The Skylight Room (Advanced Levels C1-C2)

The Skylight Room is one of O. Henry’s best-loved short stories. First published in 1906, it continues to inspire readers with its touching message about hope, kindness, and the strength of the human spirit.

This edition has been carefully rewritten for English learners at the B1 (Intermediate) level. The original story contains old-fashioned vocabulary and long, complex sentences that may be difficult for modern readers. In this version, the language has been simplified while preserving the original plot, characters, atmosphere, and O. Henry’s famous surprise ending.

The story follows Miss Elsie Leeson, a young working woman who rents the cheapest room in a New York boarding house. Although the room is small and plain, it has one special feature—a tiny skylight. Every night, she looks through it at a bright star, which she names Billy Jackson. As her life becomes more difficult, the little star becomes a symbol of hope and comfort.

As you read, notice how O. Henry uses small details to build an unforgettable story with a powerful and emotional ending.

We hope this adapted edition helps you enjoy one of O. Henry’s greatest classics while improving your English.

This story was rewritten by LearnEnglish-new.com for English learners. The story is in the public domain, so it is free from copyright. Enjoy reading and improve your English skills!

The Skylight Room

By O. Henry

Contents

Part One – The Room Beneath the Sky

Part Two – When the Light Began to Fade

Part Three – Billy Jackson

Vocabulary

Comprehension Questions

Grammar Exercises

Part One

The Room Beneath the Sky

On a quiet street in New York stood Mrs. Parker’s boarding house, a tall, narrow building that welcomed people from every corner of the city—provided they could afford her rooms.

Mrs. Parker had perfected the art of showing her house. Every new visitor was led through the rooms in exactly the same order, as though they were following a carefully rehearsed performance.

She always began with the elegant double parlours on the ground floor. Their heavy curtains, polished furniture, and generous windows filled the rooms with an air of respectability. Mrs. Parker spoke proudly of the doctors and dentists who had rented them in the past, describing their success as if it reflected her own.

Anyone listening to her might almost believe those rooms possessed magical qualities capable of turning an ordinary tenant into a distinguished professional.

If a visitor admitted that he was neither a doctor nor a dentist, Mrs. Parker’s enthusiasm cooled immediately. Her smile remained, but only as a matter of habit. She would continue the tour with noticeably less warmth.

The next stop was a pleasant room on the second floor. It was smaller but still comfortable, and Mrs. Parker never failed to explain why its rent was entirely reasonable. She recalled former tenants who had occupied it for years before moving on to better fortunes elsewhere. Every room, in her opinion, had a glorious history.

Should the visitor hesitate again and confess that even eight dollars a week exceeded his means, Mrs. Parker’s patience began to disappear.

Then came the third floor.

There lived Mr. Skidder, a playwright whose greatest successes existed only in his imagination. His room was never available, but Mrs. Parker insisted on showing it anyway. She praised the decorative curtains hanging above the windows while Mr. Skidder nervously watched every stranger who crossed his threshold, fearing each might be his replacement.

Only the poorest applicants continued beyond that point.

When someone finally admitted that even the cheapest respectable room remained beyond reach, Mrs. Parker no longer guided the tour herself.

Instead, she called loudly for Clara.

Clara, the maid, appeared without surprise. She had performed this duty countless times before. With quiet efficiency she led the unfortunate visitor toward a narrow staircase that climbed above the third floor.

The stairs became steeper.

The hallway became darker.

The ceiling seemed lower with every step.

At last they reached the smallest room in the entire house.

It measured scarcely seven feet by eight.

An iron bed occupied most of the floor. Beside it stood a worn washstand and a single wooden chair. A narrow shelf served as a dresser. The walls were bare, the air was close, and the room felt less like a place to live than a forgotten storage space.

Yet there was one remarkable feature.

High above, set into the sloping roof, was a tiny skylight.

Through that single pane of glass, a square of blue sky floated above the darkness like a promise that the world outside still existed.

“Two dollars a week,” Clara would say simply.

For many people, that small window made the room bearable.

For one young woman, it would become everything.

---

One bright afternoon a young lady arrived carrying a portable typewriter that looked almost too large for her slight figure.

She was Miss Elsie Leeson.

She possessed the cheerful appearance of someone who had learned to smile despite life’s disappointments. Her golden hair framed a lively face, and her bright eyes seemed constantly amused by the world around her. Although she dressed modestly, there was an unmistakable grace about her that no amount of poverty could hide.

Mrs. Parker welcomed her with practiced politeness.

As always, she began with the finest rooms.

“They’re beautiful,” Miss Leeson admitted after a brief look around.

“They certainly are,” Mrs. Parker replied proudly. “Doctors always appreciate spacious parlours.”

“I’m afraid,” Miss Leeson said with an apologetic smile, “I’m neither a doctor nor a dentist.”

Mrs. Parker regarded her with visible disappointment.

Without another word, she led her upstairs.

The second-floor room proved equally impossible.

“Eight dollars?” Miss Leeson repeated softly.

She laughed at herself before adding,

“I’m only a working girl. You’ll have to show me something much higher—and much cheaper.”

Mrs. Parker sighed.

The tour continued.

On the third floor they visited Mr. Skidder’s room.

The playwright sprang to his feet as soon as they entered, attempting to conceal the scattered pages of his newest play. His anxious expression transformed instantly when he saw Miss Leeson.

She admired the decorative curtains with genuine delight.

“They’re lovely,” she said.

Those few words accomplished what months of artistic effort never had.

The moment she disappeared, Mr. Skidder sat at his desk, crossed out the heroine of his unfinished comedy, and created a new one.

This heroine possessed bright hair.

She smiled often.

She laughed easily.

And she looked remarkably like Miss Elsie Leeson.

---

A few minutes later Clara appeared.

Without ceremony she led Miss Leeson up the final staircase.

The young woman stopped as she entered the tiny skylight room.

Its simplicity startled her.

There was hardly enough space to turn around.

The ceiling pressed downward.

The walls seemed to crowd together.

For a moment she wondered how anyone could possibly call such a place home.

Then she looked upward.

The little skylight framed a perfect square of deep blue sky.

Sunlight streamed through the glass and settled gently across the worn wooden floor.

Something inside her softened.

“I’ll take it,” she whispered.

She placed her typewriter beside the iron bed and sat down with a long sigh.

It was far from comfortable.

It was certainly not beautiful.

But it was hers.

---

Life soon settled into a quiet routine.

Every morning Miss Leeson left the boarding house carrying her typewriter to offices where she earned her living copying documents.

Sometimes she returned with additional work that kept her awake long after midnight.

Sometimes she had no evening work at all.

On those rare evenings she joined the other tenants on the front steps, where the summer air offered relief from the heat trapped inside the building.

She quickly became the brightest presence among them.

Her laughter came easily.

She listened more than she spoke.

She had a gift for making every conversation feel important.

The gentlemen admired her almost immediately.

Mr. Skidder found endless excuses to discuss his latest theatrical masterpiece.

Mr. Hoover, prosperous, middle-aged, and hopelessly romantic, watched her with obvious admiration.

Young Mr. Evans invented minor illnesses simply to attract her attention.

Only Miss Longnecker, a schoolteacher whose favorite expression was “Well, really,” viewed the cheerful newcomer with quiet disapproval.

Miss Dorn, who spent Sundays winning prizes at shooting galleries in Coney Island, remained equally unimpressed.

None of that troubled Miss Leeson.

She seemed incapable of holding resentment.

Instead, she discovered happiness in the smallest things.

Every night, before going to bed, she climbed onto the chair beneath her skylight and gazed into the endless darkness above the city.

Among the countless stars she always searched for one particular point of light.

It never twinkled.

It shone steadily.

Calmly.

Faithfully.

One evening, while everyone sat together outside the boarding house, she looked upward and laughed.

“There he is,” she said. “I can see Billy Jackson from here tonight.”

The others raised their eyes in confusion.

“Who’s Billy Jackson?” asked Mr. Evans.

Miss Leeson pointed toward a small blue-white star beside a brighter one.

“That one.”

“I can see him every night through my skylight.”

“So I gave him a name.”

“I call him Billy Jackson.”

---

Part Two

When the Light Began to Fade

Summer lingered over the city, wrapping the streets in heavy heat that seemed to rise from the pavement long after sunset. Inside Mrs. Parker’s boarding house, life continued much as it always had.

Each morning the residents hurried off to their occupations. Clerks disappeared into crowded offices. Shop assistants spent long hours behind counters. Teachers walked to their classrooms. Mr. Skidder remained faithfully at his desk, convinced that the next page he wrote would finally make him famous.

Miss Leeson also left early every morning, her typewriter tucked beneath one arm. She always smiled as she stepped through the front door, and no one imagined how uncertain each new day had become.

For a while, work still came.

Some evenings she returned carrying stacks of handwritten pages that needed to be copied before morning. Her lamp burned late into the night while the steady rhythm of her typewriter echoed through the tiny skylight room.

The work was tiring, but she welcomed every page.

Each sheet meant another meal.

Another week’s rent.

Another chance to remain independent.

Then, almost without warning, the work began to disappear.

One employer apologized politely.

Another explained that business had slowed.

A third promised to call her when something became available.

No one ever did.

At first Miss Leeson remained optimistic.

“There will be something tomorrow,” she whispered each evening.

Tomorrow always arrived.

Work did not.

---

Soon her mornings followed a different pattern.

Instead of sitting behind a typewriter, she walked from office to office across the city.

She climbed endless flights of stairs.

She waited patiently outside crowded reception rooms.

She smiled at secretaries who barely looked up from their desks.

She spoke to office boys who dismissed her before she could finish a sentence.

Sometimes she managed to see a manager.

Most often she did not.

Every answer sounded almost identical.

“We’re not hiring.”

“Leave your name.”

“We’ll let you know.”

“There are dozens of applicants already.”

The words became painfully familiar.

Each refusal stole a little more of her confidence.

By afternoon her feet ached from walking.

By evening her hope had grown a little smaller.

Yet whenever she returned to the boarding house, she greeted everyone with the same cheerful smile.

No one guessed how difficult her days had become.

---

Money disappeared far more quickly than she had expected.

First she gave up small pleasures.

There would be no newspapers.

No fresh flowers.

No occasional cup of coffee.

Then came larger sacrifices.

Lunch became a luxury.

Breakfast grew smaller.

Eventually dinner vanished altogether.

She told herself she simply was not hungry.

It was easier than admitting the truth.

The little coins in her purse grew fewer each day until they scarcely made a sound whenever she closed it.

Still she paid her rent.

The skylight room remained hers.

It was the one certainty she refused to surrender.

---

One warm evening the tenants gathered once more on the front steps.

Mr. Skidder enthusiastically described a new comedy that he was certain would conquer Broadway.

Mr. Evans argued with him over the proper ending.

Mr. Hoover laughed louder than anyone else.

Miss Leeson listened quietly.

She spoke less than usual.

When the conversation paused, she lifted her eyes toward the sky.

“There you are,” she murmured.

Billy Jackson had already appeared.

The little star shone with the same calm brightness it always possessed.

Nothing in heaven seemed to change.

Only life on earth did.

“You’ve been quiet tonight,” Mr. Evans observed.

“I’m only a little tired.”

“You work too hard.”

She smiled.

“I suppose I do.”

No one asked another question.

---

The days continued.

Food became rarer.

Sleep became lighter.

Walking became more difficult.

Even climbing the four flights of stairs left her breathless.

One afternoon she stopped halfway to her room and rested against the banister until the dizziness passed.

When it did, she laughed softly at herself.

“I really must eat better,” she whispered.

But she knew she could not.

---

Even Mr. Skidder noticed that something had changed.

One evening he knocked gently on her door.

“I’ve written a new scene,” he announced hopefully.

“Would you read it?”

Normally Miss Leeson would have welcomed the request.

She always encouraged him.

She always found something kind to say.

This time she opened the door only a few inches.

“I’m terribly sorry, Mr. Skidder.”

“I’m afraid I’m rather tired tonight.”

He looked at her more carefully than ever before.

Her face seemed unusually pale.

Dark circles rested beneath her eyes.

For the first time since meeting her, he saw no laughter there.

“I hope you’re not ill.”

“No.”

She forced another smile.

“Just tired.”

He wished her good night and slowly returned downstairs, strangely troubled.

---

The following evening proved even harder.

Miss Leeson had spent the entire day searching for work.

She had found none.

She had eaten nothing.

As dusk settled over New York, she climbed the familiar steps toward the boarding house with slow, uncertain movements.

Every step demanded effort.

She paused outside the front door before gathering enough strength to enter.

The hallway seemed unusually long.

The staircase stretched endlessly upward.

Just as she reached the first landing, someone stepped into her path.

It was Mr. Hoover.

For weeks he had been searching for the courage to speak.

Believing fate had finally offered him the perfect opportunity, he removed his hat and smiled nervously.

“Miss Leeson…”

She looked up wearily.

“I’ve wanted to ask you something for a long time.”

She managed a polite smile.

“Yes?”

“I love you.”

The words burst out before he could stop them.

“I want you to marry me.”

She stared at him in astonishment.

Under different circumstances she might have answered gently.

Tonight she barely possessed the strength to remain standing.

The walls seemed to sway around her.

Mr. Hoover stepped forward, hoping to take her hand.

Instead she instinctively pulled away.

“No…”

Her voice was scarcely louder than a whisper.

“I can’t.”

He misunderstood her hesitation.

Believing she merely needed reassurance, he moved closer.

She raised one trembling hand—not in anger, but in desperate self-defense.

Her fingertips struck his cheek with almost no force at all.

The exhausted gesture carried neither violence nor hatred.

Only desperation.

Mr. Hoover stepped back in shocked silence.

Without another word Miss Leeson gripped the banister and continued climbing.

One slow step.

Then another.

She passed Mr. Skidder’s room without noticing that the playwright had paused in his writing to watch her.

He had never seen her move so slowly.

Something was terribly wrong.

---

At last she reached the narrow staircase leading to the skylight room.

Each step felt heavier than the one before.

When she finally unlocked the door, darkness greeted her.

She was too weak to light the lamp.

Too weak even to remove her hat.

She crossed the tiny room with uncertain steps and collapsed onto the iron bed.

The old springs groaned softly beneath her slight weight.

For several long moments she lay perfectly still.

Then, with great effort, she opened her eyes.

Above her, framed by the little skylight, the night sky stretched across the darkness.

Billy Jackson was waiting.

Steady.

Silent.

Faithful.

She smiled.

Everything else had failed her.

Her work.

Her strength.

Even her body.

But the little star had never failed to appear.

Night after night it had remained exactly where she expected to find it.

She whispered almost happily,

“Good evening, Billy.”

Outside, New York continued its restless life.

Carriages rolled through the streets.

Voices drifted upward from the sidewalks.

Somewhere a piano played behind an open window.

But inside the tiny skylight room there was only silence…

…and the quiet light of a single star.

---

Part Three

Billy Jackson

The room was almost completely dark.

The narrow walls seemed to close around Miss Leeson like the sides of a deep well. The city still lived beyond the roof—its streets alive with hurried footsteps, rattling carriages, and distant voices—but none of those sounds seemed able to reach the tiny room beneath the skylight.

She lay motionless on the iron bed.

Her body had become so weak that even breathing required effort.

For a long while she simply watched the little square of night above her.

There he was.

Billy Jackson.

The small blue-white star burned with the same calm certainty it had shown every night since she had first moved into the room. It neither flickered nor hurried across the heavens. It simply remained where it had always been, faithful to its silent watch.

Miss Longnecker had once explained that it belonged to the constellation Cassiopeia and that astronomers knew it by another name.

Perhaps she had been right.

Perhaps it was not Billy Jackson at all.

But Miss Leeson could never think of it by any other name.

To her, it was not merely a distant star.

It was a companion.

A quiet friend who never failed to appear, even when the world below seemed determined to forget her.

She smiled faintly.

“So you’re here again,” she whispered.

The words disappeared into the silence.

---

Minutes passed.

Or perhaps hours.

Time no longer seemed important.

The darkness grew heavier around her, while the tiny window above remained filled with light.

She tried to raise herself, but her strength failed almost immediately.

Instead, she continued gazing upward.

Memories drifted through her exhausted mind.

She remembered her first day in the boarding house.

Mrs. Parker proudly showing the expensive parlours.

Mr. Skidder’s anxious face as strangers entered his room.

The cheerful evenings on the front steps.

Mr. Evans pretending to cough simply to make her scold him for smoking.

Mr. Hoover’s awkward kindness.

Even Miss Longnecker’s endless “Well, really…” now seemed almost amusing.

For a brief moment she could almost hear their laughter again.

Then the memory faded.

Only the star remained.

---

With great difficulty she lifted one trembling hand.

It rose only a few inches before falling back onto the blanket.

She rested.

Gathered what little strength she still possessed.

Then she tried again.

This time her hand reached her lips.

She pressed two thin fingers against them and gently blew a kiss toward the skylight.

The effort left her breathless.

“Goodbye, Billy,” she murmured.

“You’re millions of miles away.”

“You’ll never know I named you.”

“You’ll never even shine a little brighter because of me.”

She paused, struggling for another breath.

“But whenever everything else was dark…”

“…you were always there.”

“Thank you.”

Her hand slipped quietly back onto the bed.

Her eyes slowly closed.

---

The following morning the boarding house awoke as usual.

Doors opened.

Footsteps echoed through the halls.

Breakfast was served downstairs.

Clara moved from room to room carrying out her morning duties.

When she reached the skylight room, she knocked.

There was no answer.

She knocked again.

Still nothing.

Frowning, she tried the handle.

The door was locked from inside.

A few minutes later Mrs. Parker arrived, already irritated by the inconvenience.

“Miss Leeson!”

Silence.

The other tenants gathered in the hallway.

Mr. Skidder’s face grew pale.

Mr. Evans looked anxiously toward the closed door.

Even Mr. Hoover forgot his wounded pride.

At last the lock was forced.

The door swung open.

Miss Leeson lay exactly where she had fallen the previous evening.

She had not moved.

For one terrible moment no one spoke.

Mrs. Parker hurried forward, calling her name again and again.

Clara fetched vinegar.

Someone suggested old household remedies.

Nothing helped.

Miss Leeson remained unconscious.

Finally one of the tenants ran downstairs to telephone for an ambulance.

---

The sound of its bell echoed through the street only minutes later.

The vehicle stopped sharply outside the boarding house.

A young physician stepped out before it had fully halted.

He wore a white coat and carried himself with the calm confidence of someone accustomed to making life-and-death decisions in seconds.

“What room?” he asked immediately.

“The young lady,” Mrs. Parker answered nervously.

“She’s upstairs.”

“What room?”

“The skylight room.”

Something changed instantly in the doctor’s expression.

Without another word he rushed into the building.

He climbed the stairs four at a time.

The tenants watched in astonishment.

No one had ever reached the fourth floor so quickly.

Only moments later he emerged again.

Miss Leeson rested gently in his arms.

Her head leaned against his shoulder as though she were merely asleep.

The doctor’s face had lost its professional calm.

There was pain in his eyes.

Real pain.

As he descended the stairs, he suddenly turned toward Mrs. Parker.

His voice was quiet, but every word struck with terrible force.

“Do you call this living?”

“Did no one notice she was starving?”

“Did no one think to help?”

Mrs. Parker stood frozen.

The colour drained from her face.

She tried to answer.

No words came.

The doctor looked at the frightened crowd surrounding the staircase.

Then, without another accusation, he carried Miss Leeson through the front door and into the waiting ambulance.

The gathering of curious neighbours instinctively stepped aside.

No one dared to interrupt him.

Inside the ambulance the attendants prepared the stretcher.

But the doctor did not place Miss Leeson upon it.

Instead, he continued holding her securely in his arms.

Only after the doors had closed did he speak.

“Drive as fast as you can.”

The ambulance sped away into the morning traffic.

---

The boarding house felt strangely empty after its departure.

No one spoke very much that day.

Mr. Skidder abandoned his play.

Mr. Evans wandered from room to room in silence.

Mr. Hoover sat alone for hours, replaying the previous evening in his mind and wishing he had understood her condition sooner.

Mrs. Parker tried to return to her ordinary routine.

She could not.

Again and again she heard the doctor’s words.

They followed her through every room in the house.

Years later, whenever curious tenants asked what the young physician had said to her that morning, she always answered quietly,

“If I can ever be forgiven for hearing those words, that will be enough.”

She never repeated them.

She never forgot them.

---

The next morning a short notice appeared in one of New York’s newspapers.

Most readers glanced at it for only a moment before turning the page.

It reported that a young woman named Miss Elsie Leeson had been admitted to Bellevue Hospital suffering from severe weakness caused by starvation.

At the end of the report appeared one final sentence.

Dr. William Jackson, the ambulance physician who attended the case, believes the patient will recover.

And suddenly everything became clear.

Billy Jackson.

The faithful companion she had watched night after night through the tiny skylight had never abandoned her.

The little star had given her hope while she lived beneath the roof.

And when all hope seemed lost, another Billy Jackson had arrived—not from the heavens, but from the streets below.

One had comforted her spirit.

The other had saved her life.

Sometimes hope appears as nothing more than a distant point of light.

Sometimes it knocks upon your door wearing a doctor’s coat.

But true hope, however quietly it arrives, has the remarkable power to keep a human heart alive until help finally comes.

– THE END –

Read the original story: americanliterature.com

Vocabulary

1. boarding house /ˈbɔːrdɪŋ haʊs/ — a house where people pay to live, usually with meals included.
Example: Mrs. Parker owned a small boarding house in New York City.

2. skylight /ˈskaɪlaɪt/ — a window built into the roof of a building.
Example: The tiny skylight was the only special feature of the room.

3. graceful /ˈɡreɪsfəl/ — moving or looking beautiful and elegant.
Example: There was an unmistakable grace about her that no amount of poverty could hide.

4. admire /ədˈmaɪə(r)/ — to respect or like someone very much.
Example: The gentlemen admired her almost immediately.

5. cheerful /ˈtʃɪəfəl/ — happy and positive.
Example: She greeted everyone with the same cheerful smile.

6. routine /ruːˈtiːn/ — the usual way of doing things every day.
Example: Life soon settled into a quiet routine.

7. optimistic /ˌɒptɪˈmɪstɪk/ — expecting good things to happen.
Example: At first Miss Leeson remained optimistic.

8. refusal /rɪˈfjuːzl/ — an act of saying “no.”
Example: Each refusal stole a little more of her confidence.

9. uncertainty /ʌnˈsɜːtənti/ — the state of not knowing what will happen.
Example: She faced each day with courage despite the uncertainty of finding work.

10. exhausted /ɪɡˈzɔːstɪd/ — extremely tired.
Example: She returned home exhausted after another day of searching for work.

11. desperation /ˌdespəˈreɪʃn/ — a feeling of having little or no hope.
Example: The exhausted gesture carried neither violence nor hatred. Only desperation.

12. collapse /kəˈlæps/ — to suddenly fall because of illness or weakness.
Example: She crossed the tiny room with uncertain steps and collapsed onto the iron bed.

13. companion /kəmˈpæniən/ — someone or something that stays with another.
Example: To her, it was not merely a distant star. It was a companion.

14. faithful /ˈfeɪθfəl/ — always loyal and dependable.
Example: The little star remained faithful, shining every night.

15. unconscious /ʌnˈkɒnʃəs/ — not awake or aware of what is happening.
Example: Miss Leeson remained unconscious.

16. physician /fɪˈzɪʃən/ — a doctor.
Example: A young physician stepped out before it had fully halted.

17. starvation /stɑːˈveɪʃn/ — extreme suffering caused by a lack of food.
Example: She was suffering from starvation.

18. compassion /kəmˈpæʃn/ — deep sympathy and kindness for others.
Example: Every person deserves compassion, no matter how ordinary or unnoticed they may seem.

19. resilience /rɪˈzɪliəns/ — the ability to recover from difficulties.
Example: Miss Leeson’s resilience allowed her to remain hopeful even during the hardest days.

20. hope /həʊp/ — the feeling that something good may happen.
Example: Sometimes hope appears as nothing more than a distant point of light.

Comprehension Questions

1. Why did Miss Leeson choose the skylight room instead of the other rooms in Mrs. Parker’s boarding house?

2. What made the skylight room different from the other cheap rooms in the house?

3. Why did Miss Leeson name the star “Billy Jackson”?

4. How did the other tenants feel about Miss Leeson after they got to know her?

5. What kind of person was Mr. Skidder, and why did he become interested in Miss Leeson?

6. What happened that caused Miss Leeson to lose her income?

7. How did Miss Leeson try to find work after losing her job?

8. Why didn’t the other people in the boarding house realize how serious her situation had become?

9. Why did Miss Leeson refuse Mr. Hoover’s marriage proposal?

10. What did Billy Jackson, the star, mean to Miss Leeson during her hardest days?

11. Why was Miss Leeson too weak to light the lamp when she returned to her room?

12. What did Miss Leeson do before saying goodbye to Billy Jackson?

13. How did the tenants discover that Miss Leeson was seriously ill?

14. Why did the ambulance doctor become angry with Mrs. Parker?

15. What was the surprise ending of the story, and why is it so meaningful?

16. What lesson do you think O. Henry wanted readers to learn from The Skylight Room?

Grammar Exercises

More Famous Short Stories – Level 5-6