1.语文

一年级-上册

2.数学

3.英语

一年级-下册

日语

ドラえもん

英语 自然拼读

Written by David L. Dreier 
Illustrated by Lisa Ing

The Best of Times 
From the east, four Haida (HY-duh) war canoes
approached the island. They bobbed in the choppy
water of the strait. 
On the rocky shore, young Squawally watched
with excitement. The warriors—more than a
hundred of them—had been gone for three days. 
Now they whooped triumphantly as they paddled
the long cedar dugouts into shore, their tattooed
bodies sweating from the effort.

When the canoes
scraped bottom, the braves jumped out and
dragged them onto the rocky beach. 
The men pulled a dozen captives from the
canoes and pushed them toward the village. The
prisoners’ hands were tied behind them with
leather straps. One of the returning warriors turned
to Squawally with a grin. He gave a tilt of his head
toward the captives. “They will make fine slaves.”

Squawally envied the braves their victory. 
He wished he could have gone with them. But at
thirteen years old, he was still too young for war. 
“Was it a tough fight?” he asked. The brave
sneered. “No, it was easy. Most of their warriors
were sick. The whole village was filled with
sickness. They say it came from the white people.” 
Squawally looked east across the water. It was a
soft, late-summer day. Large, puffy clouds hugged
the horizon. Behind him, the people of his village
went about their daily lives with smiling faces. 
Cooking smoke rose from the cedar longhouses.
Outside the houses, tall totem poles stood in silent
majesty. Children played.

It was a fine day, and a fine time to be Haida. 
Their world in Haida Gwaii—a crescent-shaped
group of islands west of mainland Canada—was
good. Nothing could ever harm it. At least that’s
what Squawally wanted to believe. But lately he
wasn’t so sure. “I’ve heard stories of the whitepeople’s
illness,” he said. “I didn’t know if they
were true.”
The brave made a dismissive gesture with
his hand. “The people on the coast are weak. We
Haida are strong and need not fear this illness.”

The man gave Squawally a slap on the back. 
“Don’t worry. You especially, young Squawally— 
you have some important days ahead of you. 
Right now, you are the pride of the Ravens. Soon,
some Eagle girls will be making eyes at you.” 
Squawally blushed. The warrior laughed and
walked toward his longhouse.

Ravens and Eagles 
All the Haida people belonged to one of two large
social groups, called Raven and Eagle. Each group was
divided into more than 20 families. A member of the
Raven group could only marry a person from the Eagle
group, and vice versa. Children became members of
their mother’s social group. Names, honors, and chiefly
rank were passed down through the mother’s line.

A New Totem Pole 
The Haida craftsman ran his hands down the
long, thick cedar log. The log, stripped of its bark,
was lying on its side on supporting timbers. The
craftsman was the most renowned totem-pole
carver in this part of Haida Gwaii. His two
assistants stood quietly by as he examined the
log. Squawally and his uncle, Chief Brave Bear, 
also watched him in respectful silence. 
Finally the craftsman turned to Squawally and
Brave Bear with a smile. “It’s a good log,” he said.
“I’ve never seen a finer one. You chose well.”
Brave Bear nodded proudly.

The craftsman patted the log. “I’ll make it into
a pole that will impress the entire village. And it’s
time you had a new one.” He gestured to the
aging totem pole that stood nearby, outside of
Brave Bear’s longhouse. 
“The time is now right,” Brave Bear replied. 
“Squawally is becoming a man.” 
“Someday he will succeed you as chief of the
family,” said the carver. He turned to Squawally. 
“How will that be, huh—to rule the longhouse?” 
“I’m in no hurry to be a chief,” said Squawally. 
“I wish my uncle long life.”

The two men smiled. Then the craftsman
returned to discussing the carving. “So what
stories is this pole going to tell?” he asked
Brave Bear.
Brave Bear gave him detailed instructions 
on the various family crests that he wanted
carved into the pole. At the top would be a great
Thunderbird, its wings outstretched. Other
animals, including the Grizzly Bear, would have
lower positions. Every crest had special meaning
to Brave Bear’s family group. 
Brave Bear and Squawally left the carver to
his work. He began drawing figures on the log
with a stick of charcoal.

Initiation into Manhood 
I will not show pain. I will not show pain. 
Squawally repeated those words to himself
silently as he sat cross-legged in the center of the
longhouse near the communal fire. Around the
longhouse, the several dozen members of the
family, including Squawally’s mother and father,
watched in silence. 
Brave Bear stood above Squawally. “Today
Squawally begins his ascent into manhood,” he
said. I bestow on him my name of Brave Bear.
May he bring it honor, as I hope I have.

In
recognition of his second name, he will receive his
first tattoo—of our powerful brother, the Grizzly
Bear. What prouder image can a young man have
on his chest?” 
Brave Bear turned and gestured to a man who
stood a few steps away. The man walked over to
Squawally and knelt down. He opened a leather
pouch and removed some fish-bone and thorn
needles as well as bags of powdered pigments. 
The tattoo artist began pricking the skin of
Squawally’s chest with a needle. He made a series
of closely spaced puncture wounds in the shape
of a stylized grizzly bear. The holes in the boy’s
chest dripped blood, which the man wiped away.

Throughout the ordeal, Squawally stared
straight ahead. He gave no sign of the intense
pain the needle was causing him. I will not show
pain, he kept repeating to himself.
When the design was finished, the artist
rubbed some parts of it with black pigment. Other
parts he rubbed with red pigment. The pigments
would be part of Squawally’s flesh for the rest
of his life. 
The tattoo, still oozing blood, was finished. 
Squawally stood and displayed his chest to the
family. They smiled and nodded in approval. 
Squawally had passed his first test of manhood.

The First Salmon of the Year 
A large, pink salmon lay on a bed of leaves in
the center of the village. The village’s head chief
stood over it, his hands held out before him. 
The fish was the first salmon to be caught in the
annual spawning run. 
The Haidas did not know why this yearly
event occurred. They didn’t understand that the
salmon were returning to the
lakes and streams of their
birth to reproduce.

All they
knew was that this great
rush of salmon happened
once a year in late
summer. And that it
might end forever 
if they did not
show the salmon
proper respect. 
“Thank you for
sending us our brother
the salmon,” the chief
intoned as all the
villagers gave their
own private
thanks for the
salmon.

Later, the salmon was cooked over a wood fire. 
When it was done, everyone in the village ate a
small piece of it. A woman tending the fire gave a
piece to Squawally. He ate it in two bites, savoring
its taste of both sea and smoke. The return of
the salmon in their great numbers had been
guaranteed for another year.

The Bounty of the Pacific 
The Haidas and other Native Americans of the Pacific
Coast had unlimited amounts of food for the taking. Their
most important food was salmon, which people caught by
the thousands. Salmon were eaten fresh as well as dried
for later use. In addition to salmon, the Pacific waters
were filled with other kinds of fish and with sea mammals,
including whales and seals. The beaches overflowed with
clams, oysters, and crabs. The forests yielded plants, nuts,
and berries, as well as game animals. It was impossible to
go hungry on the Pacific Coast.

Raising the Totem Pole 
For ten days, the craftsman and his assistants 
had labored over Brave Bear’s new totem pole. 
Slowly and carefully, they had carved out the
drawn designs. They worked with Europeanmade
steel tools obtained through trade
networks. Today, they made the finishing touches,
applying colorful pigments to the carved designs.
Now it was time to raise the pole into position. 
Everyone in the village was assembled outside
Brave Bear’s longhouse. As the women and
children watched, dozens of men labored to raise
the pole. First they carried the tall pole to a hole 
that had been dug outside the door of the

longhouse. Next, they laid the bottom of the pole
next to the hole. Then they wrapped ropes around
the pole. Some of the men pulled on the ropes 
while others pushed from behind with long
wooden rods. 
Slowly the top of the pole reached toward the
sky. A moment later, the bottom thunked down
into the hole. Everyone laughed and cheered. 
Chief Brave Bear and Squawally beamed happily.

What Are Totems? 
The poles that were erected by First Nations People 
of the Pacific Northwest are called totem poles. So what
are totems? 
Actually, the correct term is “crests,” and totem poles
are more accurately called “crest poles.” Crests were
the various animals, in supernatural form, that were
associated with the two main social groups of the Haida—
Eagles and Ravens—and with individual families. Early
anthropologists, or people who study human culture, 
mistakenly called these symbols “totems.” That term had
been used more accurately for a system of animal symbols
used by Native Americans of the Great Lakes region.

“This tells who
we are,” the chief
said to Squawally 
as they gazed at the
beautiful new pole. 
The boy made
no reply. Words
could not express 
the pride he felt at
that moment.

The Potlatch 
Squawally’s introduction to manhood and
the raising of the new totem pole were important
events in the Haida village. As such, they had to
be properly celebrated. 
Chief Brave Bear had been
preparing for this occasion for
many months. He saved great
stores of food and gifts. Now
the great celebration, known
as a potlatch,
was under way. 
For several
days, the people
of the village 
and their guests
would feast,
sing, play games,
and dance. 
Throughout the
festivities, Brave
Bear would give
everyone gifts 
of food, blankets,
carved boxes,
animal hides,
and other objects.

Coppers 
At the end of a
potlatch, the chief hosting the event 
would present one or more chiefs
with “coppers.” These were expertly
crafted copper objects shaped like a
small shield, each decorated with the
image of an animal. Coppers were
the most highly prized objects in
Haida society. They were a symbol
of wealth. As a challenge, a chief
would sometimes break a copper
and offer the pieces to another chief. 
The other chief would then have to
break a copper of his own of equal
or greater value—if he had one. If
he didn’t and was unable to meet
the challenge, he was humiliated.

Only a wealthy man could hold a potlatch, 
and at the end of such a celebration, all of his
wealth was gone. But Chief Brave Bear wasn’t
concerned about that. He knew that he would
regain what he had lost— and more—at future
potlatches held by other chiefs. 
Brave Bear smiled broadly as he watched his
fellow villagers and the many visitors enjoy the
great party he was throwing. The air was filled
with talk, laughter, and singing. His heart swelled
with joy.

Brave Bear saw Squawally seated on a log, 
eating a chunk of roasted elk meat. But the boy
did not seem to be eating with much appetite,
and his face looked glum. The chief walked over
to his nephew and sat down. 
“Why are you looking so downcast?” he
asked. “This celebration is for you. You should
be happy.” 
“I know, uncle,” the boy replied. “But . . . the
shaman just told me that the prisoners captured
in the raid have gotten sick. He’s used all his
knowledge to cure them, but it isn’t working.”

Brave Bear shook his head and smiled. “Why
should you care about a few slaves? Let them go
to the afterlife. They’ll be happier there.” 
“It’s the sickness I’m thinking about. I’m afraid
our people will get it.”
“Don’t worry yourself. The Guardian Spirits
will look after us. Now enjoy yourself.” 
Squawally nodded. His uncle gave him a pat
on the back and departed. 
Squawally looked out across the water of the
strait. The eastern horizon was blanketed with
gray clouds. Autumn was approaching.

Afterword 
Haida Gwaii had been the home of the Haida
people since early times. Their ancestors from Asia
may have settled there at the end of the last ice age,
more than 10,000 years ago. 
For generation after generation, the Haidas lived
prosperous lives on their beautiful forested islands. 
They were fierce warriors who took many captives as
their slaves. At least 7,000 Haida people were living
there in the late 1700s, when they encountered the first
European explorers. They were divided into at least
fifty villages in areas now part of western Canada and
the northwestern United States. Another group of
Haida people had settled in Alaska.

The Haidas’ world came crashing down in the
1860s. A series of smallpox epidemics, transmitted by
settlers from Europe, wiped out many Native American
villages. More than 90 percent of the Canadian Haida
died of smallpox and other diseases against which
their bodies had no natural defenses. 
Later, their troubles continued. Beginning in the
1870s, Christian missionaries arrived in the islands
to convert the surviving Haidas. The missionaries
persuaded the Haidas to forget their old ways. The
missionaries pulled down many of the totem poles 
and destroyed them. Some totem poles were burned
for firewood.

The Canadian government also began taking steps 
to turn Native Americans away from their traditions. In
1884, it outlawed potlatch celebrations. Some Haida
continued to hold potlatches, though they tried to keep
them secret. The last potlatch was held in 1921. The
government discovered it and confiscated all the gifts. 
It appeared that the Haida culture was heading
toward extinction.

Things began to improve for the Haidas in the
mid-1900s. In 1951, the government repealed its ban
on potlatches. Although the celebrations would never
again be the huge events that they had been, they
would at least be legal. 
The Haida population, which numbered fewer
than 600 in the early 1900s, has increased to at
least 4,000. About 1,500 of those people live in
two villages, Skidegate and Old Massett.

The villages
have been designated Native American reserves, 
or reservations, by the Canadian government. Each
Haida village is governed by a village council. There
are also five other population centers in Haida Gwaii. 
Like all Native Americans in Canada, the Haidas
are full citizens and can live where they choose. The
Haida people are one of Canada’s First Nations, as
the country’s Native American populations are called.

The two Haida villages have been prospering, 
bringing in many tourists. Arts and crafts have become
a leading industry. Many Haida artists make a good
living selling their works to visitors. Remnants of the old Haida culture can be seen at
the Gwaii Haanas National Park Reserve and Haida
Heritage Site. Part of this historical area, Anthony
Island, features the remains of ten Haida longhouses
and thirty-two totem poles. The island can be reached
only by boat or seaplane.

The Haidas

Introduction
 America was not always a country. Over 200
 years ago, it was a collection of thirteen colonies
 ruled by Great Britain. Britain began taxing the
 colonists and enforcing unpopular new laws. The
 colonists objected, saying they wanted “no taxation
 without representation” in British Parliament.

Over time, the disagreements between the two
 groups only increased bad feelings and violence.
 Britain’s King George III tried to gain control 
 over the colonists, but failed. A series of events 
 led to a confrontation on April 19, 1775, between 
 British soldiers and colonists at the towns of 
 Lexington and Concord in Massachusetts. Shots 
 were exchanged on the village green in Lexington
 —no one knows which side fired first. That first 
 shot became known as “the shot heard ‘round 
 the world,” signaling the beginning of war 
 between Britain and its thirteen colonies.

The Second Continental Congress
 On May 10, 1775, the Second Continental
 Congress met at Independence Hall in
 Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. The delegates
 unanimously chose George Washington, one
 of the delegates from Virginia and a former 
 officer in the British army, to command the 
 colony’s troops. The Congress voted to 
 call the troops the Continental Army, and 
 declared it would be made up of volunteer 
 soldiers from each of the thirteen colonies.

Give Me Liberty!
 When King George refused to repeal the taxes, it
 became obvious that the colonies would have to fight for
 their independence. After the First Continental Congress,
 Patrick Henry returned to Virginia and made a speech
 in which he cried, “Give me liberty or give me death!”
 During the war, “Liberty or Death!” was a Patriot battle cry.

Washington’s job as commander of the
 Continental Army wasn’t going to be easy.
 Washington had a ragtag group of farmers,
 carpenters, and blacksmiths with few weapons
 and little or no training. These soldiers would
 be fighting against powerful Britain, with
 its well-trained and well-supplied army and
 navy. He expected to fail, telling Patrick Henry,
 “From the day I enter upon the command of the
 American armies, I date my fall, and the ruin
 of my reputation.” Although he thought his 
 reputation would be ruined, Washington believed
 so strongly in the cause of American independence, 
 he took the challenge as its commander and
 insisted that he not be paid for his services.

Thinking Critically
 WHAT does a unanimous vote reveal about 
 the delegates’ perception of George 
 Washington? IN YOUR MIND, how might a 
 unanimous vote benefit the delegates?

Not every colonist wanted to be independent
 from Britain. So while George Washington headed
 to Concord and Lexington near Boston to lead his
 new troops, the Continental Congress continued
 to try to make amends with Britain’s Parliament.
 The delegates sent a petition to King George III
 asking him again to grant the colonists rights and
 to proclaim the colonists as loyal English subjects.
 King George refused to even read the petition,
 and declared that the colonists “had proceeded
 to open and avowed rebellion.”

The Olive Branch Petition
 The petition that the Second
 Continental Congress
 sent to King George III
 was called The Olive Branch 
 Petition. An olive branch is
 a symbolic offering of peace.

The Patriots Take Ticonderoga
 On the same day the Second Continental
 Congress met, the Colonist soldiers
 scored a victory over the British at
 Fort Ticonderoga. A rough, tough farmer
 named Ethan Allen and his backwoods 
 friends had formed a group called the 
 Green Mountain Boys. The Congress asked 
 the Green Mountain Boys to capture the 
 British fort on Lake Champlain in New York. 
 Another soldier named Benedict Arnold also 
 was ordered to attack Fort Ticonderoga.

Both Arnold and Allen wanted to be the 
 leader of the attack, so they argued all
 the way to Ticonderoga, but they managed to
 conquer the fort together on May 10, 1775.
 The victory gave the Patriots a morale boost.
 It also served as an announcement that war 
 had indeed begun. Colonists were now forced 
 to take sides either as Loyalists, those who 
 wanted to remain part of Britain, or as Patriots, 
 those who wanted independence from Britain.

Bunker Hill (and Breed’s Hill)
 After the Battle of Lexington, in which “the
 shot heard ‘round the world” started the first
 battle of the American Revolution, the British
 soldiers, led by Major John Pitcairn, had retreated
 to Boston. The colonist soldiers camped outside
 Boston, gathering forces. Around 16,000 Patriot
 troops eventually surrounded Boston, cutting off
 supplies to the British. With Patriot troops
 surrounding Boston, British General Thomas
 Gage worried enemy troops might fortify the
 hills across the Charles River from Boston—
 Bunker Hill and Breed’s Hill in Charlestown.

On the night of June 16, 1775, Patriot soldiers
 dug trenches into Breed’s Hill, working all night.
 By morning, soldiers and trenches covered the
 hill. The British soldiers moved by ship across
 the Charles River with cannons blasting. The
 minutemen were at a disadvantage: they
 weren’t trained well and were fighting 
 Britain’s professional soldiers. The 
 Patriots also had very little gunpowder. In 
 order to conserve their ammunition, Patriot 
 officers told their soldiers to make every 
 shot count by waiting until the British were 
 very close before firing: “Wait until you 
 see the whites of their eyes.”

As the British soldiers rushed the hill, the
 Americans held their fire until the last safe
 moment—the strategy worked and many British
 soldiers died. More British troops landed and
 attacked, with the Americans continuing to wait
 and then shoot. Finally, after the Americans ran
 out of gunpowder and had to retreat, the British
 captured Breed’s Hill and Bunker Hill.

The British won control of the two hills at
 the cost of many British lives. More than 1,000
 British soldiers were wounded or killed, while
 the Patriots lost 441 men. The Patriots gained a
 boost in morale even though they lost a battle
 because they could fight and win a war against
 professional soldiers. Although most of the action
 was seen on Breed’s Hill, the battle has come to
 be known as “The Battle of Bunker Hill.”

General George Washington’s troops held the
 British captive in Boston for nearly a year. He
 also sent forces to invade Canada to prevent the
 British from landing there and sending forces
 south into New York. The Patriots captured
 Montreal but failed in their attack on Quebec.
 During the winter, Patriots used cannons they
 captured from the British to attack British 
 soldiers in Boston. On March 17, 1776, the 
 British soldiers and thousands of colonists 
 loyal to Britain left Boston, leaving Washington’s 
 troops to march triumphantly into the city.

Thinking Critically
 HOW would seeing the Patriots
 using British cannons cause the 
 British troops to react?
 IN YOUR MIND, how could their
 reaction have been an advantage or
 disadvantage for the Patriots?

Declaring Independence
 Patriot Thomas Paine wrote a pamphlet, Common
 Sense, in which he declared independence to 
 be the only correct choice for the colonists. 
 His booklet sold 150,000 copies in a few
 months and swayed many Loyalist colonists to 
 the side of independence. In June 1776, the 
 Continental Congress selected a committee to 
 write a statement about the colonists’ right 
 to be self-governing. Thomas Jefferson was 
 chosen as the actual writer. The Continental 
 Congress approved the Declaration of Independence 
 on July 4, 1776. Once passed by each of the 
 thirteen colonies, the Declaration of Independence 
 created the United States of America.

“Put your John Hancock right here.”
 Have you ever heard the above saying? 
 It means, “Please sign this.” It 
 dates back to 1776 when John Hancock 
 boldly signed the Declaration of 
 Independence. His large signature
 encouraged the other 53 signers to sign. 
 If Britain had won, all the signers 
 could have been hanged as traitors.

Battling for Freedom There were dark days
 ahead for the Patriots, as they lost battle 
 after battle. A month after the Declaration 
 of Independence was signed, the British, 
 under General William Howe, shipped 30,000 
 soldiers into New York Harbor. The outnumbered
 Patriots lost the Battle of Long Island and 
 retreated south across New Jersey to
 Philadelphia. The British occupied New York
 City, and won a battle in which Patriots 
 surrendered Fort Washington.

A Spy’s End
 Nathan Hale, a 21-year-old teacher, 
 volunteered to spy on British troops 
 in New York City. Hale was caught 
 and hanged. His last words were: 
 “I regret that I have but one life 
 to give for my country.”

In October 1776, Patriot Benedict Arnold’s gunboats were defeated 
 at Lake Champlain in Canada. However, the Patriots fought so 
 fiercely that the British were concerned. Conquering the rebels 
 might not be as easy as they’d thought. On December 24, 1776, George
 Washington and his men ferried across the Delaware River to Trenton,
 New Jersey. The Patriots won a battle there in less than an hour! A few days later, Washington defeated the British at Princeton, New Jersey. These victories rejuvenated the Patriots’ morale.

Benedict Arnold’s Plot
 Benedict Arnold was a brave general, but he felt
 Congress and the Continental Army had mistreated him.
 In 1779, Washington put Arnold in charge of a fort on
 the lower Hudson River called West Point. Arnold planned to
 sell the fort to the British. When his plan was revealed,
 he became a traitor and joined the British army.

Britain retaliated in June 1777, by moving a
 large army led by General John Burgoyne south
 from Canada. Burgoyne planned to conquer the
 Hudson River area, cutting off New England
 and New York from the other colonies. On the
 way, Burgoyne recaptured Fort Ticonderoga.
 However, Patriot soldiers stopped Burgoyne’s
 momentum at the Battle of Saratoga in October,
 with Burgoyne surrendering around 6,000 men.

The Battle of Saratoga was a turning point in
 the war because it proved to France and other
 European countries that the Patriots might win
 the war. France joined the fight against its 
 longstanding enemy Great Britain by sending 
 supplies to the Continental Army. Soon after, 
 Spain would declare war on Britain.
 Supplies grew scarcer for the Continental
 Army. Soldiers often lacked food, clothing, and
 shelter. The Continental Congress needed allies
 such as France to help supply the troops.

In June 1778, after that horrible winter,
 Washington attacked the British army, now 
 under the command of General Henry Clinton, 
 at the Battle of Monmouth. Neither side won 
 the fight, which was the last major battle
 in the northern colonies.

Southern Battles
 British forces captured Savannah, Georgia, 
 in December 1778. Then they attacked and 
 captured Charleston, South Carolina, in
 May 1780. They won yet again at Camden, 
 South Carolina, in August 1780. Many 
 colonists in the southern colonies were
 Loyalists. Although Britain was winning
 the South, the Patriots would not give up.

It’s a Grand Old Flag
 Congress decided on a flag for the new 
 republic on June 14, 1777. It was to 
 have thirteen stars on a blue field 
 and thirteen red and white stripes. 
 Many people believe Philadelphia 
 seamstress Elizabeth “Betsy” Ross
 sewed the first national flag. However, 
 no real evidence supports this story.

The tide of the war started to turn in favor of
 the Patriots in October when they won a battle
 at King’s Mountain, South Carolina, in a speedy
 sixty-five minutes. They again won battles at
 Camden and Cowpens. Next, they forced British
 General Charles Cornwallis north into Virginia.
 Cornwallis had aided the British victory at Long
 Island and had taken command of British troops
 in the south. The Patriots’ alliance with the French
 began to pay off. French soldiers helped hold the
 British back and fought alongside colonists as part
 of the troops Washington led into Virginia.

The most important battle of the war was about to begin. French ships 
 drove off the British ships sent to rescue Cornwallis at Yorktown, on
 the coast of Virginia. The French fleet also brought
extra soldiers 
 to help the fight on land. The French and Patriot troops moved into Yorktown,
 surrounding the British army. The British fought for three weeks before 
 surrendering on October 19, 1781. The Revolutionary War was over.
 The Patriots had won their war and were now independent from Britain.
 Now a group of colonies that was used to being supported by another 
 country had to come together and build
a brand new nation.

Thinking Critically
 WHAT do you consider to be the greatest challenge faced 
 by people of any new nation? IN YOUR MIND, why might
 one challenge be greater than others?

Major Players in the Revolutionary War
 George Washington:
 Commander of the Continental
 Army; later became the country’s
 first president
 Thomas Gage: Commander of
 British troops in the colonies;
 army was trapped
 in Boston after battles at
 Lexington and Concord
 John Burgoyne: British
 commander of the northern army; captured
 Fort Ticonderoga but was defeated at Saratoga

King George III: Twenty-two
 years old when he became Great
 Britain’s king; was determined to
 keep the colonies at all costs
 Thomas Jefferson: Wrote the
 Declaration of Independence
 Thomas Paine: Wrote a booklet
 called Common Sense, which inspired 
 many colonists to choose independence
 William Howe: Commander of the British 
 army in North America, 1775–1778
 Henry Clinton: Replaced Howe as British
 commander in 1778

Charles Cornwallis: British
 general under Henry Clinton;
 was in charge of the South;
 surrendered at Yorktown on
 October 19, 1781
 Marquis de Lafayette: A young
 Frenchman who served as a
 commander under Washington;
 instrumental in attaining the
 French military assistance that
 helped win the war

Battling for Independence

A Great Gallardo Book
 Written by Lori Polydoros
 Illustrated by David Cockcroft

All Play and No Work
 “Score!” Miguel Ventura’s fingers flew over 
 his video controller. He zapped swarms of alien 
 crab monsters that cruised the beach on his TV. 
 “I just beat the game!” “Ya-hoo!” his 
 friend Trevon yelled. They slapped a high-five.
 “Time to get to work,” said Miguel’s sister,
 Teresa, as she checked her list. “Dishes first, 
 then laundry, vacuuming, and dusting.” “Sorry, 
 sis.” The boys laughed. “We only finished
 the first game.” “Nine more to go!” Trevon 
 added. Teresa planted herself in front of the 
 TV screen. “Mom and Dad said we could only 
 stay home if we did our chores.”

The Ventura family owned a sandwich shop,
 which is where Miguel and Teresa often 
 spent their afternoons and weekends 
 helping out. “You’ve got a handle on it, 
 Tee.” Miguel slid her aside.
 “Fine!” Teresa tossed her list at Miguel. 
 “You’ll get grounded, not me.”
 Trevon shoved chips into his mouth. Crumbs
 cascaded down his chin like a waterfall.
 Miguel flopped onto the cushions of the
 couch. “This is the life!”

Vrrroooom! Teresa revved the vacuum in 
 front of the TV.
 “Move!” Miguel yelled. Teresa shrugged.
 He flipped off the switch.
 “You two are slugs!” She yanked the cord.
 “Wasting your life away.” “If this is 
 the life of a slug . . .” Trevon said.
 “. . . we’ll take it.” Miguel answered. 
 “We’ve got all the time in the world.”

Five minutes later, the phone rang. “It’s 
 for you, Trevon!” Teresa called out.
 “Hello?” Trevon mumbled into the phone.
 “Why?” He shrugged. “Fine. Be home 
 in a minute.”
 “What’s up?” Miguel asked.
 “Mom says I have to go,” he said.
 “What did you do, Tee?” Miguel rushed
 through the house. “You called Trevon’s 
 mom to get him to leave, didn’t you?”
Silence.

“I’ll show her,” Miguel muttered under his
 breath as he slipped out the door, heading
 directly for the sandwich shop. “Even without
 Trevon, there’ll be no chores for me.”
 Miguel had found the Great Gallardo’s books
 last year in an old chest up in the loft of 
 his parents’ shop. The books belonged to his 
 greatgrandpa, a magician called the Great 
 Gallardo. Somehow, Miguel was able to travel 
 into the stories and become a character. Getting 
 lost in the center of the Earth was the scariest 
 thing he had done. Becoming the Scarecrow from 
 The Wizard of Oz had been the most fun.

Dust covered the chest of books. An old wrench 
 stuck out from the lid. Miguel slipped it into 
 his pocket, knowing that he’d need it on his 
 journey. Even after so many trips, he didn’t 
 have a clue how the magic worked. Miguel pulled
 out a small blue book. “The Time Machine by H.G.
 Wells,” he said. “Cool, I get to go to the 
 future!” He started reading from page 326. “I 
 heard nothing but the cracking of twigs under my 
 feet, my own breathing, and the throb of my blood
 vessels in my ears.” The words danced across the
 page and Miguel’s heart quickened its beat.

“then some underworld Morlocks voices there 
 caught I had heard and several they sounds in 
 I closing and me the on the in and were . . .”
 Miguel’s view blurred. His head whirled.
 Light coming through the window zipped in and
 out. Miguel spun faster and faster. Light and 
 dark transformed into gray.
 Was this time traveling? Miguel’s body grew
 heavy and suddenly flung forward, slamming to
 the ground. Then all went dark.

Humanity Lost
 Miguel found himself lying in a forest clearing at the base of a hill. A small 
 girl lay curled up behind him. Curly hair adorned with flowers framed her face, 
 which had delicate features. Who was she? A fire hissed from across the clearing. 
 Flickering beams of light from the fire danced across the girl’s dress. Flames 
 sprang up from a pile of wood to catch nearby trees and bushes on fire and 
 traveled through the forest like a pack of lions. Miguel panicked. As he jumped 
 to his feet, he kicked an iron bar on the ground. Voices mumbled in the darkness 
 beyond the firelight. Bushes rustled. Footsteps padded the ground. Miguel 
 turned round and round. Someone was coming. Something was coming.

The flames exposed several white creatures
 with gorilla-like faces rushing toward him.
 Standing upright, they were about the same 
 size as Miguel. Suddenly he remembered the 
 story. These things were called Morlocks, 
 ape-like beasts that lived underground . . . 
 and they were cannibals! Miguel gulped. The
 Morlocks nearly surrounded him. “Wake up, 
 little girl.” He shook her, keeping one 
 eye on the Morlocks. Her big blue eyes 
 opened. “I’m Weena.” “That means I’m 
 the time traveler!” He picked her up. 
 “And we’re dinner for those Morlocks!”

Weena jumped out of his arms and
 sprinted into the forest, which grew
 brighter and hotter from the inferno.
 Miguel reached out, but she slipped
 away. For a moment, Weena stopped in
 front of the blaze, mesmerized by the
 dancing flames. Then she moved forward.
 “No, fire!” He motioned toward the heat. 
 “Ouch!”

Weena had no clue what he was saying. From
 the story, Miguel knew that 80,000 years into 
 the future, human beings had changed and split 
 into two groups. Weena was an Eloi, the people 
 who lived aboveground. Over time, their easy 
 life had made them weaker and less intelligent 
 than the Morlocks, who were the primitive 
 worker-class who lived underground and built 
 machinery. The Morlocks only came aboveground 
 at night to hunt the Eloi.

Miguel shivered. Smoke burned his nostrils.
 Weena stumbled back to where they started and
 collapsed. He tried to wake her, but he could 
 barely tell whether she was breathing. From 
 behind, Miguel felt fingers cling to his back. 
 They gripped his neck and arms. He swiveled 
 around, bent down, and grabbed the iron bar 
 off the ground. “I’m not your dinner!” He 
 lunged toward the Morlocks, waving the bar in 
 the air. “Get away from us!” The Morlocks 
 scattered. He turned back. Weena had 
 disappeared! His heart fell; he hadn’t protected 
 her. Another Morlock tugged at his ankle. Miguel 
 kicked his foot out and scrambled up the hill.

A Beautiful Machine
 From the hilltop, the glow of the fire
 illuminated the entire forest. Ashes and 
 embers littered the ground, burning Miguel’s 
 feet. He wrapped huge green leaves around 
 them. A group of trees exploded like dynamite,
 sending Miguel to the ground. The ape-like
 creatures froze near the edge of the blaze. 
 The fire singed their white hair, creating a 
 putrid stench. They fell like dominoes, 
 succumbing to the hungry beast of a fire. They, 
 like Weena, had never seen a blaze like this. 
 The future was nothing as Miguel imagined.

The surviving Morlocks streamed through the
 trees, the fire chasing them like a monster. 
 Miguel followed them. Maybe they would lead 
 him back to the time machine, and he could 
 get home. Miguel hustled past trees as tall as 
 buildings and brushed against blue flowers as 
 big as his face. There was no technology in the 
 future, and Miguel surmised that was the reason
 why nature flourished. The Morlocks disappeared 
 into an underground passageway, leaving Miguel 
 alone near a marble statue of a sphinx.

The shiny valves around the sphinx’s bronze
 base shimmered in the firelight. In the story, 
 the Morlocks unscrewed the valves to open this 
 statue so they could capture the time traveler 
 inside it. Miguel was too close behind them for 
 the Morlocks to set the trap this time. Miguel
 had figured it out—the time machine was inside!
 Miguel pulled on the valves. Twisted. Tugged.
 They slipped through his fingers. Dread spread
 over him like a storm cloud. How would he get to
 the machine? Miguel thought of Weena. Then he 
 thought of Teresa and how he’d been mad at her 
 when he left. What if he never made it back? Miguel 
 leaned against the statue. Something from his pocket 
 clanked against the bronze. The wrench from the loft!

He ripped the tool from his pocket and fit it
 onto the valves. Perfect! He torqued them hard.
 The front panel of the statue came loose, slid 
 down into the ground, and revealed the time 
 machine! Miguel rushed over. It was beautiful; 
 a cross between a race car and the gears of a 
 fancy watch. The rectangular metal frame 
 supported twisted crystal and ivory bars that 
 interconnected, creating one continuous pattern. 
 It was like the ultimate brain puzzle, the kind 
 you could work on for hours yet never solve. 
 But to Miguel, the idea of time travel was the 
 biggest puzzle. He knew it was impossible in
 the real world, but he fantasized about moving
 through space and time: the fourth dimension.

The front panel inside held two levers and three
 dials labeled with the numbers up to a million. 
 The levers would take him forward and back. 
 The dials would show how many days he’d 
 traveled. How would he know which one to push?
 The bronze panel of the statue shot up and
 clanked shut. He was trapped in the dark! His
 hands fumbled for the levers. He heard murmurs.
 Footsteps. Laughter. Miguel was not alone. Warm
 bodies pressed near him. They pulled on his
 clothes. Tugged at his feet. Grabbed his shoulders.

He backed against the panel, kicking,
 screaming, and flailing his arms, surrounded by
 the Morlocks’ musty smell, their steaming breath,
 their fury. Miguel fumbled in his pockets. He
 pulled out the wrench and waved it. One of the
 Morlocks knocked it away. He felt the prick of 
 teeth against his neck. Miguel lunged forward, 
 knocking his head into the closest Morlock for 
 the ultimate head-butt! In that same instant, 
 he reached out for the levers. The Morlocks 
 tumbled out of the machine as Miguel’s fingers 
 clamped down onto metal. He pulled hard.

Blackness disappeared. Gray haze. Whirling
 thoughts. The dials spun wildly, like the 
 second hand on a clock. All at once,
 Miguel’s body surged forward. Everything 
 stopped. He’d gone forward. Fast forward.

Dying to See the Future
 Miguel found himself thrust upon a black, 
 endless plateau scattered with black bushes. 
 The land was flat with no mountains, hills,
 rivers, or oceans. The sun hung in the gray 
 sky. The fiery star was now orange, and its
 rays pulsed as if it were losing power.
 From across the plain, a long creature 
 crawled toward Miguel on thousands of feet. 
 It rose thirty feet high and had overlapping
 greenish-black plates covering its body.

Multiple
 black eyes stared him down. As it got closer, two
 horn-like antennas stretched out like hands. It was
 a giant centipede, and it was coming after him!
 Miguel scrambled back into the machine. He
 tugged on a lever. Instantly, the sky grew darker.
 He whirled forward, but the alternating of day and
 night—sunrise and sunset—slowed. The dials
 spun forward again and again. The time machine
 stopped abruptly.

The sun, now red and large, hung along the horizon. The sky was an 
 inky black, missing its moon, and highlighted by only a few pale stars.
 Like the scarlet of the sun, reddish rocks lined the
beach where 
 Miguel stood. Strange fluorescent green plants seemed to be the only 
 thing growing. The ocean was still—no waves, no breakers, no wind. 
 Miguel sat down. It was hard to breathe. He remembered the same 
 feeling when he’d hiked up Mount Whitney, the tallest mountain
 in California, with his mom. Oxygen was scarce.

The bitter cold nipped at his fingers as he cruised over the rocky 
 beach. The red ball in the sky was a sad picture of what the 
 sun used to be. Was he witnessing the death of the sun and 
 the end of life on Earth? He swallowed. Such a huge question 
 was hard to comprehend. A gust of fear and sadness brushed 
 across him. He had to get home. But how?

From the craggy shore, Miguel stepped down
 onto a boulder. It moved under his feet!
 He jumped back when a huge claw reared up
 from the ground. It was a crablike creature as 
 big as a table! Its huge antennas swung like 
 whips right at Miguel. As he scrambled backward, 
 Miguel tripped, slamming into the rocky shore.
 The crab moved forward, its huge claws
 grasping, its eyes gleaming toward its next meal.
 Miguel ran. As he turned back, the crab opened 
 its mouth and lunged toward Miguel. Antennas 
 swept over the back of Miguel’s neck. His foot 
 caught between two rocks. He tugged. Jerked. 
 Kicked. He was stuck! The crab came closer. 
 Miguel squirmed. Closer. Miguel yelled. Closer.

Miguel grabbed small rocks off the ground
 and began to throw. He picked up one after
 another, left hand, right hand, tossing them as
 quick as he could. The creature flinched. Miguel
 bounced more rocks against its hard shell. The
 crab slowed. It was working! Left. Right. Left. 
 Right. He pictured himself in front of his TV, 
 blasting the alien crabs from his video game. 
 But this time, it was all too real! With one 
 last heave, Miguel sent a basketball-sized rock 
 sailing right into the crab’s mouth. Its huge
 claws crossed in front. Its antennas swayed.

Miguel froze. And then the crab turned and 
 crawled away. “Ya-hoo!” He wished Trevon 
 could have seen this victory. Miguel reached
 down and untied the shoe stuck between the 
 rocks. His foot slipped out, and he headed 
 for the time machine. The time machine had 
 to be the key to getting home. Miguel remembered 
 that the time traveler had ended up back in 
 his laboratory when he went backward in time.

“Nice of you to show up,” she said.
 Miguel walked over to her, grabbed the rag,
 and began to clean the bookshelf.
 “Who are you?” she asked. “Not my brother—
 he doesn’t work.”
 “Great-Grandpa Gallardo helped me out.”
 Miguel thought of his fast-forward trip to the
 future and sadness filled his heart. “Time is 
 short. You never know how bright or dark the 
 future will be.” He dusted the books. “And 
 hard work keeps you strong and smart.” He 
 smiled at Teresa. “You’re off the hook 
 this time,” she smiled back. “But only if 
 I get to zap alien crabs while you work!”

Maybe Miguel would end up back at home 
 if he tried to go backward in time instead 
 of forward. He sat in the saddle seat, 
 pulled the other lever, and closed his eyes. 
 He twirled. He spun. He could feel the air 
 being sucked out of his lungs. Then
 suddenly, he was in the loft! Miguel left 
 the shop and ran home. He found
 Teresa dusting the living room.

Fast Forward to the Future

Written by Lori Polydoros 
Illustrated by David Cockcroft

Anything for Adventure 
Clear the tables, chop the onions, bake the
bread —Miguel Ventura was tired of all the work 
he had to do in his family’s sandwich shop. 
“It’s not fair. I’m only eleven,” he said to his
Mom. “Saturdays are supposed to be fun.”
“Sorry, Miguel,” she said,“but you’re the
oldest. Teresa’s only seven.”

His little sister
zipped across the shop bouncing a ball. 
His dad unlocked the front door, saying,
“She’s right, we need you to help out.”
 The pit of Miguel’s stomach ached—and not
from hunger. Adventure and freedom seemed
a million miles away. “Unless . . .” he whispered,
looking toward the shop’s backroom.

A few months ago, Miguel had climbed an old, 
red ladder that led up to a loft in the backroom. 
He had discovered a chest full of enchanted
books that belonged to his great-grandpa George,
a magician called The Great Gallardo. 
Somehow, after reading a passage from one of
the magical books, Miguel had been transported
into the story as one of the characters.

Through the Great Gallardo’s books, Miguel had met
Benjamin Franklin, battled a terrifying space
monster, and become a cowboy in the Old West! 
Miguel raced to the backroom and climbed
the ladder, skipping the broken rung. He had just enough time before the lunch rush to discover his
next adventure.

Being Huckleberry 
The old skeleton key stuck out of the lock
in the magical black chest, and Miguel turned
it with a click. He grabbed the first book, The
Adventures of Tom Sawyer, and he couldn’t wait
to see which of Tom’s classic adventures he’d
be pulled into. A feather marked page 91, and
a sentence jumped out at him like it was in three
dimensions. Miguel read aloud.

“They shoved off presently, Tom in command, Huck at the after and Joe at the forward.”
The words of the next sentence danced around
on the page . . . folded arms, Tom amid ships, and
gave with stood and gloomy-browed orders low, 
his a stern whisper in.
Miguel closed his eyes to fight off the
dizziness as cool air whispered across his face.

“Bring her to the wind!” a voice shouted. 
Miguel opened his eyes to find himself sailing
down a river, rowing at the left oar! 
“I’m Huck Finn!” he yelled, looking down at
his bare feet and scraggly pants.
 “That ye be!” the boy at the bow called. “Now
bring her ‘round!”

“Aye, aye, sir!” Miguel smiled ear-to-ear, 
breathing in adventure with every breath. 
Tom Sawyer was short and wore a black
bandanna on his head. The tall, skinny kid at the
stern was Tom’s friend, Joe Harper. In the story,
Miguel remembered that the three boys ran away
to become pirates on Jackson’s Island.

The boys rowed quietly past a distant town lit 
by a few glimmering lights. 
Finally, Tom called out, “I am the Black
Avenger of the Spanish Main!” 
“I am the Terror of the Seas!” yelled Joe. 
Both boys looked at Miguel, who swallowed
hard. “And Finn, the Red-Handed, what do ye say
for yerself?” Tom asked.

“I . . . I . . . say THERE GOES JACKSON’S
ISLAND!” Miguel called as the current swiftly
swept them by it. 
Tom scrambled about the raft, shouting orders, 
“Act lively now, mates!”
Miguel rowed hard along the tree-covered
island until his arms ached, and the raft finally
grounded itself on a sandbar.

Tom and Joe created a roaring fire. “For the
feast!” Joe said. Both boys revealed two succulent
hams that they had borrowed for the trip. 
“What’s in yer bag, Huck?” Tom asked. 
Miguel suddenly became aware of the weight
on his back.

“A skillet!” said Joe as he opened Miguel’s
bag. “To fry the bacon!” Joe continued as he
tossed in slices of ham. As they sizzled over the
flames, Miguel’s stomach grumbled.
 “We will be the grandest sort of pirates,”
 Tom said, pacing and marching around the fire.

“Doing as we please. Maybe we’ll bury some
treasure tonight, so the ghosts will watch over it.”
The wind howled. Tom howled back.
“No responsibilities!” said Joe. 
“No waking up in the morning, doing chores, 
going to school or to church,” Tom said.

“More of a carefree life for you, Hucky?” 
“I am Finn, the Red-Handed, and it’s a pirate’s
life for me!” Miguel’s duties back at his family’s
shop vanished as he curled up next to the
campfire. He let go of his wakefulness, and let
in the freedom of his new life as a pirate.

Skeeter Fever 
The eerie silence of the woods woke Miguel
in the morning. Joe was sprawled against the log
next to him, but Tom was nowhere to be seen. 
Miguel thought of his family, and a slight pain
clenched his heart. He’d never been gone this
long before in one of the Great Gallardo’s books,

and although he was enjoying his newfound
freedom, he hoped that time passed differently 
when he was away. He didn’t want his parents
to worry.
 “Huck!” Tom ran up to him. “Look what I
discovered on the raft!”
 Miguel did not move as 
Tom held up a leather sack, 
the size of a marble bag.

With trembling hands, 
Miguel tugged open the bag
and gasped. Twenty gold coins!
Miguel asked, “Do you know
who they belong to?” 
“This raft must have
belonged to some real
pirates,” Tom guessed
with awe.

Uh-oh. Miguel did not remember this storyline from the book. “Real pirates?” Joe questioned, half-asleep. Tom nodded. “Them pirates probably have been 
looking for their raft,” Tom said. “It’s only a matter of time ‘til they find it.” Miguel’s heart sank.
 “We’re gonna give everything back, right?”
 Joe asked, now awake.

“Heck, no!” Tom said. “We are pirates, too. 
We’ll bury the gold at midnight tonight.”
Gulp. “Pirates have swords, knives, and guns,”
Joe muttered. “All we
have is a pocketknife and
a bunch of fishhooks.” 
“Yeah, but we got these.” Tom pointed
to his brain. “We’re smarter than any pirate 
I’ve ever met.”

After searching the island, they found a damp
cave in which to hide their supplies. “All we need
to do,” Tom said, “is fill up the coin bag with
rocks and put it back on the raft. Then, we’ll take
the raft a mile downriver.” 
“To make it look like the current swept it
away,” Joe said.
 “They won’t suspect it had been pirated,”
Tom said.

Something wasn’t right. No gold or pirates existed
on Jackson’s Island in The Adventures of Tom Sawyer.
This just didn’t make sense. 
On their way back after grounding the raft
farther down the river, a gunshot shattered the
still air. “The pirates!” Tom whispered. “We’ve
got to bury the booty!”

Using pieces of splintered shale, Tom, Huck,
and Joe dug furiously in front of an ancient oak
tree. Tom dumped the coins into his marble bag. 
He chucked it in the hole and filled it up. 
A branch broke behind them. Miguel held
up the lantern to find three of the ugliest pirates 
they’d ever seen!

The first one was tiny, the
second a few feet taller, and the third pirate stood 
as tall as a professional basketball player. All
three of them were covered in red, pus-oozing
mosquito bites!
 “What’r ye laddies think yer up to?” The tall
one scratched his neck and held out his sword. 
Joe looked at Miguel, who looked at Tom.
 “Just burying our cat,” Tom said.

“Yer cat?” the medium one asked as he
slapped his forehead. 
“He died of the fever,” Tom said. 
“The fever?” questioned the short one, picking
at a nasty bite on his chin. 
“Mosquito fever,” Joe chimed in, causing the
three pirates to gulp. 
“The rain’s been fierce this year,” Tom said.

“All them skeeters brought a nasty disease
with ‘em,” Joe said.
 “What kind of disease?” asked the medium
pirate. “Cause we fell asleep last night, and those blasted bugs ate us alive!” 
“It eats away your flesh first,” Miguel said,
without thinking, “then your organs.” Maybe
he was becoming a pirate, after all. 
Tom and Joe almost laughed.

The pirates stood there, scratching every inch
of exposed skin. “But don’t worry,” Tom said. 
“You can stop the fever.” 
“How?” they shouted.
 “By not scratching,” Joe added. 
The pirates froze. Then, the short pirate
slapped his leg, the medium one rubbed his neck, 
and the tall guy scraped his arms against the bark
of a tree.

“We can’t stop scraaaatchiiing!” 
“I do know a way,” said Tom, as he winked at
Miguel and Joe. “Follow me.”
They headed back to the sandbar where the
pirates’ raft was grounded on the beach again. 
“This yours?” Tom asked.

“Yep,” the tall one said, as he danced around
 to stop from scratching. “We just found it after it drifted away from us a day ago.”
 Miguel eyed the small sack of marbles through
the slats of the crate on the raft.
“Tell us how to stop the itch, boy.” The short 
pirate clenched his teeth, and pointed a sharp
knife at them.

“This is what you do,” Tom said, taking the
pirates down the beach. 
Soon thereafter, the boys saw the pirates
sailing away on the raft —their bodies coated
in white sand!
 “Now don’t move,” Tom shouted, “until the
sun hardens that sand!” He laughed. “’Tis the
only way to rid yerselves of the itch!”

They waited, in silence, until the pirates were
out of sight. 
“Shiver me timbers!” Joe shouted. “You did it,
Tom!” 
“The pirate king!” Miguel bowed down. “This
is the greatest day of my life!” 
“I couldn’t have done it without me mates.
Arrgh,” he said,

as they rushed through the trees 
to unbury their booty, dancing and singing their
favorite pirate tune. 
Back on Track 
That night, the boys slept hard, dreaming
of their devious pirate tricks. When they awoke, 
a strange swishing sound came from the river. 
“What’s that?” Miguel asked.

“Sounds like . . .” Joe started.
 “ . . . the steamboat!” Tom finished. 
Joe and Tom always finished each other’s
sentences because that’s what good friends did. 
Miguel began to miss his own best friends.
Boom! A cannonball shot rang out from the
steamboat.

“Someone has drowned!” Joe said as they
listened carefully to people calling out from the
decks of the steamboat. 
“Not just anyone,” Tom said, smiling. “They
think we’ve drowned!”
 Miguel remembered this part of the story well. 
Tom was just about to make the trip home to
leave a note for Aunt Polly to tell her he was safe.

“We’re heroes!” Joe said.
 “We’re the talk of the town!” Tom said. 
That night, around the fire, Joe became
homesick. “I just can’t let my ma suffer so.” 
“Terror of the Seas!” Tom shouted. “There’s
no stoppin’ us, now.” He whistled, entranced
by the gold coins. 
Joe looked at Miguel, who shrugged.

“Don’t ya think, Hucky?” Tom said. “You’ve
lived the carefree life. Tell Joe he doesn’t need
to go back.”
Miguel had mixed emotions. He was having
the time of his life, and yet part of him felt like
Joe. He knew his parents would miss him terribly,
and he missed them too, even his sister, Teresa.
Miguel hesitated.

“Huckleberry here thinks you ought to
continue your newfound life as a pirate. Your
family will go on without you,” Tom answered. 
Those words sent a shiver down Miguel’s
spine. Tom seemed to have forgotten about all
of the people who loved him. With his scruffy
clothes and matted hair, Tom Sawyer looked like
he was turning into a full-fledged pirate!

Miguel worried that The Adventures of Tom
Sawyer wasn’t unfolding as it should. He had
to remedy that, and quickly. 
That night, after Joe fell asleep, Tom and
Miguel huddled around the fire.
 “I’m surprised you didn’t help me convince
Joe,” Tom said. “You love freedom more than
anyone I know, Huck.”

“I . . . I think that . . .” Miguel said, “you don’t
appreciate what you have.”
“What?” Tom’s mouth gaped.
 “Your Aunt Polly loves you,” Miguel said. 
“Sure, you’ve got to get up and do chores and go
to school, but she relies on you, Tom,” Miguel
said. “She wants you to be a better person.” 
“You sound like her right now.”

Tom turned away in disgust. “You betray the life of the pirate,Huck.”
An owl hooted from the tree above. Miguel
stood up and tossed a stone into the river. “It may
not feel like it now, but things will get better, and
you’ll see how much your aunt’s love means.” 
Miguel sounded like his own mother, but he’d do 
anything to save The Adventures of Tom Sawyer.

“Arrgh!” Tom spit into the fire. “I’m a good
pirate, I am! And now that everyone thinks I’m
dead, I can start over fresh.” 
“Things will work out if you let them know
you’re safe,” Miguel said. “You’ll have many
adventures—believe me.”
 Tom looked up at the stars. 
“And grownups can help you out in scary
times,” Miguel whispered.

“Don’t be afraid to ask when you need it.”
“You’ve gone soft, Huck.” Tom pulled his
bandanna low over his eyes to sleep. 
Miguel curled up, too, wondering if Tom
would slip out that night to visit his family,
like in the story.

A coyote howled, and Miguel opened his eyes
in the darkness just before dawn. Joe snored next
to him, but Tom had vanished in the night. 
Miguel found a rolled piece of bark that read:
Huck, 
Thanks for the truthful words, wherever you got
them. Life in the woods has made you wise, Finn the
Red-Handed! Be back in a few days. Take care of Joe!
Tom

Miguel smiled. Now everything was back
on track! 
The trees began to blur so he closed his eyes. 
The warmth of the campfire faded, and Miguel
realized that he was back in the loft. The smell
of freshly baked bread made his heart flutter. 
Being a pirate was exciting, but Miguel was
happy to be home.

“Miguel!” his Dad called. “Lunch rush is here! 
I need you to make a few bacon deluxe
sandwiches for me.”
 Miguel looked at his watch—realizing only
minutes had passed since he’d come up to the
loft. “Aye, aye, sir!” he answered. “I’ll do anything
for a little adventure!”

In Huck’s Shoes

Written by N. M. Ryan 
Illustrated by Maria Voris

Chapter 1 
“Attention, class!” Mr. Tidewell commanded. 
“I would like to introduce our new student,
Desmond Blake.” All heads swung in my
direction as I stood nervously in front of the
entire classroom. “Desmond’s family has just
moved to Chicago all the way from Jamaica,”
Mr. Tidewell continued. “Let’s give him a warm
welcome on this cold February day.” 
“Wel-come, Des-mond,” the class recited in
a singsong tone. I felt uncomfortable and glanced
out the window, avoiding the forty pairs of
eyes staring back at me. It had been snowing
incessantly, and I wondered if it would ever stop. 
Goose bumps rose on my arms in reaction to the
cold, which I doubted I would ever get used to,
and to this new situation I found myself in.

Normally, I loved being the center of attention. 
Back home I was always popular with my group
of friends. But those were friends I’d grown up
with, friends I hung out with every day. They
knew all my quirks and faults, yet accepted me
just the way I was. When I was with them, I felt
comfortable and confident. I didn’t have any of
those feelings now as I stood in this strange room
filled with strange faces. 
I had never been in a situation like this
before, and I didn’t enjoy this new feeling of
detachment. I wanted to run out, hop on an
airplane, and head back to my old familiar
classroom filled with my old familiar friends.

But that wasn’t ever going to happen again, 
and I had to blink hard to stop the tears before
they started. I quickly made my way down the
row of desks, ignoring the curious faces looking
up at me, and sank deep into my seat and out
of the spotlight. 
My reprieve was short-lived, however, as
Mr. Tidewell decided to take this opportunity
to point out some facts about Jamaica. Why
did Dad’s job have to transfer him to Chicago? 
I groaned, aware that if I were back home, 
I wouldn’t have to deal with all of this.

Chapter 2 
“Jamaica is the third largest island in the
Caribbean,” he began. “Does anyone know
where that is?” 
Mr. Tidewell paused and looked around the
room for answers. No one responded. I imagined
everyone was probably bored. After all, why
would they want to learn about my home,
anyway? I sank lower into my seat, hoping Mr.
Tidewell would not call on me for the answer. 
To my relief, he didn’t seem to mind that no
one answered his question, and instead calmly
continued to relate facts about my country to
the class.

Every topic brought back memories. I soon
slipped off into daydreams of sitting in class 
with my best friends, Tanya and Lee, all of us
struggling to pay attention to our teacher as the
warm tropical breeze and noises from the street
wafted in through the open windows. 
In contrast, there was no warmth in this
classroom. The thick double-paned glass windows
were shut tight against the snow, which covered
the ground in a cold blanket of white. My thoughts
drifted back to my life in Jamaica, where just a few
weeks earlier I had been riding my bike home 
from school, the hot sun beating down on me as
I pedaled through the neighborhood with my
best friends.

“Desmond . . . Desmond!” Mr. Tidewell’s
voice pulled me back to the cold, harsh reality
of Chicago. Everyone was staring at me. “Will
you tell us a little about what your school was
like in Jamaica?” He invited me to stand and
embarrass myself some more. I turned in my
seat and noticed, for the first time, the girl who
sat next to me. She smiled encouragingly. It was
a small gesture, but it gave me the confidence
I needed to pull myself up out of my chair and
face the class as Mr. Tidewell asked the first
question.

Chapter 3 
“How many children were in your class,
Desmond?” 
I quickly answered, “Twenty-five.” 
“And is school in Jamaica similar to or
different from ours?” he inquired again.
There were so many differences that I could
have spent the rest of the class explaining
them all. But instead I chose to gloss over them
without going into too much detail. I didn’t want
the class to laugh at me when they heard that

I spoke differently from everyone else. Mr.
Tidewell, who was originally from Georgia, 
pronounced words differently from everyone, 
and occasionally the class would snicker at his
strange accent. 
Mr. Tidewell noticed my hesitation and did
not pressure me into answering. I thought he
would let me sit back down, but instead, he
asked if the class had any questions and left
me standing there.

The room was completely silent. I shifted
from my left foot to my right, feeling awkward
and exposed. Finally, a small hand rose up
next to me. 
“What is the biggest difference between our
schools and your schools back in Jamaica?” came
a voice from next to me. 
It was the nice girl who sat beside me. I found
it easier to answer the question if I looked directly
at her.
“To me, the biggest difference is that everyone
wears a school uniform in Jamaica, whereas
up here everyone wears normal clothes,” I
responded.

Comments flew around the classroom 
in reaction to my response. 
“You mean everyone wore the same thing,
every day?” a tall girl at the front of the class
asked. She seemed absolutely shocked at such
a thought. 
“That’s kinda cool,” the boy beside her
responded. 
Another boy, seated behind me, snickered
and said he thought people in Jamaica just wore
grass skirts. 
“Don’t be stupid!” said another student, 
jumping in to put him down. “That’s only
in Hawaii.”

“Settle down, class,” Mr. Tidewell demanded. 
“Desmond, do all schools have the same
uniform?” he asked.
“Oh, no,” I responded quickly. “Each school
has its own uniform and colors.” 
I held my breath and waited, but no one
laughed or snickered at my accent. Mr. Tidewell
had them under strict control, and as the next
round of questions was raised, I continued to
answer them all as best I could.

“What about sports?” a big, blonde boy 
shouted from the back of the classroom. “Did
you play any sports in your school?” 
A wide grin split across my face as I thought
about my favorite sport. 
“Back home I was captain of the school’s
cricket team,” I revealed proudly and waited for
the praise and admiration that usually followed
such a statement. However, all I got was a bunch
of puzzled stares. 
“CRICKET?” “What’s that?” The word
hopped about the room.

“Isn’t that a bug?” the girl beside me asked,
her face scrunched in disgust. “Why would
anyone want to be the captain of a team of
crickets?” 
What’s cricket! I thought, absolutely stupefied
that not one of them knew about the most perfect
game in the world. I looked at the nameless
strangers in my class and felt a strong need to
tell them all about the game I loved so much. But
I did not get the chance to share my knowledge. 
The bell rang, signaling the end of class and the
start of lunch, 
and I immediately lost everyone’s
attention . . . just when I was starting to enjoy it.

Chapter 4 
The class erupted into complete mayhem 
as everyone tried to exit at the same time through
the single door at the front of the room, anxious to
meet up with their friends and already discussing
topics other than cricket. Within minutes, the
chaos was over and I was left standing in the
quiet classroom with Mr. Tidewell. “Thank you
for sharing with us, Desmond,” he said gratefully
before hurrying out the door to eat with the others
in the teachers’ lounge. I slung my backpack over
my shoulder and left the class alone, just as I had
entered it earlier that morning.

The noise inside the cafeteria was deafening. 
There must have been at least a hundred students
inside the enclosed room. I made my way through
the lunch line, picking up a banana and orange
juice, and settling for
a cheeseburger. My
favorite lunch in
Jamaica was always
a patty, and my mouth
watered as I thought
of the crisp, flaky
pastry filled with
savory ground beef.

The cheeseburger was a poor substitute for what
had been my typical lunch for the past three years. 
At least the banana and orange juice were old
favorites. 
As I walked through the lunchroom, I recognized
faces from my class, but they were too busy chatting
with their friends to acknowledge me. And no one
invited me to sit with them. They may have spoken
to me in class, but it was an entirely different
situation out here.

I sat at an empty table in the back of the room 
and tried to convince myself that it was better 
to eat alone, that everyone wasn’t ignoring me. 
I took a huge bite out of my cheeseburger and
chewed noisily. It’s not too bad, I thought, and
washed it down with some juice before returning
to my vigil of staring out at the never-ending snow. 
Someone called my name and I looked around
to see that same girl with the encouraging smile.
“Hi, I’m Lori, and this is Matt,” she said,
pointing to the boy who had asked me about
sports. 
“Cricket sounds pretty cool. Do you think you
could teach me?” asked Matt.

We both looked out the window at the
continually falling snow. “Well, maybe in the
spring,” Matt grinned. 
“You mean it’s actually going to stop snowing
sometime?” I asked hopefully, and we all shared
a laugh. 
I forgot all about my mediocre lunch as Matt
asked endless questions about cricket, and I was
glad to share my vast knowledge of the game. 
“Why did your family leave Jamaica?”
interrupted Lori, abruptly trying to change
the subject. “I’m bored with all this talk about
cricket.”

Although I would much rather talk about
cricket, I found myself responding to her
question. Before I knew it, I had told them about
my dad’s job, how he got transferred to the office
branch here in Chicago, and about my friends
that I’d left behind. 
“That must have been tough,” Matt
sympathized. 
“It must be hard coming to a new school
and a new country at the same time,” Lori
commented. “But what do you think of Chicago?”

“It’s way too cold.” I said immediately. 
“I’ve never seen snow before, and I had no
idea it could be so cold.” 
They laughed at me.
“Hey, I’m used to tropical temperatures 
where it rarely drops below 70 degrees,” 
I protested. “I’ve never worn so many clothes
at the same time,” I continued, “and I can’t tell
you how weird it feels having this thing wrapped
around my neck.” I tugged at the turtleneck collar
that had been choking me all morning.

“You’ll eventually get used to it,” Matt
promised, but I didn’t believe him.
“Winter is great for making snow angels 
and ice skating,” Lori said, naming some of
her favorite winter hobbies. 
“And ice hockey,” Matt added.
I had no idea what snow angels were, but ice
hockey sounded like a lot of fun. Maybe Matt was
right and I would start to enjoy this weather. 
Things change, after all. I had started lunch by
myself, and now here I was heading back to class
with two new friends.

Chapter 5 
A couple of boys made snide comments when
I entered the room, but Lori snapped back at
them immediately. I sat down and looked around
at faces that were becoming familiar. A few of my
classmates came over and introduced themselves. 
Some shared quick stories about when their
families immigrated to America and how they
had adjusted to the changes. I found it very
encouraging to know that others had shared
similar experiences and that they had adapted
well to the new school system.

Mr. Tidewell asked us all to settle down, and
everyone scurried back to their desks to start
the afternoon class. It was math—not my best
subject—and from the looks on most of the
faces in the room, I gathered it wasn’t a popular
subject with anyone else either. I glanced out the
window. It had stopped snowing and the sun had
come out, reflecting brightly off the snow-laden
trees. Things were starting to warm up. Soon, the
school day ended, and it was time to go home.

Chapter 6 
I stepped off the school bus and carefully
walked the block to our house. I’d slipped and
fallen the day before as I ran to get out of the
cold, but somehow it didn’t seem as cold today. 
I slammed the door shut and began the
process of removing all the layers of winter
clothes. “Desmond, please don’t slam the door 
when you come into the house,” Mom yelled
from the kitchen.

“Sorry, Mom,” I apologized, struggling out
of my tall boots. 
I walked through the living room and made
my way back toward the wonderful aromas
coming from the kitchen. Mom had done a great
job making our home in Chicago seem a lot like
the one we had left behind. Our furniture from
Jamaica was in all the rooms, native paintings
adorned the walls, and colorful rugs lay on the
floor. Mom had even painted the rooms in
tropical colors, and when reggae music played on
the stereo, I felt as though I were back in Jamaica.

“Hi, Mom,” I said as I poked around the
kitchen, lifting the lids off bubbling pots to sneak
a taste before dinner.
I grabbed a Ting from the fridge, my favorite
grapefruit soda from home, and took it up to
my room. Turning on my computer, I instant-messaged
both Tanya and Lee, eager to fill them
in on my day and hear the latest news from back
home. 
They couldn’t imagine how cold it was, so
I told them to stick their hands in the freezer for
ten minutes. Lee was interested in ice hockey, and
I promised to keep him up to date on whatever
I learned about the new sport.

Tanya whined that the cricket team just wasn’t
the same without me. It felt good to be missed,
and I told her that I was thinking about starting
a new cricket team up here. A couple of the kids
at school seemed interested in learning the game. 
We went back and forth, each asking
questions. Coincidentally, they asked the same
questions the kids at school had asked, wanting
to know what the main differences were. Tanya
was instantly jealous that I got to wear normal
clothes to school every day.

Finally, I told them about Lori and Matt and
how I hoped we would become best friends. 
Lee teased me about Lori, as I knew he would, 
but Tanya was more concerned that they would 
replace her and Lee as my new best friends. 
I knew no one could ever replace Tanya and
Lee, but I also knew
that I wouldn’t be
seeing them a lot
anymore, so we
made a promise
to talk every day.

Chapter 7 
Headlights beamed through my bedroom
window, alerting me that Dad was home, and
I hadn’t set the table for dinner. I raced into the
dining room as Dad came in, grumbling about
the darn snow and ice. 
“Oh, George, you complained about the
traffic and terrible roads when we were back
in Jamaica,” Mom reminded him. 
“Yes, but at least it was warmer there,” 
he laughed, and we nodded in agreement.
As I placed the old, familiar plates and
silverware on the table, I thought about the

changes we each had to adjust to. Dad said
his biggest difficulty was adjusting to driving
in the snow. He admitted it was harder than 
getting used to driving on the right-hand side
of the road. In Jamaica, we drive on the left-hand
side of the road. Last week, he crashed into the
garage door after hitting a patch of ice in our
driveway. Mom’s biggest adjustment was that
she no longer went out to work. She had set up
her office at home and corresponded with her
clients in Jamaica over the Internet. And my
biggest challenge was getting used to the new
school system.

All of us had left behind friends and family. 
But when we sat down to dinner and talked
about our day, we always spoke in “patois,”
the Jamaican dialect. It felt good to hear and
use familiar words and phrases. And even though
our accents were much more pronounced, no
one laughed or asked us to repeat ourselves. 
We could relax and be ourselves in our warm,
colorful house, listening to songs from back
home and eating the food we grew up with. 
It was a very comforting feeling to know that 
although we were thousands of miles from home, 
no matter what changes we faced in the future, 
we still had our culture to support us.

Leaving Home

Odysseus and the Bag of Winds

Robin Hood Wins the Sheriff's Golden Arrow

The Brain 
What weighs only
2 percent of your total
body weight but uses
more than 20 percent
of your energy? 
Answer: Your most
complicated body
part—the brain. 
Your brain needs
plenty of energy to
fuel about 200 billion
neurons. These
brain cells carry the
electrical signals 
needed for thoughts,
memories, and
feelings. They’re the reason you can ride a bike 
and remember your teacher’s name. 
Stephen Smith, a scientist who studies the
brain at Stanford University Medical School, says
that neurons form a network with more than
125 trillion connections. Your brain contains more
neuron connections than there are stars in 1,500
Milky Way galaxies! This complex wiring system
enables your brain to act as the control center for
your entire body.

Three Brains in One 
Neurons connect the brain to the rest of the
body, delivering instructions to muscles and 
bringing back information from your senses. They
also connect the three main parts of the brain: the
brain stem, cerebellum, and cerebrum. Each brain
part controls specific body activities. 
Brain Stem 
The brain stem is sometimes called the lizard
brain. That’s because it does pretty much the same
thing in lizards as in you: controls body processes
that are essential for survival. Day and night,
your brain stem keeps your breathing, digestion,
heartbeat, and other automatic body processes
running smoothly. 
Cerebellum 
Every time you move your body, your
cerebellum is at work coordinating muscle
movements. It adds “targeting instructions” when
other parts of your brain send a movement signal 
using information such as your body’s current
speed and position. With the cerebellum’s
guidance, you can touch your nose in one smooth
motion. Without it, the movement would be jerky,
or you might even miss your nose completely!

The cerebellum also stores memories of
muscle movement. Muscle memories become
stronger with repetition, which is why practice
helps some movements— like playing guitar or
skateboarding—become automatic. 
Cerebrum 
The cerebrum is the largest part of the brain. 
This is where most high-level brain activity
takes place, including thought, speech, learning,
and emotions. The cerebrum also interprets
information from the senses. Sensory information
reaches the brain as electrical signals, which the
cerebrum interprets as sounds, images, and other
sensations. It compares the results with your
stored memories and attaches meaning. A stream
of electrical impulses becomes a purple bus or
a crowing rooster. 
You may be surprised to learn that ignoring
things is an important part of the cerebrum’s
job. To understand why, take a moment to notice
everything you see, hear, taste, smell, and feel. 
Your senses constantly flood the brain with
information! By screening out some things, the
cerebrum helps you focus on what remains.

Right Brain, Left Brain 
If you could look inside your head, you’d see
that the cerebrum is divided into two halves, 
called hemispheres. A bundle of nerves called the
corpus callosum connects the hemispheres and
carries messages between them. The hemispheres
control opposite sides of the body. Your left
hemisphere sends the signal to raise your right
hand; your right brain is in control when you
shake your left foot. Although some tasks can
be done by either hemisphere, the two are not
identical. The right brain usually controls
creativity, artistic skills, and interpreting what
you see. The left brain generally controls speech,
writing, and math skills. 
Each brain hemisphere has four sections, or
lobes, and each lobe has specific jobs. However,
scientists didn’t realize this until the 1800s, when a
doctor recorded the strange story of Phineas Gage.

Studying the Brain 
Phineas Gage was injured in 1848 when an
accidental explosion shot a three-foot iron rod 
straight through his head. Amazingly, Gage
survived. The hole in his head didn’t affect his
memory or his ability to think, but it changed his
personality. Gage became rude, thoughtless, and
as stubborn as a two-year-old, so different from
his old self that his friends said he was “no longer
Gage.”
Gage had lost a portion of his frontal lobe, a
part of the cerebrum that governs emotions and
attention. His injury gave scientists one of the first
clues that specific brain regions control specific
brain functions.

Brain Mapping 
Doctors studied Gage’s case for many years. 
Then, in 1914, World War I began. Large numbers
of soldiers suffered brain injuries, and the injuries
to certain brain regions consistently caused the
same symptoms. With this information, doctors
were able to begin creating maps of brain regions
and their functions. Trying to learn about the
brain by studying brain injuries was much like 
trying to learn about cars by studying broken
engines: Scientists could identify essential brain
regions, but that was about it.

“Seeing” Brain Activity 
For a clearer understanding of brain function,
they needed a way to study healthy brains. A
German scientist created a machine that could
measure the electrical activity in the brain. This
machine, called an EEG, provided a partial
solution. 
Everything you do—running, singing,
thinking, and more— begins with tiny electrical
signals in your brain. An EEG measures these
signals through electrodes placed on the head’s
surface. Researchers can “see” brain activity when
you walk, talk, read, and more. 
Unless electrodes are surgically implanted
inside a person’s skull, though, an EEG can only
detect signals near the brain’s surface. Observing
activity deeper in the brain was difficult and
potentially dangerous until a test called an fMRI
became available. 
Unlike an EEG, which measures electrical
activity, an fMRI identifies active brain regions
by measuring blood flow. This gives an indirect
measurement of brain activity because electrically
active neurons require more oxygen. Since blood
is your body’s oxygen delivery system, brain
areas with more blood flow generally have more
electrically active neurons.

Unlike electrical signals, changes in blood flow
can be detected deep inside the brain. 
An fMRI allows scientists to detect the precise
brain regions used when you sing, laugh, or watch
a scary movie— with far more detail than an EEG
can provide. 
Mind Control! 
The ability to detect brain signals raised another
question: Is it possible to decode these signals? 
If a computer could decipher a brain’s electrical
signals, people might learn to control an artificial
limb or a robot through a brain-computer interface.

If this sounds like science fiction, think again: 
Experimental mind-controlled devices already
exist! Electrodes detect the brain signal, which is
decoded by a computer. The information can be
used to control a mechanical device. Researchers
hope this technology can be used to help people 
with disabilities move and communicate better. 
This technique could also be used to send
brain signals from one person to another. In early
experiments, one person’s “brain signal” for finger
movement traveled over the Internet to another
room. There, a special device delivered the signal
to a second person. His finger moved—following
instructions from another brain.

Maintain Your Brain 
Your brain is an amazing machine, and, like a
machine, it operates best with proper care. How
do you keep your brain in top condition? 
For starters, use it! Exercising your brain helps
it grow in the same way that muscles grow with
physical exercise. Take violin players: They learn
complicated finger movements for the left hand, 
and the brain area controlling that hand is larger
than in most people.

Brain Training 
Brain changes usually occur only in regions
directly involved with your activity. However,
research suggests that some “mental training”
may cause broader changes. For instance, research
at Harvard Medical School showed that people
who practiced meditation for eight weeks had
changes in brain regions used for learning,
memory, and emotional control. 
Physical exercise—especially exercise that
raises your heart rate—also has brainwide
benefits. Dr. Arthur Kramer is the director of
the Beckman Institute for Advanced Science and
Technology at the University of Illinois, where he
studies how exercise affects the brain. “Exercising
is good for your body and your brain,” Kramer
says. “Research has shown that children who
regularly exercise have better memories and
attention and often do better on school tests.” 
Sleep is another key to healthy brain function. 
According to Dr. Ken Paller, director of the
Cognitive Neuroscience Program at Northwestern
University, evidence suggests that your brain
replays memories during sleep. That may help
skills and information “stick” in your memory. 
However it works, it’s clear that getting too little
sleep decreases your ability to learn and think.

Protect Your Brain 
Brain protection is the most important key to
brain health. Shock-absorbing fluid and a hard
skull guard your brain against injury. If you land
on concrete, though, a fall from only two or three
feet can crack your skull or bruise your brain. 
Swelling or bleeding inside the skull quickly cuts
off the brain’s blood supply— and your brain can
survive only a few minutes without oxygen. 
Wearing a helmet during sports provides extra
protection that may save your brain—and your
life. 
Your brain may be the most important part of
your body. Exercise, get enough sleep, and wear
protective headgear to help your brain operate
smoothly for years to come!

The Amazing Brain

Introduction 
While on vacation, your dad drags you out 
of bed and down to the ocean for a 5:00 am “whale
watch”—yawn. But wait, look at that huge tail
rising out of
the water! 
Good thing you
brought along
your camera. 
Photographs
of whales at
dawn, historical
landmarks, or
family members
doing wacky things preserve your amazing or
amusing vacation memories forever. 
Taking photographs nowadays is a snap. 
With inexpensive disposable cameras, basic
“point-and-shoot” compact cameras, and digital
cameras, all you need to do is aim and click away. 
That wasn’t so in the early days of photography,
 when taking pictures required expensive, 
cumbersome equipment, knowledge of chemistry,
and lots of patience. And even though most
people today use digital cameras, learning about
film photography can help anyone who wants to
take great photos.

History of Photography 
The word “camera” comes from a Latin word 
meaning “chamber” or “dark room.” A camera is
just that: a dark box with light-sensitive film or a
chip on its back wall. When you “click” a camera,
a shutter opens in the front, letting light into the
box for a very short time. That light, reflected off
an object, forms the image on the film or chip. 
The lens of the camera, like the lens of your eye, 
collects and focuses light onto the film or chip. The first crude camera was invented around
ad 1500. It could only project an image onto
a screen or a piece of paper, like the pinhole
camera in the project on the next page.

江家小朋友的学习园地