English

What is the moral of the story, elaborate it.

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Question

What is the moral of the story, elaborate it.

Answer in Brief
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Solution

The moral of this story is to help people in need. The beggar was in need of the slippers. He had blisters in his feet. They did the right thing Gopu Mama can buy another pair of slippers but the beggar didn’t have the money to buy them. We should help people in need. There is no harm in giving away a bit of those things that are surplus to us. We should give food, dresses and sweaters ‘ to poor. For us that might not have much value, but it can save someone else’s life.

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Imagine that you are the poet, William Wordsworth. You continue on your walk, and when you reach home you tell a friend what you saw and felt. Which of the following best describes your experience? (Work in pairs, then have a class discussion.)

  1. “I was walking past some fields when I saw a young girl, a farm worker, harvesting grain by hand, with a sickle. She was so beautiful that I stood out of sight and watched her for a long time. I have never seen anyone more gorgeous! In fact, she reminded me of other beautiful experiences I’ve had - the song of the nightingale or the cuckoo, for instance. I’d certainly like to see her again!”
  2. “As I was standing on the hill top just now, I heard a very sad and plaintive song. I looked down, and saw a young woman reaping grain, singing as she did so. She seemed quite melancholy as she sang. But somehow her song brought great comfort and joy to me. In fact, I found it a very emotional experience. As I continued my walk along the hill top, I also heard a nightingale and a cuckoo. But the young farm worker’s song affected me most deeply, even though I couldn’t understand the words.”
  3. “Just now, as I was walking in the valley, I saw a young farm worker in the field. She was singing to herself as she worked. I was so affected by her singing that I stopped and listened. She had a beautiful voice which seemed to fill the whole valley. The song was a sad one and I couldn’t understand the words. But its plaintive tone and melancholy sound touched me greatly and its beauty reminded me of the song of a nightingale and a cuckoo. After some time, I walked up the hill, carrying the memory of the young woman’s hauntingly beautiful song with me.”

Some are Purple and gold flecked grey
For she who has journeyed through life midway,
Whose hands have cherished , whose love has blest,
And cradled fair sons on her faithful breast,
And serves her household in fruitful pride,
And worship the gods at her husband's side.

Read the lines given above and answer the question that follow:

What in the passage will repel a modern woman?


It matters little where we pass the remnant of our days. They will not be many. The Indian’s night promises to be dark. Not a single star of hope hovers above his horizon. Sad-voiced winds moan in the distance. Grim fate seems to be on the Red Man’s trail, and wherever he will hear the approaching footsteps of his fell destroyer and prepare stolidly to meet his doom, as does the wounded doe that hears the approaching footsteps of the hunter.

A few more moons, a few more winters, and not one of the descendants of the mighty hosts that once moved over this broad land or lived in happy homes, protected by the Great Spirit, will remain to mourn over the graves of a people once more powerful and hopeful than yours. But why should I mourn at the untimely fate of my people? Tribe follows tribe, and nation follows nation, like the waves of the sea. It is the order of nature, and regret is useless. Your time of decay may be distant, but it will surely come, for even the White Man whose God walked and talked with him as a friend to friend, cannot be exempt from the common destiny. We may be brothers after all. We will see.

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“If you are rested I would go,” I urged. “Get up and try to walk now.”
“Thank you,” he said and got to his feet, swayed from side to side and then sat down backwards in the dust.
“I was taking care of animals,” he said dully, but no longer to me. “I was only taking care of animals.”
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What is the theme of the story?


 

After considering the matter, and talking it over with his wife, farmer Jones said that he would take John, and do well by him, now that his mother was out of the way; and Mrs. Ellis, who had been looking out for a bound girl, concluded that it would be charitable in her to make choice of Katy, even though she was too young to be of much use for several years.

“I could do much better, I know,” said Mrs. Ellis; “but as no one seems inclined to take her, I must act from a sense of duty expect to have trouble with the child; for she’s an undisciplined thing—used to having her own way.”

But no one said “I’ll take Maggie.” Pitying glances were cast on her wan and wasted form and thoughts were troubled on her account. Mothers brought cast-off garments and, removing her soiled and ragged clothes, dressed her in clean attire. The sad eyes and patient face of the little one touched many hearts, and even knocked at them for entrance. But none opened to take her in. Who wanted a bed-ridden child?

“Take her to the poorhouse,” said a rough man, of whom the question “What’s to be done with Maggie?” was asked. “Nobody’s going to be bothered with her.”

“The poorhouse is a sad place for a sick and helpless child,” answered one.
“For your child or mine,” said the other, lightly speaking; “but for tis brat it will prove a blessed change, she will be kept clean, have healthy food, and be doctored, which is more than can be said of her past condition.”

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In the dawn of morning there lay the poor little one, with pale cheeks and smiling mouth, leaning against the wall; she had been frozen to death on the last evening of the year; and the New-year’s sun rose and shone upon a little corpse! The child still sat, in the stiffness of death, holding the matches in her hand, one bundle of which was burnt. “She tried to warm herself,” said some. No one imagined what beautiful things she had seen, nor into what glory she had entered with her grandmother, on New-year’s day.

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