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-Titulo Original : Shiloh (shiloh Quartet, The)
-Fabricante :
Atheneum Books For Young Readers
-Descripcion Original:
Marty will do anything to save his new friend Shiloh in this Newbery Medal-winning novel from Phillis Reynolds Naylor. When Marty Preston comes across a young beagle in the hills behind his home, its love at first sight-and also big trouble. It turns out the dog, which Marty names Shiloh, belongs to Judd Travers, who drinks too much and has a gun-and abuses his dogs. So when Shiloh runs away from Judd to Marty, Marty just has to hide him and protect him from Judd. But Martys secret becomes too big for him to keep to himself, and it exposes his entire family to Judds anger. How far will Marty have to go to make Shiloh his? Review * “A moving and powerful look at the best and worst of human nature.”-Booklist, starred review About the Author Phyllis Reynolds Naylor has written more than 135 books, including the Newbery Award-winning Shiloh and its sequels, the Alice series, Roxie and the Hooligans, and Roxie and the Hooligans at Buzzard’s Roost. She lives in Gaithersburg, Maryland. To hear from Phyllis and find out more about Alice, visit AliceMcKinley . Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved. Shiloh By Phyllis Reynolds Naylor Aladdin Publishing CompanyCopyright © 2000 Phyllis Reynolds Naylor All right reserved. ISBN: 9780689835827 My favorite place to walk is just across this rattly bridge where the road curves by the old Shiloh schoolhouse and follows the river. River to one side, trees the other-sometimes a house or two. And this particular afternoon, Im about half-way up the road along the river when I see something out of the corner of my eye. Something moves. I look, and about fifteen yards off, theres this shorthaired dog -- white with brown and black spots -- not making any kind of noise, just slinking along with his head down, watching me, tall between his legs like hes hardly got the right to breathe. A beagle, maybe a year or two old. I stop and the dog stops. Looks like hes been caught doing something awful, when I can tell all he really wants is to follow along beside me. Here, boy, I say, slapping my thigh. Dog goes down on his stomach, groveling about in the grass. I laugh and start over toward him. Hes got an old worn-out collar on, probably older than he is. Bet it belonged to another dog before him. Cmon, boy, I say, putting out my hand. The dog gets up and backs off. He dont even whimper, like hes lost his bark. Something really hurts inside you when you see a dog cringe like that. You know somebodys been kicking at him. Beating on him, maybe. Its okay, boy, I say, coming a little closer, but still he backs off. So I just take my gun and follow the river. Every so often I look over my shoulder and there he is, the beagle. I stop; he stops. I can see his ribs -- not real bad -- but he isnt plumped out or anything. Theres a broken branch hanging from a limb out over the water, and Im wondering if I can bring it down with one shot. I raise my gun, and then I think how the sound might scare the dog off. I decide I dont want to shoot my gun much that day. Its a slow river. You walk beside it, you figure its not even moving. lf you stop, though, you can see leaves and things going along. Now and then a fish jumps -- big fish. Bass, I think. Dogs still trailing me, tail tucked in. Funny how he dont make a sound. Finally I sit on a log, put my gun at my feet, and wait. Back down yhe road, the dog sits, too. Sits right in the middle of it, head on his paws. Here, boy! I say again, an pat my knee. He wiggles just a little, but he dont come. Maybe its a she-dog. Here, girl! I say. Dog still dont come. I decide to wait the dog out, but after three or four minutes on the log, it gets boring and I start off again. So does the beagle. Dont know where youd end up if you followed the river all the way. Heard somebody say it curves about, comes back on itself, but if it didnt and I got home after dark, Id get a good whopping. So I always go as
-Fabricante :
Atheneum Books For Young Readers
-Descripcion Original:
Marty will do anything to save his new friend Shiloh in this Newbery Medal-winning novel from Phillis Reynolds Naylor. When Marty Preston comes across a young beagle in the hills behind his home, its love at first sight-and also big trouble. It turns out the dog, which Marty names Shiloh, belongs to Judd Travers, who drinks too much and has a gun-and abuses his dogs. So when Shiloh runs away from Judd to Marty, Marty just has to hide him and protect him from Judd. But Martys secret becomes too big for him to keep to himself, and it exposes his entire family to Judds anger. How far will Marty have to go to make Shiloh his? Review * “A moving and powerful look at the best and worst of human nature.”-Booklist, starred review About the Author Phyllis Reynolds Naylor has written more than 135 books, including the Newbery Award-winning Shiloh and its sequels, the Alice series, Roxie and the Hooligans, and Roxie and the Hooligans at Buzzard’s Roost. She lives in Gaithersburg, Maryland. To hear from Phyllis and find out more about Alice, visit AliceMcKinley . Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved. Shiloh By Phyllis Reynolds Naylor Aladdin Publishing CompanyCopyright © 2000 Phyllis Reynolds Naylor All right reserved. ISBN: 9780689835827 My favorite place to walk is just across this rattly bridge where the road curves by the old Shiloh schoolhouse and follows the river. River to one side, trees the other-sometimes a house or two. And this particular afternoon, Im about half-way up the road along the river when I see something out of the corner of my eye. Something moves. I look, and about fifteen yards off, theres this shorthaired dog -- white with brown and black spots -- not making any kind of noise, just slinking along with his head down, watching me, tall between his legs like hes hardly got the right to breathe. A beagle, maybe a year or two old. I stop and the dog stops. Looks like hes been caught doing something awful, when I can tell all he really wants is to follow along beside me. Here, boy, I say, slapping my thigh. Dog goes down on his stomach, groveling about in the grass. I laugh and start over toward him. Hes got an old worn-out collar on, probably older than he is. Bet it belonged to another dog before him. Cmon, boy, I say, putting out my hand. The dog gets up and backs off. He dont even whimper, like hes lost his bark. Something really hurts inside you when you see a dog cringe like that. You know somebodys been kicking at him. Beating on him, maybe. Its okay, boy, I say, coming a little closer, but still he backs off. So I just take my gun and follow the river. Every so often I look over my shoulder and there he is, the beagle. I stop; he stops. I can see his ribs -- not real bad -- but he isnt plumped out or anything. Theres a broken branch hanging from a limb out over the water, and Im wondering if I can bring it down with one shot. I raise my gun, and then I think how the sound might scare the dog off. I decide I dont want to shoot my gun much that day. Its a slow river. You walk beside it, you figure its not even moving. lf you stop, though, you can see leaves and things going along. Now and then a fish jumps -- big fish. Bass, I think. Dogs still trailing me, tail tucked in. Funny how he dont make a sound. Finally I sit on a log, put my gun at my feet, and wait. Back down yhe road, the dog sits, too. Sits right in the middle of it, head on his paws. Here, boy! I say again, an pat my knee. He wiggles just a little, but he dont come. Maybe its a she-dog. Here, girl! I say. Dog still dont come. I decide to wait the dog out, but after three or four minutes on the log, it gets boring and I start off again. So does the beagle. Dont know where youd end up if you followed the river all the way. Heard somebody say it curves about, comes back on itself, but if it didnt and I got home after dark, Id get a good whopping. So I always go as
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