Unit – III Ls-3. The Boy Who Wanted More Cheese – William Elliot Griffis

3. The Boy Who Wanted More Cheese

 – William Elliot Griffis 

Klass van Bommel was a boy from Holland, 12 years old, who lived where cows were plentiful. He was over 5 feet high, weighed a hundred pounds, and had rosy cheeks. His appetite was always good and his mother declared his stomach had no bottom. His hair was of a color half-way between a carrot and a sweet potato. It was as thick as reeds in a swamp and was cut level, from under one ear to another.

Klass stood in a pair of timber shoes, that made an awful rattle when he ran fast to catch a rabbit, or scuffed slowly along to school over the brick road of his village. In summer Klass was dressed in a rough, blue linen blouse. In winter he wore woollen breeches as wide as coffee bags. They were called bell trousers, and in shape were like a couple of cow-bells turned upwards. These were buttoned on to a thick warm jacket. Until he was five years old, Klass was dressed like his sisters. Then, on his birthday, he had boy’s clothes, with two pockets in them, of which he was proud enough.

Klass was a farmer’s boy. He had rye bread and fresh milk for breakfast. At dinner time, beside cheese and bread, he was given a plate heaped with boiled potatoes. Into these he first plunged a fork and then dipped each round, white ball into a bowl of hot melted butter. Very quickly then did potato and butter disappear “down the red lane.” At supper, he had bread and skim milk, left after the cream had been taken off, with a saucer, to make butter. Twice a week the children enjoyed a bowl of bonnyclabber or curds, with a little brown sugar sprinkled on the top. But at every meal there was cheese, usually in thin slices, which the boy thought not thick enough. When Klass went to bed he usually fell asleep as soon as his shock of yellow hair touched the pillow. In summer time he slept till the birds began to sing, at dawn. In winter, when the bed felt warm and Jack Frost was lively, he often heard the cows talking, in their way, before he jumped out of his bag of straw, which served for a mattress. The Van Bommels were not rich, but everything was shining clean.

There was always plenty to eat at the Van Bommels’ house. Stacks of rye bread, a yard long and thicker than a man’s arm, stood on end in the corner of the cool, stone-lined basement. The loaves of dough were put in the oven once a week. Baking time was a great event at the Van Bommels’ and no men-folks were allowed in the kitchen on that day, unless they were called in to help. As for the milk-pails and pans, filled or emptied, scrubbed or set in the sun every day to dry, and the cheeses, piled up in the pantry, they seemed sometimes enough to feed a small army.

But Klass always wanted more cheese. In other ways, he was a good boy, obedient at home, always ready to work on the cow-farm, and diligent in school. But at the table he never had enough. Sometimes his father laughed and asked him if he had a well, or a cave, under his jacket.

Klass had three younger sisters, Kaatje, Anneke and Saartje; which is Dutch for Kate, Annie and Sallie. These, their fond mother, who loved them dearly, called her “orange blossoms”; but when at dinner, Klass would keep on, dipping his potatoes into the hot butter, while others were all through, his mother would laugh and call him her Buttercup. But always Klass wanted more cheese. When unusually greedy, she twitted him as a boy “worse than Butter-and-Eggs”; that is, as troublesome as the yellow and white plant, called toad-flax, is to the farmer – very pretty, but nothing but a weed.

One summer’s evening, after a good scolding, which he deserved well, Klass moped and, almost crying, went to bed in bad humor. He had teased each one of his sisters to give him her bit of cheese, and this, added to his own slice, made his stomach feel as heavy as lead.

Klass’s bed was up in the garret. When the house was first built, one of the red tiles of the roof had been taken out and another one, made of glass, was put in its place. In the morning, this gave the boy light to put on his clothes. At night, in fair weather, it supplied air to his room.

A gentle breeze was blowing from the pine woods on the sandy slope, not far away. So Klass climbed up on the stool to sniff the sweet piny odors. He thought he saw lights dancing under the tree. One beam seemed to approach his roof hole, and coming nearer played round the chimney. Then it passed to and fro in front of him. It seemed to whisper in his ear, as it moved by. It looked very much as if a hundred fire-flies had united their cold light into one lamp. Then Klass thought that the strange beams bore the shape of a lovely girl, but he only laughed at himself at the idea. Pretty soon, however, he thought the whisper became a voice. Again, he laughed so heartily, that he forgot his moping and the scolding his mother had given him. In fact, his eyes twinkled with delight, when the voice gave this invitation:

“There’s plenty of cheese. Come with us.”

To make sure of it, the sleepy boy now rubbed his eyes and cocked his ears. Again, the light-bearer spoke to him: “Come.”

Could it be? He had heard old people tell of the ladies of the wood, that whispered and warned travellers. In fact, he himself had often seen the “fairies’ ring” in the pine woods. To this, the flame-lady was inviting him.

Again and again the moving, cold light circled round the red tile roof, which the moon, then rising and peeping over the chimneys, seemed to turn into silver plates. As the disc rose higher in the sky, he could hardly see the moving light, that had looked like a lady; but the voice, no longer a whisper, as at first, was now even plainer:

“There’s plenty of cheese. Come with us.”

“I’ll see what it is, anyhow,” said Klass, as he drew on his thick woolen stockings and prepared to go down-stairs and out, without waking a soul. At the door he stepped into his wooden shoes. Just then the cat purred and rubbed up against his shins. He jumped, for he was scared; but looking down, for a moment, he saw the two balls of yellow fire in her head and knew what they were. Then he sped to the pine woods and towards the fairy ring.

What an odd sight! At first Klass thought it was a circle of big fire-flies. Then he saw clearly that there were dozens of pretty creatures, hardly as large as dolls, but as lively as crickets. They were as full of light, as if lamps had wings. Hand in hand, they flitted and danced around the ring of grass, as if this was fun.

Hardly had Klass got over his first surprise, than of a sudden he felt himself surrounded by the fairies. Some of the strongest among them had left the main party in the circle and come to him. He felt himself pulled by their dainty fingers. One of them, the loveliest of all, whispered in his ear:

“Come, you must dance with us.”

Then a dozen of the pretty creatures murmured in chorus:

“Plenty of cheese here. Plenty of cheese here. Come, come!”

Upon this, the heels of Klass seemed as light as a feather. In a moment, with both hands clasped in those of the fairies, he was dancing in high glee. It was as much fun as if he were at the kermiss, with a row of boys and girls, hand in hand, swinging along the streets, as Dutch maids and youth do, during kermiss week.

Klass had not time to look hard at the fairies, for he was too full of the fun. He danced and danced, all night and until the sky in the east began to turn, first gray and then rosy. Then he tumbled down, tired out, and fell asleep. His head lay on the inner curve of the fairy ring, with his feet in the centre.

Klass felt very happy, for he had no sense of being tired, and he did not know he was asleep. He thought his fairy partners, who had danced with him, were now waiting on him to bring him cheeses. With a golden knife, they sliced them off and fed him out of their own hands. How good it tasted! He thought now he could, and would, eat all the cheese he had longed for all his life. There was no mother to scold him, or daddy to shake his finger at him. How delightful!

But by and by, he wanted to stop eating and rest a while. His jaws were tired. His stomach seemed to be loaded with cannon-balls. He gasped for breath.

But the fairies would not let him stop, for Dutch fairies never get tired. Flying out of the sky – from the north, south, east and west – they came, bringing cheeses. These they dropped down around him, until the piles of the round masses threatened first to enclose him as with a wall, and then to overtop him. There were the red balls from Edam, the pink and yellow spheres from Gouda, and the gray loaf-shaped ones from Leyden. Down through the vista of sand, in the pine woods, he looked, and oh, horrors! There were the tallest and strongest of the fairies rolling along the huge, round, flat cheeses from Friesland! Any one of these was as big as a cart wheel, and would feed a regiment. The fairies trundled the heavy discs along, as if they were playing with hoops. They shouted hilariously, as, with a pine stick, they beat them forward like boys at play. Farm cheese, factory cheese, Alkmaar cheese, and, to crown all, cheese from Limburg – which Klass never could bear, because of its strong odor. Soon the cakes and balls were heaped so high around him that the boy, as he looked up, felt like a frog in a well. He groaned when he thought the high cheese walls were tottering to fall on him. Then he screamed, but the fairies thought he was making music. They, not being human, do not know how a boy feels.

At last, with a thick slice in one hand and a big hunk in the other, he could eat no more cheese; though the fairies, led by their queen, standing on one side, or hovering over his head, still urged him to take more.

At this moment, while afraid that he would burst, Klass saw the pile of cheeses, as big as a house, topple over. The heavy mass fell inwards upon him. With a scream of terror, he thought himself crushed as flat as a Friesland cheese.

But he wasn’t! Waking up and rubbing his eyes, he saw the red sun rising on the sand-dunes. Birds were singing and the cocks were crowing all around him, in chorus, as if saluting him. Just then also the village clock chimed out the hour. He felt his clothes. They were wet with dew. He sat up to look around. There were no fairies, but in his mouth was a bunch of grass which he had been chewing lustily.

Klass never would tell the story of his night with the fairies, nor has he yet settled the question whether they left him because the cheese-house of his dream had fallen, or because daylight had come.

Unit-III 2. Little Girls Wiser than Men.

2. Little Girls Wiser than Men.

This Short Story  Little Girls Wiser than Men is quite interesting to all the people. Enjoy reading this story.

Leo Tolstoy was a great writer. He was a Russian. Tolstoy was a man of peace. He wrote many good stories. Each story has a valuable moral. Some of his stories are log. And some of his stories are short. The following is one of his stories. It is written in simple English for your sake.

It was rainy season in Russia. In a certain village in Russia the rain water was flowing in streams in a street. It had rained and stopped a little while ago. Two little girls were playing in the street water. It was festival time. They were wearing new frocks. Malasha was the younger of the two little girls. Akulya was the older girl.

Malasha stamped her foot in the water. It was a little muddy. The muddy water splashed. It fell on Akulya’s new frock. Akulya was just rubbing out the mud. At that time Akulya’s mother was walking that way. She looked at her daughter’s dress. She scolded her daughter.
“How can you make your new dress so dirty?” she asked.

“Malasha splashed the water on me, mother,” said Akulya.

Akulya’s mother caught Malasha. She gave two or three slaps on the back of Malasha. Malasha started weeping loudly. Malasha’s house was close by. Malasha’s mother heard her daughter Malasha’s weeping. She came out in hurry.

“Why are you weeping?” asked her mother.

“Akulya’s mother beat me on my back,” said Malasha.

Malasha’s mother turned to Akulya’s mother in an angry mood. Malasha’s mother abused Akulya’s mother. Soon they started quarrelling loudly. They called each other names. Their shouting continued.

Other women joined them soon. Some supported Akulya’s mother. Some supported Malasha’s mother. The two fighting groups became bigger and bigger. The men also joined in the fighting. The quarrel became never ending.

At that time the grandmother of Akulya came out of the house. She told the men and the women not to fight. “It is festival time. People should not quarrel,” she told them.

No one listened to her. No one cared for her words. In the meantime Malasha and Akulya forgot about their quarrel. They became friends again. They moved away from the fighting crowd. They started letting paper boats in the running water. Now the old woman said to the fighting groups.

“Look at the children. They have forgotten their quarrel. They have started playing again. They have become friends again. But you men and women still keep quarrelling. Are you not ashamed of your tendency?”

The men and the women looked at the little girls. They felt ashamed. They went back to their houses quietly.

Children forget and forgive very easily. The elders learnt this lesson from the little girls.

Unit III Short Stories Ls- 1 An Astrologer’s Day

Unit III Short Stories

Ls- 1 An Astrologer’s Day

AN ASTROLOGERS DAY

Summary “An Astrologer’s Day” has a deceptively simple plot, although the full significance of the story becomes evident only after a second or even third reading. Part of the difficulty arises from the fact that the author deliberately avoids markers that would benefit the reader: there is no clear indication where the story occurs or when it does, although it is possible to make an educated guess about both. The story begins almost in medias res (in the middle) and concludes on what appears to be an ambiguous note. But, in fact, the story is a tightly knit one in which all parts fit together .”An Astrologer’s Day” begins with a general description of an astrologer, who is one of many street vendors, except for the fact that he has a distinct aura of holiness and power. He is working in a busy, unnamed city, and the author establishes that, in reality, he is a charlatan with no special powers other than the keen ability to judge character. The astrologer is about to return to his home at the end of the day when he is stopped by an unusually aggressive customer. The customer insists that the astrologer tell him the truth about his life, and that if he does not, he should return his (the customer’s) money, along with extra, as payment for having lied. The astrologer, realizing that he will most likely be exposed, tries to get out of the deal, but the customer is adamant. The story takes an unexpected turn, when, unbeknownst to the customer, the astrologer recognizes him and tells him about something that happened in the past. Calling the customer by name, the astrologer recounts how the customer had once been stabbed and left for dead, but had been saved by a bystander. The astrologer tells the customer that he must stop looking for the man who stabbed him so long ago, because to do so would be dangerous, and anyway, the perpetrator is dead. The customer, not recognizing the astrologer, is impressed that he should know about his past. When the astrologer goes home, his wife asks about his day. He tells her that he has been relieved of a great load; he had once thought that he had killed someone, but had today discovered that the victim was well and very much alive. The wife is mystified, but the astrologer goes to bed for an untroubled night of sleep.   LITERARY DEVICES. The Uses of Irony Can we always tell the difference between good and evil? Are good people always good and evil people always bad? In “An Astrologer’s Day,” R. K. Narayan provides no answers to these questions. In the world he creates here, almost nothing is what it seems to be, and one unexpected event follows another–for both readers and characters. R. K. Narayan’s tale of an astrologer and his victim is a comic but thought-provoking story in which irony–the contrast between expectation and reality–is used for several purposes: to make us doubt the astrologer, to build suspense, and to develop theme. From the first sentence, Narayan uses irony to make us doubt the astrologer’s character. His “professional” equipment (the shells, the cloth with mysterious writing, and so on) is only for show. Ordinary listening skills, not the stars, help him astonish his “simple clients” with “shrewd guesswork.” Because the narrator tells us that the astrologer doesn’t know the future, calling his work “an honest man’s labor is irony with a sharp bite. The narrator’s comments expose the astrologer as a fake who has discovered a convenient way to make a living. The author uses irony to build suspense during the fortunetelling scene. When Nayak challenges the astrologer to answer some specific questions about his future, we expect the astrologer to fail, since he is, according to the narrator, a fraud. Instead, the astrologer produces a surprising amount of accurate information about Nayak, including his name. He knows that Nayak is from the north, and he knows that long ago Nayak was stabbed, thrown into a well, and left for dead. The astrologer even knows that Nayak’s assailant “died four months ago.” Nayak is now convinced, of course, that the astrologer is genuine, and at the end of the episode, we areleft wondering if the astrologer is the fake that the narrator made him out to be. The strongest irony in this story, however, runs through the entire plot and helps develop the story’s theme. It is dishonest to take money for fake prophecies, but the astrologer’s customers are “astonished” and “pleased” by what he tells them. Although the astrologer has tried to escape his past, he ends up, in a way, bringing it back to himself; he’s become an astrologer to get away from his crime-stabbing Nayak and leaving him for dead-but his victim is attracted to him because he is an astrologer. His astrologer’s guise–“forehead resplendent with sacred ash and vermilion,” “saffron-colored turban,” and “dark whiskers”–prevent Nayak from recognizing him. Once the astrologer recognizes Nayak, however, he uses the truth to deceive him. It is the astrologer who once committed a violent crime, but we can infer from Nayak’s behavior and the astrologer’s confession to his wife that Nayak was–and still is–a violent man. Every situation in this story takes an unexpected twist. Nothing turns out as we, or the characters, expect. The irony is so strong in “An Astrologer’s Day” that good, evil, crime, and punishment areri t clear-cut. First, an astrologer who satisfies his customers with the things he says is revealed as a fake. Then, the fraud suddenly seems to have supernatural knowledge. Finally, all our expectations and judgments are turned inside out and upside down by the astrologer’s revelations to his wife at the end of the story. In R. K. Narayan’s world, irony seems to be the rule rather than the exception.

Unit-4 Ls-2 Nehru – A.J.Toynbee

Unit-4

Ls-2 Nehru – A.J.Toynbee

 

NEHRU – SOME MEMORIES Arnold J. Toynbee

Introduction:
In this prose piece, the author brings out the humane characteristics in Nehru. The experiences that the author narrates show how Nehru believed in love of fellow humanity through three meetings. A.J. Toynbee was much impressed by Nehru’s personality and the way in which he endeared himself to everyone. The author also shows how Nehru reacted in a refined manner and adjusted himself in challenging situations. Though Nehru was a great leader, he still had the time to be with Toynbee.

Captivator of hearts:
Toynbee did not know Nehru intimately and had met only a few times. From his account one can get vivid glimpses of Nehru’s personality. Nehru did not impress people but charmed their hearts. Though he was a very important public figure he never felt self- important. In spite of his position he remained a humane person.

First meeting:
The first meeting of Toynbee and Nehru occurred before India attained independence. Nehru had come to England after a term of imprisonment in India for his political activities. The author had been invited by an English Lady to lunch and to meet Nehru. When the author went, Nehru had already arrived. When the next guest arrived, it was something unexpected. It was a British General in uniform. On seeing Nehru, the General seemed shocked.
Toynbee watched the scene with curiosity. He wanted to see how Nehru would react. The author saw a twinkle in Nehru’s eyes and he began to tease the General very gently and the General got nervous and wanted to please Nehru by all means. Nehru was enjoying the fun to the full. Toynbee observes Nehru had the quality of fighting without hating.

Second meeting:
Toynbee remembers yet another incident distinctly. In 1957, the Delhi University arranged a special convocation to confer a degree for Toynbee. Caught in a traffic jam, Toynbee was away from the university campus when it was three quarters of an hour past the appointed hour. Toynbee was surprised to see Nehru himself running towards him wondering why he was late. Toynbee wondered how a person holding an important position like Prime Ministership could find time to take part in the university proceedings. He felt ashamed for wasting Nehru’s precious time.

Final meeting:
It was in 1960 that Toynbee met Nehru for the last time. Nehru had asked Toynbee to visit him. It was a grey period in Indian history with India’s strained relationship with China. As a responsible Prime Minister Nehru was worried over this. Toynbee thought he should discreetly keep off the subject. The efforts proved futile.

Toynbee was to give certain lectures in New Delhi and when he rose up to speak he was surprised to find Nehru entering the hall to listen. He wondered how an important person like Nehru could find time to do such things. Later, when he learnt that Nehru had come to the lecture on the day he had received the shocking news of the death of a dear friend of his, Lady Mountbatten, Toynbee was deeply moved.

Conclusion:
Toynbee finally says that Jawaharlal Nehru “is evidently a representative of the type that moves mankind, not by coercion, but by persuasion”. And he names Emperor Asoka, Rammohan Roy, and Gandhi are deserve to be remembered for ever and to be immortalized

Unit-4 Biographies Ls-1 Martin Luther King- R.N. Roy

Unit-4 Biographies

Ls-1 Martin Luther King- R.N. Roy

Summary

Martin Luther King, Jr.’s birthday was first observed as a national holiday in 1986. However, his life had become a fixed part of American mythology for years prior to this. Indeed, to many African Americans whose rights he helped expand, to many other minorities whose lives his victories touched, and to many whites who welcomed the changes his leadership brought, King’s life seemed mythological even as he lived it. He is celebrated as a hero not only for the concrete legislation he enabled, but for his articulation of dreams and hopes shared by many during an era of upheaval and change.

After lengthy theological training in the North, King returned to his home region, becoming pastor of Dexter Avenue Baptist Church in Montgomery, Alabama. As a promising newcomer free from the morass of inter-church politics, King became the leader of the Montgomery Bus Boycott when it broke out in 1955. That year-long non-violent protest, which led to a Supreme Court ruling against bus segregation, brought King to the attention of the country as a whole, and led to the formation of the Southern Christian Leadership Conference, or SCLC, an alliance of black Southern churches and ministers. This group elected King their president, and began looking for other civil rights battles to fight.

The episodes immediately following met with less success, but nonetheless provided King with the opportunity to refine his protest strategies. Then, in 1963, King and the SCLC joined a campaign in Birmingham, Alabama, to end segregation there and to force downtown businesses to employ blacks. Peaceful protests were met by fire-hoses and attack-dogs wielded by local police. Images of this violence, broadcast on national news, provoked outrage, and this reaction created a political atmosphere in which strong federal civil rights legislation could gain favor and passage, and the next year President Lyndon Johnson signed into law the Civil Rights Act of 1964. Meanwhile the SCLC, under King, was repeating the tactics of Birmingham in Selma, Alabama, this time for the sake of African American voter registration. Once again, images of the police brutality directed at the protest enabled the passage of federal legislation, this time the Voting Rights Act of 1965.

The community of black activists felt that these two major victories marked the limit of what gains could be made politically, and thus after 1965 King began to focus on blacks’ economic problems. His strategies and speeches concentrated increasingly on class as well as race, and addressed the United States as a whole. King had won the Nobel Peace Prize in 1964, and this recognition encouraged him to broaden his scope: by the time of his death, he was speaking out virulently against the Vietnam War, and was organizing a Poor People’s March on Washington.

When King was assassinated in 1968, the nation shook with the impact. Riots broke out in over one hundred American cities. King was almost immediately sanctified by the white-controlled media, which, however, in its coverage of his accomplishments, also neglected the radicalism of his final three years. Instead his contemporaries focused (as we continue to focus today) on the spirit and the accomplishments of the middle of King’s career. For many born after his death, he is known best for the “I Have a Dream” speech, which reflects this spirit, and which he delivered in 1963 at the height of his fame. The federal holiday commemorates this King, who articulated the progressive, human hope of the early 1960s.