7. Write an essay on one of the following topics:

11. Jerusha’s first summer at Lock Willow.

12. The matter of faith.

8. Translate the following sentences from Russian into English using the words from ex.1

1. Роман Л.Н. Толстого "Война и мир" действительно бессмертное произведение.

2. Я ищу подходящую фотографию для первой страницы обложки.

3. Мы должны отдать должное В.В. Путину, так как он действительно великий политик.

4. Когда он пришел домой, все спали, и ужин стоял нетронутым на столе.

5. Я постоянно занята выборами.

6. Она задержала дыхание. Это было просто неописуемо. Мистер Смит лежал на полу в луже крови.

7. - Ты знаешь, кто твои предки? - Нет, но я знаю, что они из благородной семьи.

8. Полка упала с ужасным шумом, и все яйца разбились.

9. Какое совпадение! У нас день рождения в один день!

10. Я никогда не делала пончики, но я привыкла печь яблочные пироги.

9. Answer the following questions:

1. What were Judy’s expectations for the summer?

2. Tell the group about the Lock Willow Farm.

3. What did Judy think about the Semples?

4. What “funny coincidence” did Judy write about?

5. Why did Daddy-Long-Legs send Judy to the farm?

6. Describe Judy’s activities on the farm.

7. What argument concerning religion did Judy have with the Semples?

8. Tell the group about other people living on the farm.

15Th September

Dear Daddy,

I was weighed yesterday on the flour scales in the general store at the Comers. I've gained nine pounds! Let me recommend Lock Willow as a health resort.

Yours ever,

Judy

Dear Daddy-Long-Legs,

Behold me – a Sophomore! I came up last Friday, sorry to leave Lock Willow, but glad to see the campus again. It is a pleasant sensation to come back to something familiar. I am beginning to feel at home in college, and in command of the situation; I am beginning, in fact, to feel at home in the world – as though I really belonged to it and had not just crept in on sufferance.

I don't suppose you understand in the least what I am trying to say. A person important enough to be a Trustee can't appreciate the feelings of a person unimportant enough to be a foundling.

And now, Daddy, listen to this. Whom do you think I am rooming with? Sallie McBride and Julia Rutledge Pendleton. It's the truth. We have a study and three little bedrooms – VOILA!

Sallie and I decided last spring that we should like to room together, and Julia made up her mind to stay with Sallie – why, I can't imagine, for they are not a bit alike; but the Pendletons are naturally conservative and inimical (fine word!) to change. Anyway, here we are. Think of Jerusha Abbott, late of the John Grier Home for Orphans, rooming with a Pendleton. This is a democratic country.

Sallie is running for class president, and unless all signs fail, she is going to be elected. Such an atmosphere of intrigue you should see what politicians we are! Oh, I tell you, Daddy, when we women get our rights, you men will have to look alive in order to keep yours. Election comes next Saturday, and we're going to have a torchlight procession in the evening, no matter who wins.

I am beginning chemistry, a most unusual study. I've never seen anything like it before. Molecules and Atoms are the material employed, but I'll be in a position to discuss them more definitely next month.

I am also taking argumentation and logic.

Also history of the whole world.

Also plays of William Shakespeare.

Also French.

If this keeps up many years longer, I shall become quite intelligent.

I should rather have elected economics than French, but I didn't dare, because I was afraid that unless I re-elected French, the Professor would not let me pass – as it was, I just managed to squeeze through the June examination. But I will say that my high-school preparation was not very adequate.

There's one girl in the class who chatters away in French as fast as she does in English. She went abroad with her parents when she was a child, and spent three years in a convent school. You can imagine how bright she is compared with the rest of us – irregular verbs are mere playthings. I wish my parents had chucked me into a French convent when I was little instead of a foundling asylum. Oh no, I don't either! Because then maybe I should never have known you. I'd rather know you than French.

Goodbye, Daddy. I must call on Harriet Martin now, and, having discussed the chemical situation, casually drop a few thoughts on the subject of our next president.

Yours in politics,

J. Abbott