The Mysterious Howling by Maryrose Wood

‘The Wreck of the Hesperus,’” she continued, once the dishes were cleared away and the trio of sad children had gathered obediently around her. “It is by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. That is the poet’s name. Can you say it? Longfellow.”
    â€œLongfell ooooooo, ” they repeated listlessly.
    What a miserable sight they were! Penelope wondered if she ought to ask what was wrong, but as she already knew the answer, she decided it would be best to press on with the poem. Reading aloud was a task she enjoyed; it allowed her to pretend she was a famous actress on the London stage, which she thought might be an interesting career if only it were not so scandalous. Also, the working hours for famous actresses ran late into the evening, and Penelope had always preferred early bedtimes.
    She sat up straight in her little chair and cleared her throat. “Longfellow, correct. Well done, children. Before I begin, you ought to know that a schooner is a type of ship. The rest should be self-explanatory. Here we go:
    â€œIt was the schooner Hesperus,
That sailed the wintry sea;
And the skipper had taken his little daughter,
To bear him company .
    â€œBlue were her eyes as the fairy-flax,
Her cheeks like the dawn of day,
And her bosom white as the hawthorn buds,
That ope in the month of May .
    â€œâ€˜Ope,’” she paused to explain, “means ‘open.’ It is an example of what is called poetical language. Do you have any questions?”
    The children were still and silent—too silent, in Penelope’s opinion. She looked at them for a moment through narrowed eyes and turned back to Longfellow.
    â€œThe skipper he stood beside the helm,
His pipe was in his mouth,
And he watched how the veering flaw did blow
The smoke now West, now South .
    â€œThen up and spake an old Sailòr,
Had sailed to the Spanish Main,
‘I pray thee, put into yonder port,
For I fear a hurricane .
    â€œâ€˜Last night, the moon had a golden ring,
And to-night no moon we see!’
The skipper, he blew a whiff from his pipe,
And a scornful laugh laughed he.”
    Penelope was about to demonstrate what she thought Longfellow might have meant by a “scornful laugh.” But at the mere mention of the moon, thechildren had gone pale.
    â€œAhwooo!” Alexander crooned a soft, agonized howl.
    â€œAhwooooo!” Beowulf joined him, still soft but urgent.
    â€œAhwoooooooooo!” Cassiopeia threw her head back and gave it her all. “Ahwoooooooooo! Ahwoooooooooo!”
    The howling was dreadful and went on for quite some time. Penelope put the poem down with a sigh; they would return to the Hesperus later. Now, she felt she must intervene. She waited until it seemed the noise had reached its peak and was on the way down.
    â€œChildren, listen. Listen to your governess, please!” With a few final ahwoo s and barks, the din subsided. Penelope tried to assume the same firm, gentle tone Miss Mortimer had always used to good effect on the girls at Swanburne.
    â€œNow, I am well aware that being raised by wolves can be considered an undesirable start in life,” she began. “But truly, which of us do not have obstacles to overcome? Whining—or howling or what you please—is not the solution to any of life’s problems. I realize that there have been challenges. I assure you there will be more.”
    Alexander’s teeth were half bared. Beowulf was gnawing on his own shoe, and Cassiopeia let out a tiny whimper, but Penelope felt she had their attention. Shecontinued, “Abandoned in the forest as infants, suckled by ferocious smelly animals, forced to wear uncomfortable party outfits, and made to learn to dance the schottische—this is simply the way life goes. Hands must be washed before dinner nevertheless. Please and thank you must be said, and playthings must be put away when you are done with them. Are we agreed?”
    They