The Last Leaf

Question

The Last Leaf

O. Henry

In a little district west of Washington Square the streets have run crazy and broken themselves into small strips called "places." These "places" make strange angles and curves. One Street crosses itself a time or two. An artist once discovered a valuable possibility in this street. Suppose a collector with a bill for paints, paper and canvas should, in traversing this route, suddenly meet himself coming back, without a cent having been paid on account!

So, to quaint old Greenwich Village the art people soon came prowling, hunting for north windows and eighteenth-century gables and Dutch attics and low rents. Then they imported some pewter mugs and a chafing dish or two from Sixth Avenue, and became a "colony."

At the top of a squatty, three-story brick Sue and Johnsy had their studio. "Johnsy" was familiar for Joanna. One was from Maine; the other from California. They had met at the table d'hôte of an Eighth Street "Delmonico's," and found their tastes in art, chicory salad and bishop sleeves so congenial that the joint studio resulted.

That was in May. In November a cold, unseen stranger, whom the doctors called Pneumonia, stalked about the colony, touching one here and there with his icy fingers. Over on the east side this ravager strode boldly, smiting his victims by scores, but his feet trod slowly through the maze of the narrow and moss-grown "places."

Mr. Pneumonia was not what you would call a chivalric old gentleman. A mite of a little woman with blood thinned by California zephyrs was hardly fair game for the red-fisted, short-breathed old duffer. But Johnsy he smote; and she lay, scarcely moving, on her painted iron bedstead, looking through the small Dutch window-panes at the blank side of the next brick house.

One morning the busy doctor invited Sue into the hallway with a shaggy, grey eyebrow.

"She has one chance in - let us say, ten," he said, as he shook down the mercury in his clinical thermometer. " And that chance is for her to want to live. This way people have of lining-u on the side of the undertaker makes the entire pharmacopoeia look silly. Your little lady has made up her mind that she's not going to get well. Has she anything on her mind?"

"She - she wanted to paint the Bay of Naples some day." said Sue.

"Paint? - bosh! Has she anything on her mind worth thinking twice - a man for instance?"

"A man?" said Sue, with a jew's-harp twang in her voice. "Is a man worth - but, no, doctor; there is nothing of the kind."

"Well, it is the weakness, then," said the doctor. "I will do all that science, so far as it may filter through my efforts, can accomplish. But whenever my patient begins to count the carriages in her funeral procession I subtract 50 per cent from the curative power of medicines. If you will get her to ask one question about the new winter styles in cloak sleeves I will promise you a one-in-five chance for her, instead of one in ten."

After the doctor had gone Sue went into the workroom and cried a Japanese napkin to a pulp. Then she swaggered into Johnsy's room with her drawing board, whistling ragtime.

Johnsy lay, scarcely making a ripple under the bedclothes, with her face toward the window. Sue stopped whistling, thinking she was asleep.

She arranged her board and began a pen-and-ink drawing to illustrate a magazine story. Young artists must pave their way to Art by drawing pictures for magazine stories that young authors write to pave their way to Literature.

As Sue was sketching a pair of elegant horseshow riding trousers and a monocle of the figure of the hero, an Idaho cowboy, she heard a low sound, several times repeated. She went quickly to the bedside.

Johnsy's eyes were open wide. She was looking out the window and counting - counting backward.

"Twelve," she said, and little later "eleven"; and then "ten," and "nine"; and then "eight" and "seven", almost together.

Sue look solicitously out of the window. What was there to count? There was only a bare, dreary yard to be seen, and the blank side of the brick house twenty feet away. An old, old ivy vine, gnarled and decayed at the roots, climbed half way up the brick wall. The cold breath of autumn had stricken its leaves from the vine until its skeleton branches clung, almost bare, to the crumbling bricks.

"What is it, dear?" asked Sue.

"Six," said Johnsy, in almost a whisper. "They're falling faster now. Three days ago there were almost a hundred. It made my head ache to count them. But now it's easy. There goes another one. There are only five left now."

"Five what, dear? Tell your Sudie."

"Leaves. On the ivy vine. When the last one falls I must go, too. I've known that for three days. Didn't the doctor tell you?"

"Oh, I never heard of such nonsense," complained Sue, with magnificent scorn. "What have old ivy leaves to do with your getting well? And you used to love that vine so, you naughty girl. Don't be a goosey. Why, the doctor told me this morning that your chances for getting well real soon were - let's see exactly what he said - he said the chances were ten to one! Why, that's almost as good a chance as we have in New York when we ride on the street cars or walk past a new building. Try to take some broth now, and let Sudie go back to her drawing, so she can sell the editor man with it, and buy port wine for her sick child, and pork chops for her greedy self."

"You needn't get any more wine," said Johnsy, keeping her eyes fixed out the window. "There goes another. No, I don't want any broth. That leaves just four. I want to see the last one fall before it gets dark. Then I'll go, too."

"Johnsy, dear," said Sue, bending over her, "will you promise me to keep your eyes closed, and not look out the window until I am done working? I must hand those drawings in by to-morrow. I need the light, or I would draw the shade down."

"Couldn't you draw in the other room?" asked Johnsy, coldly.

"I'd rather be here by you," said Sue. "Beside, I don't want you to keep looking at those silly ivy leaves."

Answer 1

Continuing the story:

"Oh, I won't look," Johnsy promised, closing her eyes, "but I want to see the last one fall."

Sue went back to her drawing, her heart heavy with worry for Johnsy. The days were turning colder, and Johnsy's condition seemed to be slipping away with the leaves. The artist continued to sketch, but her mind was not on the work; she thought only of her friend, who lay weak and frail, counting down the leaves.

As night fell, Sue took a moment to step outside. The air was crisp, and she wrapped her shawl tightly around her shoulders as she gazed up at the darkening sky. “Can’t you hold on just a little longer?” she whispered to the universe. She wished she could find a way to inspire hope in Johnsy, to make her see that life was worth fighting for.

Returning to the studio, Sue saw that Johnsy’s eyes were still closed. "Dear, do you promise not to look?" she asked gently. Johnsy nodded but didn’t speak.

The next morning, Sue awoke with a sense of dread. She opened the window and looked at the ivy vine from their studio. To her astonishment, she saw a single leaf remaining, bright against the cold, stark grayness of the wall. It clung tenaciously, defying the elements around it.

As she brought Johnsy her breakfast and gently encouraged her to eat, Sue couldn't help but feel a flicker of hope. "Look, Johnsy," she said excitedly, "it seems the leaves will not fall all at once. The last one is still hanging on!"

But Johnsy remained unresponsive. She had not looked; she seemed resigned. "I'll wait until it falls," she murmured.

Days passed, and the lone leaf weathered the wind and rain. Sue, inspired by its resilience, began to paint feverishly. With each stroke of her brush, she imagined a world where Johnsy would be healed, where they would laugh together again in their studio.

Meanwhile, Johnsy stared at that leaf, wrapped in a battle between hope and despair. Each morning she counted the leaves, but the last leaf remained steadfast.

One evening, in an emotional moment, Sue decided to climb out the window and see the leaf up close. She had to know how it clung despite the harsh conditions. As she reached for it, she heard a raspy voice behind her.

“Sue, don’t!” Johnsy cried out in alarm. The sound jolted Sue back into reality. She turned to find Johnsy sitting up in bed, her eyes wide with energy. “The last leaf hasn’t fallen yet! I can't leave this world until it does.”

Encouraged by Johnsy's newfound resolve, Sue rushed to her friend's side. “You see? You can fight for your life, Johnsy. That leaf believes in you, and so do I!”

But little did they know, the last leaf that held on was a testament to a greater act of kindness.

The next morning, Johnsy awoke to a gentle knock on the door. It was Mr. Behrman, a struggling artist who lived in the same building. He had a heart of gold and a soft spot for Johnsy.

“May I come in?” he asked, peering through the doorway. Sue nodded, sensing a warmth radiating from him.

Behrman had heard of Johnsy's illness. He had been inspired by the last leaf as well. With determination in his eyes, he told them he had a plan. "I will paint the last leaf tonight; I will give it a life of its own for you, Johnsy."

As Sue listened, her heart swelled with gratitude. “Thank you, Mr. Behrman,” she said, her voice catching.

Later that night, Sue and Johnsy heard the sound of rain against the window. Sue was busy drawing, while Johnsy glanced at the leaf through the curtains. The storm raged outside, and all seemed dark and hopeless.

The next morning, Sue awoke to a ray of sunlight streaming through the window. It was a new day; they could hear birds singing outside. With bated breath, she turned to see Johnsy's expression—one of wonder and disbelief.

“Look, Sue!” Johnsy exclaimed, her voice alive with excitement. “The leaf is still there!”

At that moment, everything changed. The leaf’s enduring presence became a powerful symbol of hope for Johnsy, igniting a desire to live. She felt the strength returning to her body, the will to fight against her illness surging.

Meanwhile, as they celebrated the miracle of the last leaf, a somber realization fell upon them. They learned that Mr. Behrman had passed away that night. He had spent hours in the rain, painting the last leaf on the wall, giving it the life that had saved Johnsy's.

With tears in her eyes, Johnsy and Sue paid tribute to the artist who had selflessly sacrificed his health for hers. They vowed to honor his memory through their art, to always find beauty in perseverance, and to cherish every leaf, every moment of life.

And so, the last leaf became a lasting symbol of resilience and love, a testament to the powerful bonds that can inspire one to hold on, even in the face of despair.

Answer 2

The Last Leaf
The Last Leaf

O. Henry



Listen
Which of the following describes the relationship between Johnsy's development and the theme of the story?

Question 7 options:

The importance of artistic expression in challenging times.

The power of friendship and hope in the face of adversity.

The unpredictability of life and death.

The significance of nature in human existence.

Question 8 (1 point)

Listen
What does Johnsy's dialogue in paragraph 17 33 reveal about her attitude?

Question 8 options:

She insists that the last leaf is irrelevant to her.

She has changed her mind about dying.

She has given up on life.

She feels guilty about feeling sick.

Question 9 (1 point)

Listen
Reread paragraph 14.

Even after the beating rain and wind, there still was one leaf to be seen against the wall. It was the last leaf on the tree. It was dark green near the branch. At the edges, it was turning yellow with age.

What does the description of the ivy vine suggest?

Question 9 options:

It shows the run-down environment where Sue and Johnsy live.

It reflects the deteriorating condition of the building.

It shows resilience, as it holds on to the last leaf.

It reflects the passage of time and the changing seasons.

Question 10 (1 point)

Listen
How does Behrman's perspective, as a character in "The Last Leaf," MOST influence the narrative's mood?

Question 10 options:

Behrman's perspective heightens the tension because he remains skeptical about Johnsy's will to live.

Behrman's perspective lightens the mood with humor due to his unwavering confidence in his own medicine.

Behrman's perspective contributes to the story's ambiguity, making it challenging to predict the outcome of Johnsy's recovery.

Behrman's perspective fosters a sense of optimism and determination.

Question 11 (1 point)

Listen
How does the story "The Last Leaf" by O. Henry use ideas and story elements from traditional tales to create a fresh and unique story?

Question 11 options:

It completely disregards traditional story elements, crafting an entirely original narrative.

It incorporates familiar folklore characters, such as fairies or mythical creatures

It adapts elements from traditional stories, like the concept of a life-saving miracle, to create a fresh and distinctive narrative.

It follows the pattern of a classic myth, making only minor modifications to the original storyline.

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Answer 3

Certainly! Here are the answers to the questions based on the text "The Last Leaf" by O. Henry:

Question 7: Which of the following describes the relationship between Johnsy's development and the theme of the story?

• Answer: The power of friendship and hope in the face of adversity.

Question 8: What does Johnsy's dialogue in paragraph 17 reveal about her attitude?

• Answer: She has given up on life.

Question 9: What does the description of the ivy vine suggest?

• Answer: It reflects the passage of time and the changing seasons.

Question 10: How does Behrman's perspective, as a character in "The Last Leaf," MOST influence the narrative's mood?

• Answer: Behrman's perspective fosters a sense of optimism and determination.

Question 11: How does the story "The Last Leaf" by O. Henry use ideas and story elements from traditional tales to create a fresh and unique story?

• Answer: It adapts elements from traditional stories, like the concept of a life-saving miracle, to create a fresh and distinctive narrative.

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