Midway between a certain blue lake and a deep forest there once stood a cottage, called by its owner “The Rookery.”

Question

The forest shut out the sunlight and scowled upon the ground, breaking with shadows every ray that fell, until only a few little pieces lay scattered about. But the broad lake invited all the rays to come and rest upon her, so that sometimes she shone from shore to shore, and the sun winked and blinked above her, as though dazzled by his own reflection. The cottage, which was very small, had sunny windows and dark windows. Only from the roof could you see the mountains beyond, where the light crept up in the morning and down in the evening, turning all the brooks into living silver as it passed.

But something brighter than sunshine used often to look from the cottage into the forest, and something even more gloomy than shadows often glowered from its windows upon the sunny lake. One was the face of little Ruky Lynn; and the other was his sister’s when she felt angry or ill-tempered.

They were orphans, Cora and Ruky, living alone in the cottage with an old uncle. Cora—or “Cor,” as Ruky called her—was nearly sixteen years old, but her brother had seen the forest turn yellow only four times. She was, therefore, almost mother and sister in one. The little fellow was her companion night and day. Together they ate and slept, and—when Cora was not at work in the cottage—together they rambled in the wood, or floated in their little skiff upon the lake.Ruky had bright, dark eyes, and the glossy blackness of his hair made his cheeks look even rosier than they were. He had funny ways for a boy, Cora thought. The quick, bird-like jerks of his raven-black head, his stately baby gait, and his habit of pecking at his food, as she called it, often made his sister laugh. Young as he was, the little fellow had learned to mount to the top of a low-branching tree near the cottage, though he could not always get down alone. Sometimes when, perched in the thick foliage, he would scream, “Cor! Cor! Come, help me down!” his sister would answer, as she ran out laughing, “Yes, little Crow! I’m coming.”

Perhaps it was because he reminded her of a crow that Cora called him her little bird. This was when she was good-natured and willing to let him see how much she loved him. But in her cloudy moments, as the uncle called them, Cora was another girl. Everything seemed ugly to her, or out of tune. Even Ruky was a trial; and, instead of giving him a kind word, she would scold and grumble until he would steal from the cottage door, and, jumping lightly from the door-step, seek the shelter of his tree. Once safely perched among its branches he knew she would finish her work, forget her illhumor, and be quite ready, when he cried “Cor! Cor!” to come from the cottage with a cheery, “Yes, little Crow! I’m coming! I’m coming!”

No one could help loving Ruky, with his quick, affectionate ways; and it seemed that Ruky, in turn, could not help loving every person and thing around him. He loved his silent old uncle, the bright lake, the cool forest, and even his little china cup with red berries painted upon it. But more than all, Ruky loved his golden-haired sister, and the great dog, who would plunge into the lake at the mere pointing of his chubby little finger. In fact, that finger and the commanding baby voice were “law” to Nep at any time.

Nep and Ruky often talked together, and though one used barks and the other words, there was a perfect understanding between them. Woe to the straggler that dared to rouse Nep’s wrath, and woe to the bird or rabbit that ventured too near!—those great teeth snapped at their prey without even the warning of a growl. But Ruky could safely pull Nep’s ears or his tail, or climb his great shaggy back, or even snatch away the untasted bone. Still, as I said before, every one loved the child; so, of course, Nep was no exception.One day Ruky’s “Cor! Cor!” had sounded oftener than usual. His rosy face had bent saucily to kiss Cora’s upturned forehead, as she raised her arms to lift him from the tree; but the sparkle in his dark eyes had seemed to kindle so much mischief in him that his sister’s patience became fairly exhausted.

“Has Cor nothing to do but to wait upon you?” she cried, “and nothing to listen to but your noise and your racket? You shall go to bed early to-day, and then I shall have some peace.”

“No, no, Cor. Please let Ruky wait till the stars come. Ruky wants to see the stars.” “Hush! Ruky is bad. He shall have a whipping when Uncle comes back from town.” Nep growled.

“Ha! ha!” laughed Ruky, jerking his head saucily from side to side; “Nep says ‘No!’”Nep was shut out of the cottage for his pains, and poor Ruky was undressed, with many a hasty jerk and pull.

“You hurt, Cor!” he said, plaintively. “I’m going to take off my shoes my own self.”

“No, you’re not,” cried Cora, almost shaking him; and when he cried she called him naughty, and said if he did not stop he should have no supper. This made him cry all the more, and Cora, feeling in her angry mood that he deserved severe punishment, threw away his supper and put him to bed. Then all that could be heard were Ruky’s low sobs and the snappish clicks of Cora’s needles, as she sat knitting, with her back to him.

He could not sleep, for his eyelids were scalded with tears, and his plaintive “Cor! Cor!” had reached his sister’s ears in vain. She never once looked up from those gleaming knitting-needles, nor even gave him his good-night kiss.It grew late. The uncle did not return. At last Cora, sulky and weary, locked the cottage door, blew out her candle, and lay down beside her brother.

The poor little fellow tried to win a forgiving word, but she was too ill-natured to grant it. In vain he whispered, “Cor, Cor!” He even touched her hand over and over again with his lips, hoping she would turn toward him, and, with a loving kiss, murmur, as usual, “Good night, little bird.”

Instead of this, she jerked her arm angrily away, saying:

“Oh, stop your pecking and go to sleep! I wish you were a crow in earnest, and then I’d have some peace.”After this, Ruky was silent. His heart drooped within him as he wondered what this “peace” was that his sister wished for so often, and why he must go away before it could come to her.

Soon, Cora, who had rejoiced in the sudden calm, heard a strange fluttering. In an instant she saw by the starlight a dark object circle once or twice in the air above her, then dart suddenly through the open window.

Astonished that Ruky had not shouted with delight at the strange visitor, or else clung to her neck in fear, she turned to see if he had fallen asleep.

No wonder that she started up, horror-stricken,—Ruky was not there!His empty place was still warm; perhaps he had slid softly from the bed. With trembling haste she lighted the candle, and peered into every corner. The boy was not to be found!

Then those fearful words rang in her ears:

“I wish you were a crow in earnest!”

Cora rushed to the door, and, with straining gaze, looked out into the still night.“Ruky! Ruky!” she screamed.

There was a slight stir in the low-growing tree.

“Ruky, darling, come back!”

“Caw, caw!” answered a harsh voice from the tree. Something black seemed to spin out of it, and then, in great sweeping circles, sailed upward, until finally it settled upon one of the loftiest trees in the forest. PART 1 OF 2

Answer 1

Cora's heart raced as she stood frozen at the threshold of the cottage, disbelief coursing through her veins. How could she have spoken such careless words in a moment of frustration? The very thing she had wished for—the horrible, teasing notion that her little brother could become a crow—was now haunting her. The reality of her brother's sudden absence crashed down on her like a tidal wave.

“Ruky! Ruky!” she cried again, her voice trembling as desperation clung to every syllable. But all she received in return was the echo of the forest's silence and the haunting cawing of the black bird now perched high above, its beady eyes glinting ominously in the starlight.

Suddenly, memories of Ruky flooded her thoughts—his contagious laughter, the way he would bound into her arms with unrestrained joy, the moments of pure love they shared, overshadowed now by her anger. Guilt constricted her throat, making it difficult to breathe. “What have I done?” she whispered to herself, tears spilling down her cheeks.

She had always known that Ruky, with his uncanny ability to mimic birds and his darling, playful spirit, had a wild heart, but she never thought her words could transform him—never thought they would carry such weight.

“Caw! Caw!” The crow fluttered down, perching on a branch closer to the ground, its dark feathers ruffling in the breeze. Cora's heart leapt. Was it really Ruky, trapped in that feathered body? The resemblance was unmistakable in how the bird momentarily cocked its head, revealing a familiar glint in its eyes.

“Ruky!” she cried out, her voice breaking. “Is that you?”

The crow paused momentarily, and in that instant, Cora could almost feel the warmth of Ruky’s spirit inside the creature. It cawed again before taking flight, circling above and then vanishing deeper into the forest.

“No, no, no! Come back!” Cora's feet found purpose; she dashed into the underbrush, racing after the crow. The forest loomed, dark and dense, cold shadows dancing threateningly around her as she sprinted through the undergrowth, branches snagging at her arms and skirts. The moonlight filtered down yet seemed far removed from her plight, each step echoing with her panic and regret.

As she plunged deeper into the trees, she called out for her brother, voicing her remorse along with his name, “Ruky! Please come back! I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean it! I love you!” With each revelation of her heart, Cora felt the warmth of hope nudging against the cold sorrow flooding her soul.

Suddenly, there was a rustle in the bushes, and before she could react, the dark figure of the crow landed no more than a few paces in front of her, tilting its head slightly as if encouraging her to approach. “Ruky?” Cora whispered, heart racing as she took a cautious step forward.

The crow took flight again, leading her further into the forest. Cora followed closely, desperate for the connection she once took for granted. Each call of “Ruky!” felt like a lifeline thrown across the gulf that had formed between them.

Finally, she reached a small clearing, illuminated by soft moonlight. In its center grew a great gnarled tree, ancient and twisted, its hollow trunk inviting her in. “Ruky, are you here?” she called, feeling a pull towards the tree, drawn by an instinct she could not quite fathom.

When she stepped into the clearing, the crow circled above, then landed on a low-hanging branch, watching her intently. She could feel Ruky’s essence emanating from it. In that moment, she understood—he was trying to guide her somewhere important.

“Help me, Ruky. Please!” Her voice cracked, and she felt tears spill over again. The crow cawed once more, then flew towards the tree, landing atop one of the gnarled branches. As Cora stepped closer, she noticed how the twisted roots of the tree seemed to form a sort of pathway, winding into the earth.

Without hesitation, Cora followed the path, her heart pounding with fear and determination. With every step, she felt the lingering bond between them—an unbreakable connection that neither time nor form could sever.

The path led her deep into the heart of the tree, where shadows danced underfoot, and a warm luminescence began to glow before her. “Ruky!” she pleaded, urgency in her voice as she stumbled into the hollow.

And there, amidst the light and shadows, Cora saw something she could scarcely believe. In the center stood a shimmering pool of water that reflected not only her face but images of Ruky as well—lost but still there, a piece of his spirit echoing in anguish.

The crow landed nearby, watching her keenly. Cora knelt beside the water, heart racing with a sudden clarity.

“Ruky, if you can hear me, I promise I will take care of you. I won’t let my anger take me away from you again!” she vowed desperately, extending her hand toward the swirling reflections. “Please, return to me!”

With each word spoken, a soft breeze rustled through the clearing, enveloping her like a familiar hug. She felt warmth spread through her as she stared into the depths of the pool. The image of Ruky flickered, and she whispered fiercely, “Come back to me!”

In that moment, a brilliance erupted from the water, illuminating the hollow with an ethereal light. The crow seemed to shimmer, fluttering with energy as it spiraled around Cora, circling her until she was wrapped in a cocoon of warmth.

Cora closed her eyes, holding onto the fervent hope that her words had reached the heart of her brother. Please, she thought, please let him come back... PART 2 OF 2

Answer 2

Oh thank you for finishing, do you mind answering these questions: Use the story to answer the question.

In 3–5 sentences, draw conclusions about how the author’s use of sensory language affects the mood or tone of the story. Use examples from the text to support your answer.

Answer 3

The author's use of sensory language significantly enhances the mood and tone of the story, creating a vivid and immersive atmosphere. For instance, the description of the contrasting environments—the forest "shut out the sunlight" and "scowled upon the ground" versus the lake that "invited all the rays to come and rest upon her"—evokes feelings of darkness and light, respectively, which reflects the emotional states of the characters. The imagery of Cora's "cloudy moments" when she becomes angry creates a tense and difficult mood, especially as it suggests a deep internal struggle. Conversely, when Ruky is described with "bright, dark eyes" and joyful qualities, the sensory details underline the warmth and innocence he embodies, emphasizing the love and connection that exists between the siblings. Ultimately, this interplay of sensory description deepens the reader's emotional engagement with the characters and their challenges.