While you read, think about the following questions:
What is the mood of the passage? Which words lead you to choose that mood?
Roy watched in wonderment as more and more kids slipped out of the crowd and began joining hands, forming a human barricade around Beatrice’s self-buried step-brother. None of the parents made a move to stop them.
The TV cameraman announced that the demonstration was being broadcast live on the noon news, while the photographer from the paper swooped in for a close-up of Mr. Muckle, looking drained, defeated, and suddenly very old. He braced himself on the ceremonial shovel as if it were a cane. “Didn’t any of you people hear me?” he rasped. “This event is over! Done! You can all go home now.”
The mayor, Councilman Grandy, and the man from the chamber of commerce stealthily retreated to their limousine…Officer Delinko leaned against the fence, writing up a report.
Roy was in an eerie yet tranquil daze.
Some girl started singing a famous old folk song called “This Land Is Your Land.” It was Beatrice, of all people and her voice was surprisingly lovely and soft. Before long, other kids were singing along, too. Roy shut his eyes and felt like he was floating on the sunny slope of a cloud.
“Excuse me, hotshot. Got room for one more?”
Roy blinked open his eyes and broke into a grin.
“Yes, ma’am,” he said.
Mother Paula stepped between him and Garrett. Her voice was gravelly, but she could carry a tune just fine.
The demonstration went on for another hour. Two other TV crews showed up, along with a couple of extra Coconut Cove police cruzers, summoned by Officer Delinko.
Mr. Muckle exhorted the newly arrived lawmen to arrest the protesters for trespassing, truancy, and disturbing the peace. The suggestion was firmly rejected, a sergeant informing Mr. Muckle that handcuffing and bunch of middle-school kids wouldn’t be good for the public safety department’s image.
The situation remained fairly stable until the flamboyant arrival of Lonna Leep, who’d spotted her son on the TV news. She was all dressed up like she’d been invited to a party, and she wasn’t the least bit shy about sticking her nose infront of the cameras. Roy overheard her tell a reporter how proud she was of her boy, risking his freedom to save the poor helpless owls.
“He’s my brave little champion!” Lonna crowed obnoxiously.
With a phony squeal of affection, she charged toward the wall of humanity that encircled her son. Beatrice ordered everyone to lock arms, blocking Lonna's path.
There was one hairy moment when Lonna and her step-daughter stood glowering at each other, eye to eye, as if they were about to tangle. Garrett broke the standoff with a phenomenal fake fart that sent Lonna reeling backward in horror. Roy nudged Beatrice. “Look up there!”
Overhead, a small dusky-colored bird was flying in marvelous daring corkscrews. Roy and Beatrice watched in delight as it banked lower and lower, finishing with a radical dive toward the burrow at the center of the circle.
Everybody whirled to see where the bird had landed.
All of the sudden the singing stopped.
There was Mullet Fingers, trying not to giggle, the dare-devil owl perched calmly on the crown of his head.
“Don’t worry, little guy,” the boy said. “You’re safe for now.”
What is the mood of the passage? Which words lead you to choose that mood?
Roy watched in wonderment as more and more kids slipped out of the crowd and began joining hands, forming a human barricade around Beatrice’s self-buried step-brother. None of the parents made a move to stop them.
The TV cameraman announced that the demonstration was being broadcast live on the noon news, while the photographer from the paper swooped in for a close-up of Mr. Muckle, looking drained, defeated, and suddenly very old. He braced himself on the ceremonial shovel as if it were a cane. “Didn’t any of you people hear me?” he rasped. “This event is over! Done! You can all go home now.”
The mayor, Councilman Grandy, and the man from the chamber of commerce stealthily retreated to their limousine…Officer Delinko leaned against the fence, writing up a report.
Roy was in an eerie yet tranquil daze.
Some girl started singing a famous old folk song called “This Land Is Your Land.” It was Beatrice, of all people and her voice was surprisingly lovely and soft. Before long, other kids were singing along, too. Roy shut his eyes and felt like he was floating on the sunny slope of a cloud.
“Excuse me, hotshot. Got room for one more?”
Roy blinked open his eyes and broke into a grin.
“Yes, ma’am,” he said.
Mother Paula stepped between him and Garrett. Her voice was gravelly, but she could carry a tune just fine.
The demonstration went on for another hour. Two other TV crews showed up, along with a couple of extra Coconut Cove police cruzers, summoned by Officer Delinko.
Mr. Muckle exhorted the newly arrived lawmen to arrest the protesters for trespassing, truancy, and disturbing the peace. The suggestion was firmly rejected, a sergeant informing Mr. Muckle that handcuffing and bunch of middle-school kids wouldn’t be good for the public safety department’s image.
The situation remained fairly stable until the flamboyant arrival of Lonna Leep, who’d spotted her son on the TV news. She was all dressed up like she’d been invited to a party, and she wasn’t the least bit shy about sticking her nose infront of the cameras. Roy overheard her tell a reporter how proud she was of her boy, risking his freedom to save the poor helpless owls.
“He’s my brave little champion!” Lonna crowed obnoxiously.
With a phony squeal of affection, she charged toward the wall of humanity that encircled her son. Beatrice ordered everyone to lock arms, blocking Lonna's path.
There was one hairy moment when Lonna and her step-daughter stood glowering at each other, eye to eye, as if they were about to tangle. Garrett broke the standoff with a phenomenal fake fart that sent Lonna reeling backward in horror. Roy nudged Beatrice. “Look up there!”
Overhead, a small dusky-colored bird was flying in marvelous daring corkscrews. Roy and Beatrice watched in delight as it banked lower and lower, finishing with a radical dive toward the burrow at the center of the circle.
Everybody whirled to see where the bird had landed.
All of the sudden the singing stopped.
There was Mullet Fingers, trying not to giggle, the dare-devil owl perched calmly on the crown of his head.
“Don’t worry, little guy,” the boy said. “You’re safe for now.”
