Madeline saw her first jackrabbit. It was as large as a dog, and its ears were enormous. It appeared to be impudently tame, and the horses kicked dust over it as they trotted by. From then on old Bill and Florence vied with each other in calling Madeline's attention to many things along the way. Coyotes stealing away into the brush; buzzards flapping over the carcass of a cow that had been mired in a wash; queer little lizards running swiftly across the road; cattle grazing in the hollows; adobe huts of Mexican herders; wild, shaggy horses, with heads high, watching from the gray ridges—all these things Madeline looked at, indifferently at first, because indifference had become habit with her; then with an interest that flourished up and insensibly grew as she rode on. It grew until sight of a little ragged boy astride the tiniest burro she had ever seen awakened her to the truth. She became conscious of a faint, unmistakable awakening of long-dead feelings—enthusiasm and delight. When she realized that, she breathed deep of the cold, sharp air and felt an inward joy. And she sensed then, though she did not know why, that from then on there was to be something new in her life, something she had never felt before, something good for her soul in the homely, the commonplace, the natural and the wild. Adapted from Zane Grey's The Light of the Western Stars, 1914. 4 Select the correct answer. What is Madeline probably like? A. Funny B. Bored C. Well traveled Reset