➡️ Read the story.

Where Is Essie?

‘Essie, where are you, child? Essss-ieeee!’

Mother’s calls carried to Patrick above the howling wind. His free-spirited little sister Essie could disappear faster than a mouse into its hole and reappear just as quickly.

‘Patrick, have you seen Essie?’ Mother asked him, the wind whipping her long woolen skirts.

‘I expect she’ll pop up soon,’ Patrick replied, wrestling the barn door shut and turning to his mother. She sure had grown a lot of grey hairs in the six months since they’d moved to Canada.

‘Perhaps, but it’s almost dark. This would never have happened back home,’ Mother muttered.

They’d moved here after the American colonists won their revolution against Britain. Patrick’s father was a well-known Loyalist, loyal to the British, so the family had no choice but to leave the town they had loved so much. Luckily, they were welcomed in British Canada instead.

All summer they’d been busy building their rough cottage, cutting and splitting firewood, gardening and canning vegetables. They’d enjoyed meeting new neighbours, including a group of Algonquins, whose people were native to this area.

But Canada’s bitter cold had made them question their move—except for five-year-old Essie, who loved the winter. Yesterday she’d eagerly shown Patrick the crust of ice on the river. In all of their years in the American state of South Carolina, neither of them had ever seen a frozen river.

‘I’ll check with the Wilcoxes, Mother,’ Patrick offered, knowing Essie loved to visit neighbours.

‘Your father already did,’ she answered, shaking her head.

Just then, a notion came to Patrick, and he told his mother, ‘I’ll look around a little bit.’ He hurried towards the river just out of sight of their cottage, the dread in his bones chilling him worse than the wind. Why hadn’t he remembered earlier? His foreboding deepened upon seeing the line of small footprints leading onto the thin crust of ice over the water. When Patrick stepped near the track of Essie’s little boot, the ice immediately cracked, and his heart sank. If he tried to follow, he’d break through.

Patrick returned to the house, panting, ‘Mother, I think I know where she is; I’ll be back soon.’

His mother, occupied with the three little ones and preparing supper, frowned. ‘Patrick, don’t get lost yourself.’

‘I won’t,’ Patrick answered. ‘And you might want to set an extra place for supper,’ he added. He took an extra shawl from the hook, and then a lantern, just in case.

His hunch was that Essie had decided to visit the Algonquin family on the opposite bank of the river. Essie always wanted to go but was forbidden from walking alone to the bridge across the river. The ice created a direct path to her friends’ home—if, that is, the ice held.

Patrick quickened his pace, leaning into the wind and watching for slippery patches as he approached the bridge. Not much farther—there! Was it his imagination, or was someone drawing closer, across the bridge?

‘Patrick!’ came Essie’s voice.

Patrick’s legs felt weak with relief when he saw Keme, one of their Algonquin friends, carrying Essie on his back.

‘We wouldn’t let her walk back across the ice,’ Keme said. Essie jumped into Patrick’s arms.

‘Essie, you’re in big trouble,’ Patrick said, but he couldn’t stop grinning as he squeezed his sister tight and wrapped the extra shawl around her. ‘Keme, a thousand thanks! And please come join us for supper,’ Patrick added. ‘I think my mother may have an extra plate already set out for you.’

Based on paragraph 6, why did Patrick’s family move to Canada?

• They imagined that Canada’s weather would be better than South Carolina’s.
• They didn’t want any Americans to find out that they were loyal to the British.
• They hoped to stop the Canadians from revolting against the British.
• They no longer felt welcome in their town because of their political beliefs.

➡️ Read the story.

Strangers on My Shore

Today, I am called New Zealand. But this has been true for only the shortest part of my history. For millions of years, my mountains have watched over the endless blue sea.

Long ago, before my birth, I waited under water. Then, forces beneath me pushed me higher and higher, until I rose above the ocean, and upwards still. My peaks reached high towards long, white clouds. My rocky volcanoes simmered and boiled. My newly born lands trembled and cracked.

During my many years on the earth, storms burst, snow fell, walls of ice formed and glaciers carved valleys on their way towards the sea. As time passed, a green paradise grew, covered with magnificent forests. My trees filled with the songs of kea and other birds.

Beak-headed reptiles, known as tuatara, bask in the warmth on my sun-kissed rocks. On my beaches, penguins and seals gather, while in my waters, the dolphins and whales play. So few are the predators on my shores that many of my birds, kiwi and wekas among them, don’t fly.

I am also home to larger two-legged creatures. The first of them arrived more than seven centuries ago. They came in small vessels made of wood or fibres, which they moved with long paddles. These two-legged creatures, the Māori people, had no feathers or fur, just the shiny black threads covering their heads.

The Māori settled here and named me Aotearoa, which means ‘land of the long, white cloud’. They made my fields bloom with new plants—foods for their families.

Then, another event signalled greater changes. An enormous Visitor arrived, floating off my shore. This Visitor seemed made of large timbers and was topped with enormous white wings. My birds, my reptiles and my fish were not concerned. The Visitor didn’t break their peace. Not yet.

My Māori, however, flocked to see the new arrival, calling to one another. ‘It’s a huge bird,’ they exclaimed, ‘or a god.’ They seemed worried as they gathered their holy objects and put on special garments to meet the Visitor. They hid many of the small ones in the forest and formed a protective ring around their community.

I was the first to spot the two-legged creatures within the bird-like Visitor. The Visitor was, it turned out, a boat, larger than any seen here before. Little vessels dropped to the water from the Visitor.

Each small boat was propelled by a two-legged creature. My Māori cried out, ‘Goblins! They have eyes in the backs of their heads!’

In a moment, I saw their meaning. The small boats moved towards us, but the rowers’ faces were turned away. As they pulled their oars, they moved their small boats towards shore, but they looked in the opposite direction. It was as if they had eyes to see behind themselves, like the goblins of legend. 

As I watched the progress of these newcomers—goblins or not—towards my shores, I sensed change. In this moment, the world shifted, for my Māori and all those living here. As I watched, the small boats touched my sands, and my mountains shuddered.

Many changes have come in the 250 years that have passed since that day. Now, big cities dot my landscape, and two-legged creatures fly from around the world to visit me. Though many now call me New Zealand, I am still the same island, shimmering green under the clouds. After all these years, my waters and my mountains remain, and my bays and rivers endure.

Based on paragraphs 1 through 3, how does the fact that the narrator is an island rather than a person affect this telling of New Zealand’s history?

• It allows the story to start long before the arrival of humans, with the formation of the land.
• It allows the story to focus only on the geography of New Zealand, not the people who live there.
• It allows the narrator to compare the landforms in New Zealand to other places in the Pacific.
• It allows the narrator to refer to the island by the present-day name of ‘New Zealand’.