Text Leveling System

Riding Freedom

RDQ:	1204	Max Word/Sent	30	Total Words	3095		Diff Words	937
Lex	780	Ave Word/.Sent	10	Hi Freq occurs	2242	72.4%	Hi freq	404	43.1%
AR	4.0	Long Sentences	11.7	Low Freq occurs	187	6%	Low freq	142	15.2%

IN THE MID EIGHTEEN HUNDREDS,
when the East was young and the West was yet
to be settled, a baby was born, named Charlotte.
When she was nothing more than a bundle, she
surprised her parents and puzzled the doctor by
surviving several fevers. Folks said that any
other baby would have died, but Charlotte was
already strong. She walked before most babies
crawled. She talked before most babies babbled,
and she never cried. Unless someone took something
away from her.
A few months after Charlotte's second birthday,
on a blustery evening, she rode with her
parents toward their small farm in the New
Hampshire countryside. Their horse-drawn
wagon was rickety and swayed back and forth
with each gust of wind. Thunder made the
horses skittish, and they reared and struggled in
their harnesses. Charlotte sat up straight in her
mother's lap, watching the trees waving in the
wind and listening to the horses' loud whinnies.
Her father tried to settle the team, and her
mother held Charlotte snugly and sang a song to
comfort her. But Charlotte wasn't afraid.
A crack of lightning lit up the countryside and]]
the horses lurched forward, reeling down the
road out of control.
"Hold on!" yelled her father.
"Stop!" screamed her mother. "Keep them
straight! Keep them straight!"
Charlotte's mother clutched her closer and
tried to hold on as the frantic horses dragged the
wagon over the bumpy road.
Her father hollered, "Whoa! Whoa!" but the
horses had already lunged down a steep hill
crowded with trees and boulders. Tree limbs
smacked the horses, frightening them even more.
The wagon followed, plunging over the side and
smashing into tree trunks before it overturned on a
rocky ledge. Charlotte was thrown free of the
splintered wagon and landed in a bed of tall grass.
Her father and mother were killed instantly.
Unharmed, Charlotte waved to the snuffling
horses who were now free of the wagon. Like
nursemaids, they hovered around her. At times,
they whinnied as if calling for help. Rain
drenched the countryside and Charlotte shivered
through the night, but the horses stood
close by, protecting her from the rain and nuzzling
her with their warm breath.]]
The horses were still keeping watch over
Charlotte when neighbors found her the next
morning. She was holding so tight to one of the
horses' reins that they didn't dare pry it out of
her hand.
The old doctor, who had known Charlotte
since she was born, wasn't at all surprised that
she survived the crash. Instead of taking the
horse's rein out of Charlotte's hand, he cut the
leather well above her grip.
"She might as well have something to hold on
to," he said. "She hasn't got much else. There's
no other family to speak of."
The doctor looked up at the people who had
found her.
"We got enough mouths to feed," said the
man. And he and his wife turned away.
"I hate to think you'll grow up in an orphanage,"
the doctor said as he carried Charlotte.
"But if anybody can make it alone in this world,
it's you. Since the day you were born, you've
been determined as a mule and tough as a
rawhide bone."]]
AFTER TEN YEARS AT THE ORPHANAGE,
Charlotte wasn't like most girls her age. And
who knew if it was growing up like a follow along
puppy in a pack of ruffian boys, or if it
was just her own spit and fire. But she never
had a doll or a tea party. She couldn't sew a
stitch and she didn't know a petticoat from a
pea pod. Wild hairs sprang out of her brown
braids, and her ribbons dangled to her waist,
untied. Her frock was too big and hung like a
sack on her small frame. Smudges of dirt always
covered her, and instead of girl-like lace, for as
long as anyone could remember, she wore a strip
of leather rein tied around her wrist.]]
Charlotte's greatest misfortune was that Mrs.
Boyle, the cook, had been put in charge of her.
With the shape and personality of a very
large toad, and without a mothering bone in
her body, Mrs. Boyle certainly wasn't going to
teach Charlotte how to be lady-like. She
couldn't be bothered with Charlotte, except to
order her around the kitchen. And although
Charlotte knew how to boil oats and make
mush for an army, and could peel mountains of
potatoes and scrub pots and pans, Mrs. Boyle
still yelled at her for the littlest things. For
being too noisy or too quiet, or for gazing out
the window at some horse in the pasture that
needed to be ridden. Being in the kitchen
was a thorn in Charlotte's side, and she hated it
worse than falling in a real briar patch.
Every day Charlotte did her chores in the
kitchen as fast as she could. Then she hung up
her apron and headed for the only place that
made her happy: the stables. Today, Charlotte
hurried there with one thing on her mind: winning
the pasture race.
As soon as Charlotte approached, the horses
started moving toward their gates and hanging]]
their heads over to be petted. The smell of
the sweet, dank hay and the horses comforted
her like an old quilt on a cold day. The elderly
stable master was raking the stalls.
"Hi, Vern. Is Freedom ready for the race?"
"Miss Charlotte, that horse is always ready to
run, and as much as she takes a shine to you, I
'spect you could talk her to the moon and back."
Vern was tall and thin, with leathery skin the
color of coffee with no milk. He tended the
stables with a quiet, gentle nature. He didn't
talk much to anyone else, but he loved to tell
Charlotte stories, most of them true, that left
her in a spell with her mouth wide open.
Vern had named all the horses himself.
He always said that naming something was
important. That a name ought to stand for something.
And that a horse should have a fine name
fit for a fine animal. So the horses all had names
like Justice and Hope and Charity, and Vern
had a story that went with every one of
those names. Hope for wanting a better life
when he was a young slave on a plantation in
Virginia. Charity because of the kindness of
the people who had helped him through his]]
struggles. But the story that Charlotte begged
for most was the one about Freedom.
Freedom was Charlotte's favorite horse. She
had watched her birthing a few years earlier and
had babied her ever since. It was on Freedom
that Vern taught Charlotte how to ride. She often
pestered Vern for the story about Freedom's
name. The story of how Vern ran away and hid
in a root cellar with nothing but an old shirt to
keep him warm. Ran all the way north so he
could be free. And named a horse Freedom for
something he won.
"You gonna beat William in the race today?"
asked Vern.
"I aim to. He deserves to be taken down a peg."
William was thirteen, and he bullied the
younger boys. He threw rocks at the cats and
kittens, he whipped the horses, and he couldn't
stand that Charlotte was better than he was at
climbing trees and riding horses.
"I 'spect you will," said Vern. "Freedom trusts
you. William's ridin' Justice, and Justice just
as soon throw him off. That boy is full of
no respect for horses. You know what I always
say?"]]
Charlotte knew it in her heart. "A horse rides
the way it's ridden," said Charlotte.
Vern nodded his head, and Charlotte led
Freedom from the stall.
The pasture fence was already lined with boys
sitting on the top rail, waiting for the races to
start. Mr. Millshark, the overseer, walked up
and down in front of the starting line waiting
for the riders. He was the shortest, fattest, most
mean-spirited man that Charlotte had ever
known. His beard and hair were almost the same
color as his dimpled white skin, and he reminded
Charlotte of a plump new potato.
Mr. Millshark was in his glory during pasture
races. Instead of his usual scowling self, he paraded
around with a smile stuck on his face,
clapping people on the back, and shaking hands
all around. This was his opportunity to show
off and to let people think that the orphanage
was a decent place with happy children. But
Charlotte and the others knew the truth. The
orphanage was nothing more than a work farm,
and no matter how young, every child worked
hard. Mr. Millshark saw to that.]]
Charlotte walked toward the pasture, leading
Freedom on a halter. The horse nudged her as if
to hurry her along.
The boys from town laughed when they saw
Charlotte. She ignored them and headed toward
the starting line until William and a group of
boys blocked her way.
"No girls allowed," said William.
Charlotte tightened her fists and planted her
feet. She pursed her lips and glared at William
with her piercing blue eyes.
"Get out of my way, William," she said.
Some of the boys stepped back. They had seen
that look before.
With disgust he said, "Suit yourself, but
you'll be sorry."
The riders mounted and readied the horses.
Mr. Millshark raised the flag.
"Go!" he yelled.
The riders hollered at their horses and pressed
them to start running.
Charlotte let Freedom start out slow, saving
her for a spurt near the finish. William was
close behind. Soon the two rode neck-in-neck.
But in the second lap, Charlotte let William]]
take the lead. Charlotte knew her horses. Justice
was a dobbin, gentle at heart, and didn't take
kindly to being ridden hard. William was pressing
him, and the poor horse would tire out soon.
As they approached the final tum, Charlotte
gave Freedom full rein. In a blinding gallop,
with her long braids waving behind her like
two thick ropes, she passed William and
crossed the finish line two lengths ahead.
The townspeople clapped, and Charlotte
heard the boys from the orphanage give a wild
cheer. She knew why. Most of them had bet
money on her to win.
Charlotte slowed Freedom and walked her
around the pasture. The horse was breathing
heavy and wheezing. She lathered more than
usual and felt warm. Too warm.
Vern should take a look at her, thought
Charlotte.
As she got near the fence, a man and woman
waved at her.
"Hey there!" called the man.
"Hello," said Charlotte.
"You're a good rider," said the woman.
"Thank you, ma'am," said Charlotte.]]
"So you like horses?"
"Yes, sir, a might more than people."
The man and woman laughed.
Worried about Freedom, Charlotte said, "I
have to go now," and she headed toward the
barn.
Charlotte patted Freedom's neck. "You okay,
girl? "
William caught up to Charlotte.
"You come to congratulate me, William?"
"I hope you like winning 'cause that's the last
race you'll ever run."
"And how you gonna stop me, William?"
"I got my ways, and like I said before, you'll
be sorry."
"I ain't got time for you, William, I got a sick
horse needs tendin' ," and Charlotte rode ahead.
But what William said needled her, and
when she glanced back, she didn't like what she
saw. William was talking to Mr. Millshark.
And Mr. Millshark was patting him on the back
and listening with a concerned look on his face.
Vern was worried about Freedom.
"The last few days she's been actin' kinda]]
funny and hasn't been eatin' like usual, but it
didn't seem to be nothin' serious. She don't look
good now though. Let's put her to bed," he said.
As they rubbed her down, Freedom tried to
nip at her own stomach.
"Maybe it's just a touch of colic," Vern reassured
Charlotte.
But by the time they got her into the stall,
Freedom fell to her knees and then lay down.
I'm going for some water for the fever," said
Vern.
He wouldn't say so, but Charlotte knew it
was serious. She knelt next to the horse,
stroking her head. Freedom lay motionless, except
for her labored breathing. Charlotte swallowed
hard to keep back the tears.
"Charlotte! Where are you, Charlotte?"
"Over here, Hay."
Hayward was two years younger, and from
the day he'd arrived at the orphanage, he'd
latched on to Charlotte. He was persistent and
friendly and talked so much that Charlotte often
thought he might choke on his words. With
hair the color of turnips and ears as big as
saucers, he was about the homeliest thing she]]
had ever seen. Although Charlotte sometimes
pretended to be annoyed when he pestered her,
she didn't really mind. Besides, he needed her.
One afternoon three years ago, soon after
Hayward arrived at the orphanage, Charlotte
had walked behind the barn to find him taking
on William and two other older boys.
Where did you get those ears! Was your
mother an elephant?" yelled William.
"Can you hear out ta those things, or are they
just for decoration?"
"What does your girlfriend, Charlotte, think
about them ears?"
Hayward was bloody and bruised but still
fighting with a never-give-up-look in his eyes
when Charlotte dove in. The three boys were
left in worse shape than Hayward. And
Hayward and Charlotte had been left with each
other.
They had been best friends ever since.
Hayward climbed over the gate into the stall.
"Freedom's real sick," Charlotte said.
Hayward nodded his head. 'I'm sorry,
Charlotte." And then for once he was quiet.]]
They lay back in the hay with their arms
tucked behind their heads and stared at the light
that slivered through the rafters.
"Someday, Hay, we're going to leave this
place. You and me and Freedom. I'm going to
have a fine ranch and a home. I'll have foals
every spring and you can come work for me and
train 'em to be fine riding horses."
"Yeah," said Hayward. "And we'll hire a cook.
A real good one. And we'll put a sign out front
that says PRIVATE PROPERTY so no one as mean as
William can ever set foot. Tell again how we're
going to get the ranch, Charlotte."
"Well, we'll be here until we're sixteen.
First, I'll leave and get a job and save some
money. Then, I'll come back for you and we'll go
looking for the ranch."
"Let's get a ranch far away from here."
"Don't worry, Hay, it won't be anywhere
around here."
Charlotte was silent. She stared at the rafters
and listened to the pawing and snorting of the
horses in the other stalls. She rolled to her side
and stroked Freedom's neck.
"Charlotte, do you remember your parents?"]]
Hayward liked to tell about his parents. They
had died when he was seven so he still remembered
them.
Sometimes Charlotte closed her eyes and tried
to bring back a memory. Any memory. She could
almost see a face. But since she'd never seen any
portraits of her parents, she only imagined what
they looked like. All she really remembered was
being held tightly in someone's lap, and images
of horses.
"No, Hay, I don't remember. Tell me about
yours again."
But before he could answer, they heard the
old porch bell ring one clang. There was a
pause. Then it rang two clangs. Another pause.
Then three clangs.
Charlotte and Hayward sat up and stared at
each other.
That was the signal for all the boys to line up
by the front steps. It meant that one of the families
that visited the orphanage today wanted a
closer look at one of the boys.
It meant someone would be adopted.]]
CHARLOTTE WATCHED FROM THE
stable as Mr. Millshark walked up and down
in front of the line of boys, beaming. The
prospective parents followed him. Now and
then they stopped to say a few words to one of
the boys, but usually just to the younger ones.
Charlotte had stopped lining up a long time
ago. She was never considered for adoption anyway.
People wanted boys to help with their
farms, or a son to carry on the family name, or
they wanted someone young and cute.
Once, when Charlotte had been as-cute-as they-
come, a couple came through the kitchen]]
with Mr. Millshark. The wife saw Charlotte
standing on a stool, washing dishes.
"Oh! I had been hoping for a girl, but they
said there were only boys here," said the
woman. She smiled at Charlotte with warm,
come-home-with-me eyes.
With as much politeness as Charlotte could
muster, she said, "Yes, ma'am, it's boys, 'cept
me," and she smiled back at the woman.
The woman walked over to her and took her
soapy little hand. For an instant, Charlotte
hoped beyond hope.
But Mrs. Boyle marched over and scooped
Charlotte into her arms.
"This here's my niece just helpin' out in the
kitchen. She ain't for adoptin'. C'mon, Charlotte."
Before Charlotte could say a word, Mrs.Boyle
carried her out the backdoor and took her to the
garden to pick beans.
After that, Mrs. Boyle hid her in the potato
bin each time people came through, for fear of
losing her kitchen maid. Charlotte remembered
the dark, crowded bin and lying on the lumpy
potatoes. She would hear Mr. Millshark saying,]]
"And this is the kitchen where Mrs. Boyle prepares
our meals."
She remembered peering through the cracks in
the wooden slats at the people who came
through. Sometimes Charlotte wanted to push
open the lid and jump out and yell, 'I'm here! I
would like a home! Me! Take me!" But more often
than not, Mrs. Boyle sat on top of the bin so
Charlotte couldn't budge, and Charlotte knew
better than to make a peep until the people had
gone.
Charlotte went back to the horses. What
would be the point of lining up with the boys
anyway? Even though Mrs. Boyle couldn't hide
her in the potato bin anymore, nobody wanted
an almost-grown girl.
Freedom seemed worse. Vern hovered around
her for an hour trying to figure out what was
wrong. He just kept shaking his head, and
Charlotte got a bad feeling deep inside.
Later, as Charlotte served the soup at dinner,
Hayward whispered, "We heard someone got
adopted. Maybe it'll be William."
"Nah," said Charlotte. "We ain't that lucky."]]

Subjective Criteria

Illustrations: No support

Dialog: Multiple speakers

Dialog: Broken dialogue

Dialog: Unlabeled Speaker

Vocabulary: More decoding/definition issues

Language: Few descriptive words

Sentences: Multiple phrases

Text structure: Blend of written/oral

Inferences: Some implications

Concepts: Concrete/Simple Social

Chapters

Features

Character traits

Character development

Simple Plot

Dialect/Accents

Topic

Work

*History

Hiding

*Animals

American History

Horses

*Feelings, Behaviors

Low Frequency Words

actin	adoptin'	adoption	annoyed	approached
babbled	babied	birthing	blustery	boulders
briar	c'mon	cellar	cept	charity
concerned	congratulate	dangled	dank	decent
deserves	determined	dimpled	dobbin	drawn
drenched	eatin	elderly	frantic	freedom
freedom's	frightening	frock	gazing	glared
glory	gonna	halter	harnesses	hayward
hollered	hoping	hovered	ignored	imagined
instant	instantly	kinda	kindly	kindness
knelt	labored	latched	lathered	leathery
ledge	lengths	lining	lunged	lurched
ma'am	millshark	mothering	motionless	mounted
muster	nah	nature	needled	neighbors
niece	nothin	nudged	nursemaids	nuzzling
opportunity	orphanage	ought	overseer	overturned
paraded	pasture	pause	pawing	peering
persistent	personality	pestered	petticoat	piercing
plantation	plunging	politeness	portraits	private
property	prospective	pursed	rafters	raking
rawhide	readied	reared	reassured	reeling
rein	reins	respect	rickety	ridden
ridin	ruffian	saucers	scowling	skittish
smacked	smudges	snuffling	spect	spirited
splintered	sprang	spurt	stable	stables
stall	stalls	stitch	survived	swallowed
tendin	tightened	townspeople	trusts	turnips
unharmed	wheezing	whinnied	whinnies	whipped
wrist	younger