NVCC Little Red Riding Hood Story Effectiveness & Literature Analysis Worksheet Read the three pieces included in the worksheet and answer the questions. Literature analysis worksheet 1
1. In one or two sentences, what is the meaning (argument) of “Little Red Riding Hood (Has a
Gun).”
2. What group do you think is behind this story?
3. Do you think this story is effective in making its argument? Why or why not?
4. What is the meaning (argument) of Frost’s “Mending Wall”? What textual evidence is there to
support your interpretation?
5. What’s happening in Ben Jonson’s poem “Song: to Celia”? What is his argument?
5a. Who is the “He” in line 4?
5b. What is Jonson saying about reputation?
Little Red Riding Hood (Has a Gun)
by Amelia Hamilton – Thursday, January 14, 2016
Once upon a time, there was a young lady who lived with her parents at the edge of a wood.
Her mother made her a riding cloak of red velvet, which she wore all winter long, so the people
in her village called her Little Red Riding Hood.
One New Year’s Day, Red awoke to learn that her grandmother wasn’t feeling well. She and her
mother put together a basket of food to bring through the woods to her cottage, which lay on the
other side.
Red loved the woods, and was happy to walk through them. Usually, there would only be the
sunlight and the squirrels, but there was a dark side to the wood. There were shadows, there
were beasts, and there could be danger. One birthday not long ago, Red was given her very
own rifle and lessons on how to use it—just in case—to be sure that she would always be safe.
So, with a kiss from her mother, rifle over her shoulder and a basket for her Grandmother in her
hands, Red took a deep breath and entered the woods.
With a shiver, she burrowed into her cloak, her breath making clouds in the frozen air. Deep
into the woods Red went, playing a game with herself to see how many animal footprints she
could recognize in the snow. “Deer,” she quietly said to herself, “squirrel.” She turned as another
set of footprints caught her eye, and gasped. Those footprints cast in snow were undeniably the
tracks of a wolf. They were fresh, so Red knew the wolf couldn’t have gotten far. Red felt the
reassuring weight of the rifle on her shoulder and continued down the path, scanning the trees,
knowing that their shadows could provide a hiding place. She continued down the path step by
cautious step until she saw him. Their eyes met. Red had known he was there but, seeing the
glint in his eye and his terrible smile, her heart skipped a beat. This was the biggest, baddest
wolf Red had ever seen. His wolfish smile disappeared for a moment when his eyes fell on her
rifle. He stayed in the shelter of the trees as he called out to her.
“Hello there,” he tried to sound friendly, but Red knew that this wolf could not be trusted. She
responded with a polite “hello,” and kept on her way, staying aware of his location, but never
meeting his eyes.
“Where are you going all alone?” The wolf tried to keep her talking, tried to convince her he was
a friendly wolf, tried to get this young girl within the range of his snapping jaws.
“I don’t talk to strangers,” Red replied, never straying from her path.
The wolf followed along, staying in the shelter of the trees, trying to get Red to respond. As she
grew increasingly uncomfortable, she shifted her rifle so that it was in her hands and at the
ready. The wolf became frightened and ran away.
As the time passed in the woods, Red began to relax, but stayed aware. She stopped in her
favorite meadow to rest, where she took a long drink of water and wove together evergreen
boughs to bring a winter bouquet to her grandmother. When she felt refreshed, Red continued
down her snowy path.
While Red was resting in the forest meadow, her Grandmother was surprised by a knock at the
door. Red must have gotten through the forest very quickly, she thought. But, when she opened
the door, she found herself face to face with a wolf. The very Wolf that Red had met in the
woods.
Grandma had heard of this wolf before; the hunters had spoken of him.
This was not just any wolf.
This was the most horrible wolf in the forest.
This was The Big Bad Wolf.
Taking Grandmother by surprise, the wolf easily pushed past her and into her cottage.
Grandmother turned so she was face-to-face with the wolf inside her cottage.
“What big eyes you have,” Grandma gasped as she backed away.
“The better to see you with,” replied the wolf.
“What big ears you have,” She turned, with her back to the door.
“The better to hear you with,” the wolf said, coming ever closer.
“What big teeth you have!” Grandma said, as his fierce jaws came near.
“The better to eat you with!” the wolf threatened.
The wolf leaned in, jaws open wide, then stopped suddenly. Those big ears heard the
unmistakable sound of a shotgun’s safety being clicked off. Those big eyes looked down and
saw that grandma had a scattergun aimed right at him. He realized that Grandmother hadn’t
been backing away from him; she had been moving towards her shotgun to protect herself and
her home.
“I don’t think I’ll be eaten today,” said Grandma, “and you won’t be eating anyone again.”
Grandma kept her gun trained on the wolf, who was too scared to move. Before long, he heard
a familiar voice call “Grandmother, I’m here!” Red peeked her head in the door. The wolf
couldn’t believe his luck—he had come across two capable ladies in the same day, and they
were related! Oh, how he hated when families learned how to protect themselves.
Red was as surprised as the wolf, for she had not thought she would see him again, and
certainly not at her Grandmother’s house. “Grandmother!” she cried, “Are you all right?”
“Of course, dear,” Grandma replied, soothing her granddaughter, “Now, let’s get this wolf tied
up.”
Red worked quickly, tying the wolf so that he could not harm them. As they finished their work,
they heard the call of a huntsman outside. He had followed the tracks of the big bad wolf to
Grandmother’s door, and had thought she might need to be rescued. Looking beyond Red into
the cottage, he saw that they had already rescued themselves. The huntsman took the wolf
away, leaving Red and her grandmother alone at last. They embraced, hugging each other
tightly, relieved that the wolf was gone.
As they slowly began to feel calm, Red got her grandmother chicken soup and a cup of tea.
They sat in companionable silence, happy in the security that comes with knowing they could
defend themselves. That New Year’s day, Red and her Grandmother had enough excitement to
last the year through.
And they all lived safely ever after (except the wolf, but that is a story for another
day). Mending Wall
by Robert Frost (1914)
Something there is that doesn’t love a wall,
That sends the frozen-ground-swell under it,
And spills the upper boulders in the sun;
And makes gaps even two can pass abreast.
The work of hunters is another thing:
I have come after them and made repair
Where they have left not one stone on a stone,
But they would have the rabbit out of hiding,
To please the yelping dogs. The gaps I mean,
No one has seen them made or heard them made,
But at spring mending-time we find them there.
I let my neighbor know beyond the hill;
And on a day we meet to walk the line
And set the wall between us once again.
We keep the wall between us as we go.
To each the boulders that have fallen to each.
And some are loaves and some so nearly balls
We have to use a spell to make them balance:
‘Stay where you are until our backs are turned!’
We wear our fingers rough with handling them.
Oh, just another kind of outdoor game,
One on a side. It comes to little more:
There where it is we do not need the wall:
He is all pine and I am apple orchard.
My apple trees will never get across
And eat the cones under his pines, I tell him.
He only says, ‘Good fences make good neighbors.’
Spring is the mischief in me, and I wonder
If I could put a notion in his head:
‘Why do they make good neighbors? Isn’t it
Where there are cows? But here there are no cows.
Before I built a wall I’d ask to know
What I was walling in or walling out,
And to whom I was like to give offense.
Something there is that doesn’t love a wall,
That wants it down.’ I could say ‘Elves’ to him,
But it’s not elves exactly, and I’d rather
He said it for himself. I see him there
Bringing a stone grasped firmly by the top
In each hand, like an old-stone savage armed.
He moves in darkness as it seems to me,
Not of woods only and the shade of trees.
He will not go behind his father’s saying,
And he likes having thought of it so well
He says again, ‘Good fences make good neighbors.’
Song: to Celia [Come, my Celia, let us prove] By Ben Jonson
Come, my Celia, let us prove,
While we can, the sports of love;
Time will not be ours forever;
He at length our good will sever.
Spend not then his gifts in vain.
Suns that set may rise again;
But if once we lose this light,
’Tis with us perpetual night.
Why should we defer our joys?
Fame and rumor are but toys.
Cannot we delude the eyes
Of a few poor household spies,
Or his easier ears beguile,
So removèd by our wile?
’Tis no sin love’s fruit to steal;
But the sweet thefts to reveal,
To be taken, to be seen,
These have crimes accounted been.
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