanora answered. She didn't want to tell Mama
about the kiss.
After a moment. Mama said, "He didn't say anything you'd
want to tell me?"
Eleanora shook her head. "No, Mama. Not yet. But he will. You
know Lars. He's reliable."
Mama nodded. "He's a good young man," she said. "But you
shouldn't let him become too familiar unless..." She trailed off,
but Eleanora knew what she meant.
"By the way," Mama continued, "you didn't let me read the
letter that came from Agnes."
Eleanora took off her coat and sat down by the fireplace. "Oh,
I threw it away. Mama. She just said some silly things. Nothing
you'd be interested in."
Mama put her knitting in a bag and stood up. "I'm going to
bed," she said. "You'd better not stay up much later."
“I won't, Mama," said Eleanora. "I just want to sit by the fire
and warm up."
Mama left and Eleanora looked into the remnants of the logs
that would soon burn out. She took the letter from her purse
and dropped it into the fire. It blazed up.
Lars was reliable. Next time she would let him ask.
11. As used in line 74, "familiar" most likely means
A) close.
B) attached.
C) impertinent.
D) neighborly.
12. What is the most likely reason the author of the passage
describes Eleanora telling her mother that she threw away Agnes'
letter (lines 79-81)?
A) He wants to indicate that Eleanora doesn't trust her mother's
judgment.
B) He wants to indicate that Eleanora doesn't want her mother to
know she is tempted by what Agnes wrote.
C) He wants to indicate that Eleanora is secretive.
D) He wants to indicate that Eleanora desires to follow Agnes.
 Eleanora closed the front door and stood with her back
against it. Outside, she heard the hoofbeats of Lars' horse and
the slick sound of his sleigh's runners on the snow-covered
ground.
After tonight, she had no doubt that Lars intended to ask for
her hand. He had kissed her as they sat in the sleigh behind
Peterson's general store, watching the stars.
She had let him kiss her. knowing that it was something they
should only be doing if they were betrothed. But she had no
fear. Lars was reliable. She had the feeling that he intended to
propose tonight, except that she had interrupted him,
complaining that her feet were getting cold.
They weren't actually any colder than they had been for the
last half hour. She just hadn't wanted to have him ask her. Not
yet.
Was that foolish of her? She was eighteen now and it was
high time she started to raise a family. Most of her friends
already had, or were planning to marry that summer.
Except Agnes. Agnes had surprised everyone by going to
America. By herself. She hadn't even told Eleanora, her best
friend, what she had been planning.
Agnes had always been different. Her mother had died when
Agnes was only three. Ever since, her father had complained
about the expense of raising a girl who would never be able to
do a man's work on the farm.
He wouldn't miss Agnes. thought Eleanora. Then she smiled.
Agnes wouldn't miss him either.
Just today, Eleanora had received a letter from Agnes. It was
a surprise to see her neat handwriting on the
envelope. Eleanora put her hand inside her purse, touching
the letter. She had carried it all day long, reading it over and
over.
Agnes had a job working as a maid in a wealthy family's
home. She had her own room in the house and took her
meals there, too. So she could save practically everything she
earned.
"You wouldn't believe how many buildings there are here,"
Agnes had written. "And there are so many wagons and cans
going from place to place. Everybody moves so fast. But it's so
much fun. It seems like nobody goes to bed until ten o'clock
or even later! There's something happening all the time."
Agnes liked that, Eleanora knew. Something so happening all
the time. She was always restless here in Skara, where you
had to go to bed early because work started before the sun
came up.
What would it be like to live there, Eleanora wondered. She
had some money saved from selling needlework. If only...
Eleanora noticed that Mama had left a lamp burning in the
parlor. She went to turn it out, and was surprised to find
Mama there, knitting socks, even though the church bell had
already struck so eight.
Mama gave her a look, and at first Eleanora feared she
might give her a scolding. It was awfully late to be out.
Instead, Mama asked, "Did you and Lars have a good time?"
"Oh, yes," Eleanora answered. She didn't want to tell Mama
about the kiss.
After a moment. Mama said, "He didn't say anything you'd
want to tell me?"
Eleanora shook her head. "No, Mama. Not yet. But he will. You
know Lars. He's reliable."
Mama nodded. "He's a good young man," she said. "But you
shouldn't let him become too familiar unless..." She trailed off,
but Eleanora knew what she meant.
"By the way," Mama continued, "you didn't let me read the
letter that came from Agnes."
Eleanora took off her coat and sat down by the fireplace. "Oh,
I threw it away. Mama. She just said some silly things. Nothing
you'd be interested in."
Mama put her knitting in a bag and stood up. "I'm going to
bed," she said. "You'd better not stay up much later."
“I won't, Mama," said Eleanora. "I just want to sit by the fire
and warm up."
Mama left and Eleanora looked into the remnants of the logs
that would soon burn out. She took the letter from her purse
and dropped it into the fire. It blazed up.
Lars was reliable. Next time she would let him ask.
13. What is the main idea of the last two paragraphs of the
passage?
A) Eleanora has made up her mind to marry Lars.
B) Eleanora has decided to follow Agnes to America.
C) Eleanora is angry that Agnes is living a better life.
D) Eleanora wants to have time to decide what to do.