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AGRADECIMENTOS

À Taís Oliveira, pelo apoio contínuo, pela leitura dos originais e

por toda a inspiração intelectual e afetiva; aos colegas da
comunidade UFABC, LabLivre e Neab; à organização Black In AI,
suas fundadoras e membras/os; às entrevistadas e aos
entrevistados, pelos aprendizados e pela gentileza; e ao professor
Sergio Amadeu da Silveira, pela confiança e pelos caminhos
apontados durante minha trajetória acadêmica.
SUMÁRIO

Apresentação

Prefácio

Introdução

Capítulo 1
Discursos racistas na web e nas mídias sociais
Racismo online no Brasil
Racismos online e microagressões
Microagressões no racismo algorítmico
Categorias, interfaces e mídia
Moderação entre humanos e inteligência artificial
Mediação
Ordenação e recomendação de conteúdo

Capítulo 2
O que as máquinas aprendem?
Duas tradições da inteligência artificial
A robô que aprendeu a ser racista: um caso de eficácia?

Capítulo 3
Visibilidades algorítmicas diferenciais
Visão computacional: modos de ver e controlar
Embranquecendo rostos negros
Bancos de dados, buscas e representações
O que os computadores veem nas imagens
Uma imagem vale mil controvérsias

Capítulo 4
Necropolítica algorítmica
Gênese colonial da necropolítica e a imaginação carcerária
Reconhecimento facial e tecnochauvinismo
Erros e acertos do reconhecimento: seletividade penal
Riscos espacializados e corporificados
Criminalização das visualidades e rostos racializados
Deixar morrer

Capítulo 5
Tecnologias são políticas. E racializadas
As (im)possibilidades racializadas nas cidades
Respiração e negação da humanidade
Fotografia e invisibilidade
Bases de dados e epistemicídios

Capítulo 6
Reações, remediações e invenções
Auditorias e consciência pública
“Foda-se o algoritmo”: mobilizações públicas
Resistências pelas reinvenções
Formando novos olhares
Regular para além dos princípios éticos

Referências

Sobre o autor

Créditos
D ESDE FINS DOS ANOS 1990, com a difusão da internet,
palavras como interação, colaboração, troca, recombinação e
compartilhamento passaram não apenas a organizar a gramática
das redes digitais, mas também a influenciar a própria dinâmica
social. Trata-se de um conjunto de expressões ligadas a formas de
produção e distribuição de informações e saberes que descortinam
novos cenários, cobrando-nos esforços reflexivos para compreender
seus efeitos, tanto pelas perspectivas da comunicação e da cultura
como pelos vieses da educação, da economia e da política.
Hoje, é patente o alcance das redes de conexão digital num país
de dimensões continentais como o Brasil. Se, por um lado, a internet
promove a dinamização sem precedentes das interações remotas e
o exponencial incremento do acesso e da produção de conteúdo,
por outro, nota-se em seus ambientes uma acirrada disputa pelas
atenções (e adesões), que se vão revelando concentradas num
leque limitado de plataformas, sites e aplicativos.
Com o crescimento do uso das redes no País, temas como
liberdade, direitos humanos, igualdade social, censura, gênero e
raça povoam o cotidiano dos fóruns virtuais, não raro facultando
alternativas ao tipo de abordagem desenvolvida nos meios
tradicionais de comunicação, como o rádio, a TV e a imprensa
escrita. Isso se deve, entre outros fatores, à relativização da divisão
entre aqueles que pautam e aqueles que consomem a informação, à
medida que essa fronteira vai sendo apagada.
Uma vez que a expansão da rede alavanca a multiplicação do
volume de dados e de sua correlata disseminação na esfera pública,
assim como estimula a participação de crescente número de
pessoas nas discussões sobre assuntos de interesse comum,
caberia nos perguntarmos sobre o real impacto, no debate público,
dessa forma de circulação de informações e vozes.
Nesse sentido, é promissora a constituição de uma coleção que
se propõe a reunir autores brasileiros dedicados a pensar as
dinâmicas ensejadas pelas redes digitais de conexão, investigando
sua influência sobre os rumos da democracia. Organizada pelo
sociólogo e doutor em Ciência Política Sergio Amadeu da Silveira, a
coleção Democracia Digital convida pesquisadores do campo da
cultura digital a se debruçarem, a partir de diferentes abordagens,
sobre a recente história dessa ambivalente relação.
Neste Racismo algorítmico, sexto título da coleção, o
pesquisador dos campos da Comunicação e das Ciências Sociais
Tarcízio Silva apresenta uma bem documentada abordagem sobre
comportamentos racistas e discriminatórios que os sistemas e
protocolos de programação dos novos meios digitais de conexão
podem terminar por alimentar e, em determinados casos, concorrem
para naturalizar.
Pautando-se por uma linguagem clara e direta, a coleção
Democracia Digital pretende despertar, em igual medida, o interesse
tanto de pesquisadores da área de tecnologia e comunicação como
de um público leitor mais abrangente, que, em seu cotidiano, se vê
envolvido com aparatos tecnológicos permanentemente conectados.
Em formato digital, faz uso de um suporte hábil em ampliar as
possibilidades de acesso a estudos acerca de aspectos centrais da
vida contemporânea. Dessa forma, reforça o papel da leitura como
expediente-chave da educação concebida em bases
emancipatórias, utilizando a tecnologia digital como ferramenta
propícia a um espaço social crítico, inventivo e renovador.

Danilo Santos de Miranda

Diretor do Sesc São Paulo
D URANTE BASTANTE TEMPO, O MUNDO digital foi
apresentado como um cenário de superação das
desigualdades, assimetrias e desequilíbrios. Este livro demonstra
que a atual paisagem sociotécnica pode ser mais concentradora,
menos inclusiva e mais discriminadora do que a existente no
período anterior à popularização da internet. Os caminhos das
tecnologias e de seus objetos técnicos precisam ser observados
criticamente, pois o futuro está sendo decidido agora. É por isso que
este livro integra a coleção Democracia Digital lançada pelas
Edições Sesc São Paulo.
Aqui, Tarcízio Silva nos permite decodificar tecnologias opacas,
apresentadas como mágicas, muitas vezes neutras, outras vezes
singelas, desenvolvidas por corporações “benevolentes”, somente
preocupadas com a melhoria da experiência de seus usuários. De
modo brilhante e com exemplos contundentes, Tarcízio indica os
caminhos pelos quais o racismo estrutural impregna as tecnologias
e os processos comunicacionais por elas engendrados.
Pesquisador rigoroso e ousado, Tarcízio Silva consegue articular
os elementos fundamentais, os actantes decisivos, para assim nos
mostrar como a inteligência artificial, em especial o aprendizado de
máquina baseado em dados, pode alimentar sistemas algorítmicos
que reproduzem o preconceito e executam a discriminação. Fica
evidente que raça, gênero e classe não desapareceram dos
embates nas redes digitais e no emaranhado das tecnologias de
informação.
A democracia pode conviver com os ataques tecnopolíticos a
grupos racializados? Os espaços públicos interconectados podem
aceitar as microagressões racistas e as operações de bloqueio
algorítmico de negros? Robôs podem alavancar os ímpetos
supremacistas sem que sejam notados? Como enfrentar o racismo
algorítmico? Essas questões são tratadas aqui com profundidade.
Concentradoras das atenções e de grande parte das interações
sociais, as plataformas digitais se agigantaram a partir de seu
modelo de monetização baseado no tratamento de dados, na
vigilância constante e praticamente ubíqua de seus usuários. A
coleta massiva de informações – que se materializou nas redes
digitais, nos espaços urbanos e rurais, com a disseminação de
celulares e sensores – tem efeitos devastadores para a privacidade
e para inúmeros direitos das populações. O que Tarcízio Silva nos
mostra é que a população negra e os segmentos pauperizados e
fragilizados da sociedade são muito mais afetados pelas operações
discriminatórias dos sistemas algorítmicos que atuam nesse
contexto.
Ciente dos processos de alienação técnica, das dinâmicas da
colonialidade, dos mecanismos de concentração comunicacional e
econômica, Silva explicita que as tecnologias são ambivalentes, que
toda modulação pode engendrar demodulações, que as agressões
racistas, que os ataques à diversidade podem produzir resistências
e delineamentos de um outro modo de vida. Esta leitura é
imprescindível para desconstruir a ilusão de que o racismo está
longe dos sistemas automatizados, operados pelos softwares, longe
de algoritmos e suas estruturas de dados; mas, principalmente, ela
indica a possibilidade de se construir um outro caminho. Sem
combate ao racismo não pode existir uma sociedade democrática.
Não há democracia digital que aceite o racismo algorítmico. Depois
desta leitura, não podemos mais ser ingênuos.

Sergio Amadeu da Silveira

D EMOCRACIA RACIAL E NEUTRALIDADE na tecnologia são
dois conceitos aparentemente distantes, mas se irmanam no
propósito de ocultar relações de poder que constroem
interpretações de mundo, naturalizam e aprofundam explorações e
desigualdades.
Na convergência entre a negação do racismo e a negação da
política na tecnologia encontra-se o que tenho chamado de “dupla
opacidade”. É a reunião (que vai além da simples soma das duas
partes) de tradições de ocultação e de exploração, tanto nas
relações raciais quanto nas decisões ideológicas que definem o que
é tecnologia e o que é inovação desejável. Desvelar conceitos que
servem apenas ao poder – em especial, branco – tem sido a tarefa
de pesquisadoras e pesquisadores negra(o)s e antirracistas.
Este livro busca colaborar com o crescente corpo de
investigações intelectuais sobre como o colonialismo e a
supremacia branca moldaram os últimos séculos em cada esfera da
vida – inclusive na definição dos limites imaginativos e produtivos do
fazer tecnológico.
Especificamente, tratamos do mundo das inovações globais que
buscam a automatização de dinâmicas de ordenação e gestão. Com
fins de acumulação de poder – tanto de poder financeiro quanto de
poder de representação do mundo ou de poder de violência –,
avanços tecnológicos simplificados por termos como “inteligência
artificial” ou “algoritmização” na verdade tratam da solidificação dos
horrores da dominação e da necropolítica no globo.
A internet e as mídias digitais, agora imersas no cotidiano e no
espaço público, são o foco do presente livro, que se debruça sobre
o racismo algorítmico presente desde as plataformas até a vigilância
pervasiva.
 No capítulo 1, revisamos noções sobre o racismo online, em
especial suas facetas particularmente presentes no Brasil. Indo além
da noção do racismo online como materialização explícita de
discurso de ódio em texto e imagens, percorremos modalidades que
abarcam também desinformação, gestão das plataformas de mídias
sociais e moderação e apresentamos a ideia de “microagressões
algorítmicas”. Imbricadas em bases de dados, interfaces e
dinâmicas de recomendação de conteúdo, personalização e
interação automatizada, as microagressões manifestam hierarquias
racistas que controlam representações, entre o sutil e o explícito, de
forma extensiva.
Para superar a análise do racismo apenas como discurso,
apresentamos, no capítulo 2, concepções da inteligência artificial e
observamos como a ideia de “robôs racistas” esconde muitas
camadas de decisões e prioridades gestadas nas empresas de
tecnologia e na mídia. Ao revisar o caso de um sistema chatbot que
se tornou sinônimo de racismo algorítmico, propomos a reflexão
sobre como o domínio corporativo dos meios de comunicação nos
informa mais sobre o tema do que a observação de códigos ou
softwares.
Circulando entre hipervisibilidade e invisibilidade de grupos
racializados, no capítulo 3 trazemos para o debate as tecnologias de
visão computacional. Entre imagens e vídeos, os erros explícitos da
inteligência artificial e algoritmos que só conseguem “ver” pessoas e
objetos através das lentes da branquitude nos dizem e mostram
muito sobre a algoritmização das representações historicamente
racistas nas culturas ocidentais.
Transitando para impactos imediatos dos olhares algorítmicos
racistas na vida e na morte, no capítulo 4 debatemos vigilância,
hipervigilância e necropolítica. A tecnologia de reconhecimento
facial na segurança pública é utilizada como ferramenta de violência
estatal, dentro de um histórico de ideação em que as próprias
instituições policiais são instrumentos de segregação racial. Entre o
matar e o “deixar morrer” da necropolítica, debatemos também
como o acesso a recursos vitais, como o sistema de saúde, passa a
ser mediado por tecnologias algorítmicas.
Entretanto, antes de olhar para reações, voltamo-nos, no
capítulo 5, para o passado. Uma digressão sobre artefatos, sistemas
e dispositivos que antecederam o digital busca relembrar que
tecnologias sempre foram políticas e racializadas. Entre aparelhos
de medição respiratória, fotografia e pontes, o capítulo resgata
controvérsias que nos lembram de que o debate sobre racismo
algorítmico possui precedentes.
As reações e remediações apresentadas no capítulo 6 oferecem
um repertório de resistências que abarca a promoção de
consciência pública sobre tecnologias, mobilizações e protestos
físicos, reinvenções tecnológicas, consensos e regulações
multissetoriais.
Fugindo do fatalismo que insiste em nos perseguir em um mundo
abocanhado pela ganância das big techs, desvelar esses
mecanismos pode abrir imaginários possíveis e alternativos.
P OR SEREM MANIFESTAÇÃO INEQUÍVOCA do racismo,
xingamentos e ofensas verbais são também o tipo mais
estudado pelo campo dos estudos de internet, mas não devem ser
vistos como a única pauta de combate antirracista, sob o risco de
nos cegarmos para o racismo estrutural. Na verdade,
frequentemente podemos testemunhar a tentativa de delimitação da
própria concepção de “racismo” apenas como ofensas. Isso tem o
objetivo de diluir o combate para o racismo estrutural e “sutil” nas
esferas da economia, do conhecimento ou da política institucional.
Como era de esperar, a maioria das primeiras formulações
hegemônicas nos estudos sobre internet se caracterizou por uma
miopia com relação à noção de descorporificação online. Conflitos de
opiniões sobre o papel da internet na relação, intensificação ou
erosão de grupos identitários e suas controvérsias estiveram
presentes desde os anos 1990, quando ganhou popularidade a ideia
de um self cambiante que poderia ser diferente a cada nova janela
dos ambientes online.
Muitos defenderam que o “ciberespaço” ou ambientes “virtuais” e
digitais derrubariam variáveis vistas como apenas identitárias, tais
como raça, gênero, classe ou nacionalidade. Isso se deu sobretudo
quando: a) os ambientes digitais eram ainda informacionalmente
escassos, com poucas modalidades de comunicação, focando
sobretudo em textualidade; b) pesquisadores advindos de
populações minorizadas nos países de diáspora africana ainda eram
poucos e ignorados; c) a pretensão de neutralidade das plataformas
e mídias, advindas de um tecnoliberalismo em consolidação, já se
fazia vigente.
Hegemonicamente, então, o mito da descorporificação e
superação das identidades fortaleceu-se na interseção de uma série
de motivações, desde o olhar utópico de quem via a internet como
um possível éden até a cegueira racial, que já não enxergava as
disparidades estruturais e hiatos digitais.
Um exemplo contundente e influente disso foi a Declaração de
Independência do Ciberespaço, proposta por John Perry Barlow em
1996 como uma reação da elite tecnológica estadunidense a
iniciativas estatais de regulação. Oferecendo uma concepção
determinista da internet, alegou-se que não seria desejável ou
possível a existência de controles estatais. Em grande medida, as
propostas da Declaração apresentaram posições utópicas sobre o
mundo “virtual” de então, mas foram um ponto de inspiração para
uma postura “tecnolibertária” da internet, cega para questões de
classe, gênero, raça e colonialismos, como podemos observar no
trecho que alega que “todos poderão entrar sem privilégios ou
preconceitos de acordo com a raça, poder econômico, força militar
ou lugar de nascimento”1.
Mas a realidade, como podemos imaginar, era bem diferente.
Essas proposições foram pensadas por grupos hegemônicos no que
tange a origem, raça e gênero, que relegaram a uma relativa
invisibilidade a multiplicidade de experiências e olhares sobre a
internet e as tecnologias digitais2. Entretanto, grupos de cientistas,
teóricas e ativistas da comunicação e da tecnologia apontaram quão
racializados são os processos de construção tanto das tecnologias
digitais de comunicação quanto da ideologia do Vale do Silício, tendo
como ponto de partida uma lógica da supremacia branca3.
O racismo algorítmico é alimentado e treinado por outras práticas
digitais de discriminação mais explícitas, como o racismo discursivo
– além de impulsioná-lo por vários expedientes. Antes de chegar aos
algoritmos, vamos percorrer, nas seções a seguir4, uma tipologia
compreensiva do racismo online que abarca as práticas
contemporâneas nas plataformas digitais.
Racismo online no Brasil
Especificamente sobre manifestações explícitas de mensagens
racistas nas mídias sociais no Brasil, destacamos o trabalho de Luiz
Trindade5, que traz dados especialmente relevantes sobre
comportamento dos agressores e características dos alvos: 81% das
vítimas de racismo no Facebook no Brasil são mulheres negras de
classe média, com ensino superior; 76,2% dos agressores não
tinham nenhum relacionamento prévio com a vítima; 66% dos
agressores são homens jovens; e frequentemente as articulações
para xingamentos racistas são reações a eventos positivos expostos
nas mídias sociais por mulheres negras.
Em sua pesquisa, Trindade descobriu categorias comuns de
eventos que desencadeiam a articulação em grupo de perseguições
racistas nas mídias sociais. Tais eventos são sobretudo fruto da
discordância anterior com algum post ou comentário de cunho
negativo contra pessoas negras e a exibição de diversos tipos de
prestígio, tais como a filiação a profissões consideradas mais
“nobres” (como medicina, jornalismo etc.), posições de liderança em
ambientes midiáticos, viagens ao exterior, concursos de beleza e
afins.
Estudos de qualidade sobre casos específicos de racismo nas
mídias sociais podem ser ligados a tais categorias, e geralmente são
motivados por casos que geraram muita atenção. Vejamos dois
exemplos. A visibilidade da atriz e empresária Taís Araújo em um
vídeo TEDx sobre família, raça e classe foi o gatilho para o
agrupamento de racistas na produção de memes. Ao narrar o olhar
criminalizador que parte da sociedade impõe sobre seu filho, uma
criança negra, Taís Araújo evocou algumas “verdades
desagradáveis” sobre relações raciais no Brasil6, que foram
sistematicamente negadas e ridicularizadas pelo recurso das
agressões em formato de “memes”7. Casos como o dela e o da
jornalista Maria Júlia Coutinho, hostilizada por conquistar destaque
Another random document with
no related content on Scribd:
Jessie had often seen Ezra’s daughter as well as her husband Mark,
and she was quite willing to be taken indoors to have her face
bathed, the dirt brushed from her clothes and herself generally
looked after. There was a tremendous bruise on her leg, one
stocking was badly torn, and the side of her face was scraped and
sore where she had fallen against the bank.
“It’s lucky you weren’t killed outright,” said Kitty, when by dint of
much questioning she learned how the thing happened. “Pappy’ll be
back in no time. You just set still and wait for him. I reckon your
ma’ll be glad to see you alive when she hears what’s went on.”
She established Jessie in a chair by the window and continued her
preparations for supper. In a very short time Ezra and Mark were
back again with Adele in the wagon and Dapple Gray behind it. “I
conclude she has broken her arm,” said Ezra to his daughter as he
came into the house. “There ain’t no time to lose in getting her to
the doctor to have it sot, so I think the quickest way is to drive her
right to Dr. Sadtler’s and let him see what’s wrong. I ain’t said
nothin’ to her about what I think.”
“Pore little thing,” said Kitty, “she looks real white.”
Jessie had flown to Adele. “I couldn’t come,” she exclaimed. “Ezra
wouldn’t let me. Do you feel any better?”
“No.” Adele shook her head and her tears broke out afresh. “I want
to go home, I want to go home,” she sobbed.
Ezra came out before Jessie had time for another word. “You stay
here, honey,” he said to Jessie. “I’ll take this young lady to the
doctor and let him fix her up so she’ll feel better and then we’ll come
back for you.”
But Adele wailed out, “Go with me, Jessie. Go with me. I don’t want
to see the doctor all alone.”
“Ezra will be with you,” said Jessie who was feeling rather shaky
herself.
“Yes, sir, Ezra will be right with you,” said that person, “and
moreover this young miss isn’t to go; she isn’t fit, all bruised up as
she is. You won’t be alone, bless you, child. There ain’t a kinder
woman in the country than Mrs. Sadtler, and she’ll mother you fine.
You’ll be all right in no time. No, you don’t!” he stopped Jessie from
climbing into the wagon. Mark had unfastened Dapple Gray and had
tied him to the hitching-post. “We’ll go for the cart after a while,”
said Ezra gathering up the reins. “You wait here, child, and I’ll be
back as quick as I can.” So Jessie was obliged to see Adele drive off
while she was left to Kitty’s tender mercies.
 CHAPTER IX
The Gray Kitten
 CHAPTER IX
The Gray Kitten
It was a very subdued and wan little Adele who was helped into the
house by the doctor, who remained to explain the situation, while
Ezra took Jessie home. Poor Miss Betty was overcome at sight of her
niece with her arm in splints and looking so pale. “Child! child!” she
cried. “What has happened? We have been so anxious about you. At
first we thought you had gone home with Jessie, but Otto said he
saw you driving in an opposite direction.” She turned to the doctor.
“What has happened?” she asked tremulously.
“It seems the young ladies were crossing the track just there by the
cut and the wheel caught in the track, upsetting their cart and
throwing them out. Fortunately there is no worse damage done than
a broken arm and a broken cart.”
“The horse ran away!” exclaimed Miss Betty.
“Not a bit of it. Fine little beast that he is, he stood stock still. Little
Loomis girl was thrown into some bushes. She was stunned by the
fall, but seems all right otherwise except for a few bruises. She was
a little Trojan, Ezra Limpett tells me, and tramped across that
dangerous railroad bridge to get help. You’d better have this child
put to bed, Miss Hallett, and I see you look rather the worse for
wear yourself.”
“I’ve had one of my headaches,” replied Miss Betty, passing her hand
over her forehead.
“Humph! Fine time to take for explorations. I gather that’s what the
youngsters were doing. At least my wife says so.” The doctor spoke
as if he had no patience with such doings.
Miss Betty turned a troubled face upon Adele. “Oh, my child, how
could you?” she exclaimed. “Didn’t you know we do not allow you to
go out of sight of the house?”
Adele burst into loud sobs. “There, there,” said Miss Betty,
soothingly; “I am sure you have had punishment enough, and I
won’t scold, but I wish your father had never bought you that pony.
I shall never have an easy day after this.”
“The pony is all right,” declared the doctor. “He had the good sense
not to run when he felt the wheel going. He is a fine little fellow and
it is due to his good behavior that the children came to no worse
mishap. I’ll leave a quieting draught for the child, Miss Hallett, and
something for that head of yours.”
“My head was better,” said Miss Betty weakly.
“This won’t come amiss,” replied the doctor, putting a few tablets
into a small phial. “Get the child to bed and go yourself. I’ll come
again in the morning.”
So while those in the yellow house were looking after Adele, Jessie
was being driven home behind Ezra’s old white horse and was
delivered safe, if not quite sound, into her mother’s arms.
As it was getting late Mrs. Loomis was getting anxious, and was
about to send Max to the Halletts’ after his little sister. Ezra had not
waited for thanks, but as soon as he had set Jessie safely down
before her own door he drove off at as rapid a pace as his old horse
could travel. At Jessie’s sudden appearance looking as if she had
been through the wars her mother cried out: “Why, my child, what is
the matter? How did you get such a scratched face? and look at your
stocking torn to shreds.”
“Well, I vow!” exclaimed Walter, “you do look a sight! Been climbing
trees, I bet.”
“Indeed I’ve not,” returned Jessie. “I can climb trees, but I haven’t
done it to-day. I’ll tell you, mother, but I don’t want to before
Walter.”
“Oh, all right,” said that person indifferently, “I don’t want to know.”
Jessie slipped her hand into her mother’s.
“Come up-stairs,” she said in a whisper, “and I’ll show you my leg.”
“Your leg?” Mrs. Loomis began to look alarmed, and led Jessie up-
stairs. “My dear child,” she said when they had entered Jessie’s little
room, “what has happened?”
“It wasn’t my fault, indeed it wasn’t,” began Jessie trying to be
brave, but now that she was in the safe harbor of her mother’s
arms, feeling that she could not keep back the tears. “I tried to
make Adele stop, and not go out of sight, but she just would and
would go further and further. She was bent and determined to go as
far as she could, and I was afraid to let her go off by herself, and yet
I knew it wasn’t right for us to be driving out of sight. I truly didn’t
know what to do, mother. She wouldn’t let me drive nor get out nor
anything and she wouldn’t go back, so all I could do was to sit still.
Then she drove bias across the railroad truck, and the wheel caught,
and we were tipped out. I fell down into some bushes and got an
awful bruise. Just see.” She displayed a large black and blue surface
to her mother.
“Why, you poor child, that certainly is a bruise. I must bathe it after
a while. But now go on with your story.” Mrs. Loomis’s hands
trembled as she held Jessie closer.
“Then,” continued the little girl, “when I came to my senses I didn’t
see Adele at first, but I saw Dapple Gray standing quite still by the
railroad track. A cart-wheel was off and the cart was tipped down
the bank. But wasn’t Dapple Gray good not to move?”
“He was indeed, but oh, my little daughter, I dare not think what
might have happened. Suppose a train had been coming along.”
“One did whistle. It was a freight train, I think, but it must have
passed before we got there. Well, I picked myself up and found
Adele sitting there crying about her arm. She has broken it, mother,
but we didn’t know it then and there wasn’t any house nearer than
Ezra’s so I went there.” She hesitated for a moment before going on.
“It was so much nearer not to go across the foot-bridge, so I went
the other way.”
“Oh, Jessie!” Mrs. Loomis turned pale.
“Yes, I did. I knew that perhaps I ought not, but it would save time,
you see. I did get awfully dizzy just in the middle, but I shut my
eyes and said,
“‘God shall charge His angel legions
Watch and ward o’er thee to keep,’
and presently I felt all right, so I got over safely and found Ezra—oh,
dear, he hasn’t had his supper. Isn’t that too bad!—and Kitty washed
my face and fixed me up while Ezra and Mark went for Adele and
took her to the doctor. Then they stopped for me and we all took
Adele home and then Ezra brought me.”
“My darling child, what a dreadful time you have had,” exclaimed
Mrs. Loomis.
“I haven’t told any one but you about Adele, mother, truly I haven’t.
I never said to any one that it was her fault. Could I help it
happening? What ought I to have done?”
Mrs. Loomis was silent for a moment. “It was a very hard position
for a little girl, so hard that I do not see how I can consent to your
being thrown with so wilful a child as Adele. I am afraid for the
consequences.”
“Oh, mother!” There were surprise and regret in Jessie’s tones. “Am
I never to play with her again, poor Adele! And am I never to go to
the yellow house? Not for lessons or anything? Oh, mother!”
“I shall have to think it over, dear, and have a talk with your father
before we can decide. It is a very serious matter for us to have our
only dear little girl placed in such danger as you were in to-day. So
far as you were concerned I really do not see how you can be
blamed, and you tried to be brave and noble for Adele’s sake, but we
must make it impossible for such a thing to happen again. Now,
come down and have some supper, and then I think you’d better go
to bed, for it has been a very exciting day for you. There will be no
lessons to-morrow and you’d better not get up very early.” She did
not say that she still felt anxious lest Jessie had suffered more from
the accident than at once appeared.
The next morning Jessie woke up feeling stiff and sore, and was
glad when Max came up with her breakfast. He had added some ripe
persimmons to her bill of fare and was so kind and solicitous that
Jessie quite enjoyed the reputation of invalid. Walter, too, poked his
head in the door and asked how she was feeling, blundering out a
half apology by saying, “Why didn’t you tell a fellow what was the
matter when you came in?” Then he tossed a little pale pink rose on
the bed and ran away. The rose was the last of the season and he
had found it braving the frost which had sweetened the persimmons.
Minerva, also, came up with a plate of tiny hot biscuits which she
had baked especially for the little girl.
Later in the day Max was sent over to inquire how Adele was, and
brought back the report that she was doing very well but had had a
feverish night. By the time Max had returned Jessie had found bed
rather a tiresome place and so had begged to be allowed to get up
and come down.
Her father looked her over, asked many questions and finally decided
that the big bruise was her worst hurt and that she could go out and
in as she pleased. “Run out-of-doors all you want to,” he said, “but
don’t get tired out,” so Jessie availed herself of this permission and
concluded to go hunt up the boys.
She found them in the barn amusing themselves with Eb. He had
learned to say, “Hallo!” and was walking back and forth on a beam,
cocking his eye and looking down at the boys below.
“He’s a funny fellow,” said Max as Jessie came in. “I’d like to take
him back to school. We’re going Monday. Carl is all right, they say.”
“It certainly would make the children laugh and play
To see a crow at school,”
said Jessie laughing.
“Jessie had a little crow
 As black as you can think.
It followed her to school one day
And drank up all the ink,”
said Max.
“Ho, I can do better than that,” boasted Walter.
“Jessie had a little crow
As black as any sloe
And everywhere that Jessie went
The crow was sure to go.”
“What is a sloe?” asked Jessie.
“I’m sure I don’t know,” said Walter. “Ask Max. He is the walking
dictionary.”
“It is a kind of plum, I believe,” Max told them.
“I never saw a plum as black as Ebon is,” said Jessie, stroking the
shining feathers of the bird who had flown down and was sitting on
her wrist.
“And I suppose you never saw a green rose, but I have,” returned
Max.
“Where did you see it?” Jessie asked.
“In a greenhouse, Mr. Atkinson’s.”
“Well, I suppose plums could be black,” said Jessie persuaded that
Max knew what he was talking about.
“Look at Eb pecking at your buttons, Jess,” said Walter. “He has one
almost off.”
Jessie wore a red jacket whose bright buttons pleased Ebon’s fancy.
“He is getting to be a great mischief,” she said. “He tried to carry off
mother’s thimble yesterday. Go ’long, Eb. Go pretend you are a
chicken or something. Max, will you go with me to Effie Hinsdale’s to
get my kitten? It is big enough now, and if I am not to go to Adele’s
any more I shall need the kitten.”
“Let’s go with her,” proposed Walter. “Then we can see Jack and
some of the other boys. We’ll go, Jess.”
Walter was very amiable to-day, Jessie thought. He really loved his
little sister, and the fact that she had been in great danger the day
before made him realize what it would be to lose her.
“We might get both kittens,” said Jessie, “and then we could leave
Adele’s for her on our way home. She will be so glad to have it now
that she has a broken arm and no one to play with.”
“Do you suppose her father will sell Dapple Gray?” said Walter. “I
wish our father could buy him.”
“Adele would feel awfully to have him sold,” said Jessie. “Oh, dear!”
she drew a long sigh.
“What’s the matter?” asked Max anxiously.
“Nothing much. I was only thinking what a pity it is that things can’t
always go right.”
“I don’t see what possessed you two to go off that way,” said Walter
reading her thoughts.
“I don’t either,” returned Jessie turning away. “I’m going up to the
house now to get a basket for the kittens.”
“I don’t believe she had a thing to do with it,” said Max to his
brother when Jessie was out of hearing. “I’ll bet it was the Hallett
girl that wanted to have her way, and Jess won’t tell on her.”
“That’s pretty decent of Jess then,” said Walter, “and it was pretty
fine of that pony not to bolt when the wheel came off. I’ll tell you a
pony like that is worth having. Ezra said he stood as still as a post till
they led him away.”
“I reckon Mr. Hallett won’t want to give him up,” returned Max.
“But he’ll not let those two kids go driving off by themselves again,”
remarked Walter with the superiority of his years, which were but
two more than Jessie’s.
Jessie with her two brothers made the visit to the Hinsdales, and
Jessie bore away the gray kitten in triumph, but her pleasure was
marred by finding that the black kitten had been given to a cousin of
the cook’s, so there was none for Adele.
“I am so sorry,” said Effie, “but Adele shall have first choice of the
next batch.”
“She’ll be dreadfully disappointed,” said Jessie sadly.
“I am so sorry,” repeated Effie, “and if there were one left she
should have it, but we never take the last one from Tippy, you see;
that wouldn’t be right, and yours is the last one left to give.”
Jessie hugged her own furry darling to her, and, the boys having
called out that they couldn’t wait any longer, she was obliged to join
them, but all the way home she was struggling with a problem.
Ought she to give up the gray kitten to Adele? Poor Adele had no
brothers and no mother, and, if Jessie must give her up, she would
have no playmate. Although Adele had been the means of getting
them both into serious trouble, Jessie felt the sorrier for her on
account of her very naughtiness, and somehow could only think of
her friend as she was in her most charming moods. When she
chose, Adele could be the most fascinating of companions, and
Jessie believed that her love was very genuine, so the more she
thought of it the more she felt that she ought to give up the kitten.
However, she decided not to make up her mind right away, and in
the meantime she need not let Adele know that the gray kitten had
been taken away from Effie’s. But while she was weighing the matter
in her own mind came a note from Adele that settled the question. It
arrived the next morning, and was the outcome of a visit from Effie
who had literally let the cat out of the bag when she went to see
how Adele was. The note ran thus:
“You don’t love me, for you haven’t been to see me and I
suppose you think I am too bad to play with. You can go
to your old Polly and stay with her all the time. I shall not
trubble you, but I want my Peter Pan and I know Polly has
 stoled him to spite me. Efy says you have your kiten.
What made you take it when there wassent any for me?
Oh, I am verry miserble with nobuddy to play with. If Polly
dossent send back my Peter Pan I am going to burn her
up. Her scraggy hair would make a luvly blaze.
“Your forsakened frend,
“Adele.”
At the end was a tear-stained postscript which read: “I did love you.
I did, I did.”
Evidently Adele was in one of her worst moods and was feeling very
remorseful and unhappy. This Jessie knew, but at the same time she
was indignant that Adele should still harp upon Polly’s wickedness.
Of course it was very absurd for her to say such things, for how
could Polly steal anything? Yet the note quite decided Jessie not to
give up the gray kitten, and her pity for Adele suffered a change.
 CHAPTER X
Across Water
 CHAPTER X
Across Water
It was some time before the two little girls met, for Mrs. Loomis
could not make up her mind to allow Jessie to go over to the yellow
house, while Miss Betty and Miss Eloise appreciated the fact that
there was reason for hard feelings against Adele, and moreover
thought that nothing would make the little sinner realize her
misdoing more than such a punishment as a separation from Jessie.
Mrs. Loomis had not failed to get daily reports of Adele’s progress
and sent her over many dainties while she was in bed, so that
Adele’s remorse was all the greater.
Jessie answered the note by saying she was very sorry about the
kitten, but she did not refer to Peter Pan nor to Playmate Polly. For a
whole week she was obliged to spend her time with her old
companions, for the boys returned to school as expected, so Eb and
the gray kitten were a great source of solace. Eb took a great fancy
to Cloudy, and it was very funny to see him, with outspread wings,
hopping after the prancing kitten who was in no way afraid of him,
and who would give him little impertinent dabs when he came too
near. He infinitely preferred Cloudy to the chickens.
Finally when a week had gone by, and Jessie, who had avoided the
brook for some days, was again playing with Peter Pan and Playmate
Polly, she looked across the little stream to see a wistful pair of dark
eyes gazing at her. “Oh, Adele!” she cried, “are you able to come out
again?”
A flashing smile changed the expression of Adele’s face. “I was so
afraid you wouldn’t speak to me,” she exclaimed. “I can’t come over,
for I am trying awfully hard to be good. Can’t you come to this
side?”
“I’m afraid not,” replied Jessie slowly, “but perhaps if each stays on
her own side we can have some sort of play and won’t be
disobedient either.”
“I think that will be lovely,” cried Adele. “What can we play? I can
use only my right arm, you know.”
“Will it be a long time before you can use the other?” asked Jessie
interestedly.
“Not so very, very long. The doctor says it is doing very well indeed,
but oh, Jessie, it has been awful without you.”
“Are you having lessons?”
“No, not yet. Aunt Betty hasn’t said anything about that, and—and,”
the tears came to her eyes, “if you are not there I shall hate lessons
worse than ever. I was getting so I didn’t mind them.”
“It is too bad,” returned Jessie.
“I suppose your mother thinks I am too wicked for you to play with,”
remarked Adele after an awkward pause.
“Well,—not exactly,” Jessie wondered how she could explain, “but
you see she is afraid we’ll get into some mischief.”
“I know, I know,” returned Adele. “I suppose I am very wicked, but I
shall never want to be good if we can’t be friends.”
Jessie pondered for a moment over this speech. It made her feel a
great responsibility. She wondered if her mother knew that Adele
was in danger of becoming very, very wicked, if it would make any
difference in her decision about their friendship. Certainly it was a
subject that needed to be discussed, and it should be done that very
night when Jessie and her mother had their last little talk before Mrs.
Loomis kissed her daughter good-night. For the present it would be
best not to talk about it, and so she said, “I’ll tell you what we can
do; we can send boats back and forth to each other. You can stay on
one end of the log and I will stay on the other.”
“If I come to the middle, will you come and kiss me?” asked Adele.
Jessie thought there could be no harm in doing that upon strictly
neutral ground. “But we mustn’t stay there,” she concluded.
“Oh, no, we won’t stay there,” agreed Jessie. So they proceeded to
the middle of the log that spanned the brook, fervently kissed one
another, and then retreated each to her own side.
“I’ll get some chips,” said Jessie, “and throw some over to you. We
ought to have some string, too. Oh, I know where there is some; in
the grotto I had a little ball of it the other day, and I put it there to
keep it safe.”
“Is the grotto just the same?” asked Adele wistfully. “I should so love
to see it. I wish I could come over just for a minute. Do you think I
might?”
Jessie shook her head decidedly. “No, I don’t think you ought. Of
course I’d love to have you, but it would be disobeying; even doing
it once would be disobeying.”
“It is very hard to be perfectly good,” returned Adele woefully.
“Yes, it is,” sighed Jessie, “but when we are sure a thing is wrong we
ought not to do it. Sometimes you aren’t quite sure, and sometimes
you forget. Forgetting is my worst sin,” she added solemnly.
“I don’t know what mine is, my very worst, I mean. When I begin to
think about them I am afraid to go to bed at night.”
“Oh! Mother always——” began Jessie and then she remembered
that there was no mother to whom Adele could unburden her
conscience and from whom she could receive loving advice and
comfort. She therefore changed the subject quickly. “I am going to
get the string and the chips,” she said, “and I will send you over a
load of persimmons. Do you like them? I brought some with me this
morning. They are so good now that we have had frost. I don’t
suppose I can send more than one or two at a time.”
Adele was delighted at the prospect of receiving such a valuable
cargo which by dint of a long switch Jessie managed to pilot safely
over to a spot where Adele could reach it. The second expedition
was not so successful, however, but was lost in the raging torrent
before it was half-way across. When a vessel is only six inches long
it is very hard to navigate among the whirlpools of an uncertain
stream. Nevertheless at least half a dozen persimmons reached the
other shore and were duly consumed by the person to whom they
were consigned.
“There will be chestnuts pretty soon,” said Jessie. “I shouldn’t
wonder if there were some now. We might go and get some. Oh, I
forgot they are on this side. Never mind, I will get Sam to gather
some and to-morrow I can send you over a lot. I can put them in a
basket and tie the basket on a long pole and in that way I can reach
them over to you. Oh, I wonder if the boys took all those they
gathered. I am going to the barn to see, and if they didn’t I’ll bring
all I can. Just wait a minute.”
She ran off to the barn and pretty soon came back. She stopped on
the way to put something in the grotto, and then went on to the
brook with a small covered basket. “I’d better tie it on this pole,” she
said, “for it might fall off. It is full of chestnuts. When you have
emptied them send the basket back to me, and I will put something
else in it.”
“What will you put in it?” asked Adele watching Jessie tie the basket
securely to the pole.
“That is a secret,” said Jessie laughing.
By going upon the log she was able to reach far enough so that
Adele could get the basket which was unfastened and sent back
after it had been emptied of its contents. “I think you were lovely to
send me all these,” said Adele delightedly.
“Oh, we shall have plenty more,” Jessie told her. “Sam says there are
lots down in the big field. You shall have some of those, too. Now be
very careful when you untie the basket this time. It isn’t for you to
keep always, but only for a little while.”
While Adele was puzzling over this, Jessie went off to the grotto
from which she abstracted something. She kept her back to Adele,
and was some time in getting the basket settled to suit her. “I am
just crazy to see what it is,” said Adele excitedly.
Jessie laughed and this time went further out upon the log carrying
the pole very carefully and reaching it out to where Adele stood at
the other end of the log. “Go a little further away when you open the
basket,” she suggested, and Adele, wondering, obeyed.
She opened the lid of the basket and peeped in. “Oh!” she cried,
“how lovely!”
“He has only come for a visit,” said Jessie hurriedly. “His name is
Cloudy, you know. I thought you might like to see him.”
“Isn’t he a darling?” said Adele snuggling the kitten up against her
face.
Jessie watched her with a serious countenance. Presently she said
rather breathlessly, “Would you like to call him half yours? I don’t
believe I could give him to you altogether, but we might go shares,
you know.”
Adele sat down with the kitten in her lap. “Jessie Loomis, I think you
are the dearest girl that ever lived,” she said earnestly, “and I should
love to come over there and hug you, but I won’t, because I must
be good. No, I won’t let you give me even half the kitten, but I do
love to have him come over for a visit. See, he is sleepy. Shall I put
him back in the basket and let him have a nap?”
“He has just had a big saucer of milk,” said Jessie, “but he is very
playful most of the time. You might let him have a little nap, and I
will find something else to send over to you.”
“No, let me send something this time; you have done it all,” said
Adele. “I’ll go up to the house in a minute and get something. Would
you mind if I took Cloudy to show to Aunt Betty and Miss Eloise? I
won’t let anything happen to him and I’ll bring him right back.”
“Of course you may take him,” Jessie consented generously. And
carrying the basket steadily, Adele sped away.
She was not gone very long and when she came back she brought a
small paper bag of cakes and another of candies which were
promptly despatched across the watery way to Jessie; but as Cloudy
was asleep in the basket the little bags themselves were tied on the
pole and were transported in that way.
“Aunt Betty said Cloudy was lovely,” said Adele, “and he behaved
beautifully. I told her how generous you offered to be, and she sent
her love to you.”
“What did Miss Eloise say?”
“She wasn’t there. Aunt Betty said she had gone somewhere, but
she didn’t say where. I asked Aunt Betty if she thought papa would
bring me a kitten from the city, and she said he was going to bring
me a big dog in place of Dapple Gray. I’d love a big dog.”
“But where is Dapple Gray?” asked Jessie.
“He’s been sent away,” said Adele in a low voice. “Papa said as long
as I couldn’t be trusted that I couldn’t have him to drive till I was old
enough to have common sense, and so he has sent him to my
cousin till my sense grows enough for me to have him again. Do you
suppose common sense does grow?”
“I think it must,” returned Jessie thoughtfully, “for all grown people
have it.”
“I don’t believe they do,” said Adele, “for I have heard papa say ever
so many times that So-and-So had not a grain of common sense,
and So-and-So would be a big man, too.”
“Well, maybe they get it and then lose it,” replied Jessie, “like some
persons do their hair. Some persons have a great deal, and others
are quite bald, you know, like Dr. Sadtler.”
This seemed a reasonable conclusion and Adele accepted it. “Well,”
she said, “I hope if I ever do get my common sense that it will be
nice and thick and long like Miss Eloise’s hair.”
“Is your cousin a little girl?” asked Jessie returning to her thoughts
of Dapple Gray.
“No, he is a little boy, and he has been very ill, so papa said it would
be a great comfort to him to have a little pony like that.”
“Is he a big boy?” asked Jessie.
“About as big as your brother Max.”
“He will hate to give Dapple Gray up?” said Jessie.
“Maybe he will be strong and well again by the time my common
sense gets here,” said Adele. “I hope that won’t be so very long.”
“I hope so, too,” replied Jessie, thinking more of Dapple Gray than of
Adele’s development.
“Cloudy is waking up,” said Adele. “I’d better send him back to you.”
“Tie the basket on very strongly,” said Jessie, “so it can’t fall in the
water.”
But though Adele tied the basket securely enough, she was not quite
so certain of her own footing, her useless arm causing her to lose
her balance, and in regaining it she allowed the pole to drop so far
that the basket was dipped into the water, though fortunately not so
far that Cloudy received more wetting than gave him two dripping
paws.
“Oh, dear, I am so relieved,” said Adele. “I thought he was drowned.
Why am I always doing such dreadful things?”
“You couldn’t help it,” Jessie assured her. “You have only one arm,
you see, and it was very hard to manage that long pole.” She dried
Cloudy’s paws on her handkerchief and then cuddled him under her
jacket. “I think I shall have to carry him up to the house,” she said,
“for he might take cold. Besides, I am sure it must be nearly dinner
time.”
“We have had a perfectly lovely time,” returned Adele. “I was so
miserable last night when I went to bed, and I cried myself to sleep.”
“What made you so miserable?”
“Why, you see Dapple Gray went away yesterday afternoon, and I
felt so lonely when I thought I couldn’t have you or him either. I am
so glad you came down to the brook this morning. Will you come
again this afternoon?”
“If mother says I may.”
“Are you going to tell her?”
“Tell her what?”
“That you have been playing with me all the morning.”
“Of course I shall tell her. I tell her everything, and you know we
have minded exactly, for neither one of us has crossed the brook.
Mother never said I couldn’t talk to you; she only said I was not to
go over to your place.”
“And Aunt Betty said I mustn’t go to your place, so we really have
minded them, haven’t we?”
“I should think we had,” replied Jessie. “Good-bye.”
“Good-bye,” responded Adele. And both little girls went off feeling
very virtuous.
Jessie did not delay in telling her mother all about the morning’s
meeting. “Do you mind, mother?” she asked.
“No,” answered her mother. “I don’t think I do in the least. I see that
you both meant to be obedient, and I think the hard lesson Adele
has had promises to do her a great deal of good.”
“I feel so sorry for her, oh, so sorry,” said Jessie thoughtfully. “She
cried herself to sleep last night because she was so lonely. If she
had had you, mother, to tuck her up and kiss her good-night and to
make her feel comfortable inside, as you do me after I have been
naughty, she wouldn’t have felt so.”
“Poor little child,” said Mrs. Loomis compassionately.
“I think she loves me very much,” said Jessie, “and she did just as I
told her was right this morning. She never said one word about Polly
or Peter Pan, either. Don’t you think I can be friends with her again,
mother?”
“I think you can, for I am sure that you can do a great deal for her.
It is evident that she has never been used to giving her confidences
to her aunt, and so far, Miss Eloise has not been able to win them. I
think Miss Eloise will in time, and meanwhile we must do all we can.
Miss Eloise was here this morning, dearie.”
“Was she? Then that is why she was not at home when Adele took
Cloudy up to show her. What did she say, mother?”
“She said a great many things, and some things she said made me
decide to let you begin your lessons again, but I would rather you
did not spend too much time at the yellow house. If you go there in
the morning, that will be enough, and in the afternoon it will be
better for Adele to come here to play with you. I think it is getting
too cold to play by the brook, but there is the attic where you can be
perfectly safe. I will have one end cleared for you, and you can have
all your playthings up there.” Jessie threw her arms around her
mother’s neck. “You are just the dearest mother in the world,” she
cried. “I wish Adele had one exactly like you. May I just go down to
the brook a few minutes this afternoon and tell her, and may I bring
her back with me?”
Mrs. Loomis smiled down at the eager face as she gave her consent.
“Just one thing more,” said Jessie. “Do you mind if I stay long
enough to shut up Peter Pan’s house for the winter? It won’t take
long.”
“No, Miss Wendy, I don’t mind, if you will promise to mind the tree
tops.”
Jessie laughed, and felt very thankful that she had such a mother.
 CHAPTER XI
Who Took the Spoons?
 CHAPTER XI
Who Took the Spoons?
Lessons began again the next day, and this time continued without
interruption until the holidays. It would not be quite true to say that
there were never any more tantrums, but it is a fact that they were
less violent, and occurred less frequently. Adele really was trying to
improve, and if Jessie herself once in a while had what Adele called
“the pouts” and always mocked and made fun of her, Jessie was
ashamed to continue them for very long, for she hated to be made
fun of. The two had their little quarrels, to be sure, and sometimes
did not speak for as much as a whole day, but night usually brought
regret and the next morning each would be eager to make up.
One day Jessie coming home from school found her mother counting
the silver. “Jessie,” she said, “do you remember taking any of these
small teaspoons at any time?”
“Why no, mother,” returned Jessie. “I always have a kitchen spoon,
you know, and I haven’t had one of those for a long time, not since
that day I had the marmalade down by the brook.”
“I don’t see where they can have gone,” said Mrs. Loomis. “There
are two missing, and I am sure they were all here last week.
Minerva is very careful and I don’t think she could possibly have
thrown them out. You are quite sure that you and Adele have not
had them up in the attic?”
“I am quite sure,” returned Jessie, “but I will go and look.”
“I wish you would,” said her mother.
Jessie trudged up to the attic and searched among the playthings,
but there were no spoons to be seen. She went back to her mother.
“They are not there,” she said. “Adele and I haven’t had anything
but dolls’ parties up there, and then we used the spoons that belong
to the play tea-set.”
“I cannot think where they can be,” repeated Mrs. Loomis.
“Perhaps the boys had them down at the barn or somewhere,”
suggested Jessie.
“But I have counted them since they went back to school, and they
were all here. I have looked everywhere I can think of, and so has
Minerva. They are never taken to the kitchen except to be washed,
and the only person who has been along is that old peddler who
comes with tins sometimes. I have always thought him an honest
old soul, as peddlers go, but I can think of no one else.”
“I don’t believe it was the peddler,” said Jessie. “He has been coming
here for a long time, and he is always very nice and kind. He gave
me a ring with a blue set in it one day because he said he liked little
girls, and that he once had a little daughter about my age who died.
I am sure it couldn’t be the peddler.”
“It doesn’t seem to me so either,” returned Mrs. Loomis, “but where
are the spoons?”
Jessie shook her head, and the loss remained a mystery, for no
amount of searching brought them to light. It even became more
and more mystifying, for in a few days a little coffee-spoon was
missing. It was a souvenir spoon which had been sent to Mrs.
Loomis by her sister, and had been left on Mrs. Loomis’s dressing
bureau after the box containing it was opened.
“This is more and more perplexing,” said Mrs. Loomis, “for I know
positively that I left it in my room, and who in the world could go up
there without my knowledge?”
This was the last spoon taken, and although the matter was not
forgotten it was after a while dropped, all concluding that in some
unexplained way the spoons had fallen behind the surbase or
through a crack in the floor. This might explain the disappearance of
the teaspoons, for there was a large crack in the kitchen floor near
the fireplace, but it could not account for the coffee-spoon. “I’ll have
that board in the kitchen taken up in the spring,” said Mr. Loomis.
“We don’t want to take the stove down now, and no doubt you will
find the other in your room somewhere when the spring cleaning is
done.” So the matter rested.
When Jessie told Adele about the loss she declared that Playmate
Polly had taken them. It was her way to charge Playmate Polly with
all sorts of evil traits, and the two little girls quarreled upon this
subject oftener than any other, absurd as it was. If Adele wanted to
tease Jessie she had but to say something disagreeable about
Playmate Polly, and Jessie’s anger would rise, so that it finally
became as a red rag to a bull, and the more Adele teased the more
Jessie resented it.
They seldom played by the brook now, but the attic was a great
source of pleasure. It was well heated by a register, so there was no
danger that the children should take cold. A set of shelves on one
side made a fine playhouse, and Sam had made a low table of just
the proper height. It was a rough sort of affair, but served its
purpose. The legs of two old chairs were sawed down to suit the
children and a bit of old carpet was spread upon the floor, so they
considered that the playroom was finely furnished. Minerva put up a
little white curtain at the window, and would always remember them
on baking days with a little pie, a pan of tiny rolls, or some small
cakes, so that Saturday was feast day as well as holiday.
One Saturday the two children were sitting at the table coloring
some pictures in a couple of old magazines. Mr. Hallett had brought
them each a small paint box the night before and they took this first
opportunity of trying their powers. Cloudy, attired in the long white
frock belonging to Jessie’s baby doll, was asleep in an improvised
crib made of a small stool turned upside down. He seemed perfectly
satisfied and was having a good nap. Charity sat by his side in the
character of nurse, and Peter Pan was sitting in a swing which hung
from the rafters.
“I think I shall put a red frock on my lady,” Adele said.
“I tried red,” said Jessie, “but it doesn’t go very well. It is kind of
thick and messy looking. I believe I will try this yellow.” They worked
away for a few moments, very much absorbed in their painting, but
they were interrupted by a faint mew from the crib. “The baby is
waking up,” said Jessie, “and he can’t walk about very well in that
long frock. I shall have to take it off, I suppose, so he can run
about.”
“But he does look so cunning in it,” said Adele admiringly.
“I know he does, and I can put it on again after a while, but mother
says I have no right to make him uncomfortable, and to keep him
from playing when he wants to, so it will have to come off, and
when he gets sleepy I can put it on again. Oh, what’s that?”
Adele ran to the window and drew aside the curtain. “Why, it’s Eb,”
she exclaimed. “He is pecking at the window. He wants to come in.
Shall I open the window, Jessie?”
“Why, yes. It won’t do any harm to let him stay with us. I wonder
how he found his way. You might leave the window open, Adele. It is
real warm to-day and then he can go out when he wants to.”
“I see how he came,” said Adele looking out the window.
“He couldn’t fly as high as this with his wings clipped.”
“No, but he could fly as high as the smokehouse door. It is open,
you see, and then he could fly on the roof, and from there to the
branch of that big tree. He could walk along the branch, you see,
and get up here.”
“So he could, quite easily, and I suppose that is the way he came. It
is the first time he has found us. See how pleased he is,” for Eb was
walking about in the most insinuating manner, dipping and
curtseying and making enticing little sounds. “Don’t let him drink the
paint water, Adele; it might make him ill. No, Eb, you can’t have
that,” for Eb, attracted by the bright colors in the box, was trying to
peck at them. Jessie shut her box, and Adele did likewise. Then Eb
spied the kitten and sidled up to him. The girls watched the two in
their funny antics until they heard Minerva calling at the foot of the
stairs.
Jessie ran down to her, and presently came back with a little apple
pie which she set on the table. “Doesn’t it look good?” she said.
“Shall we eat it now?”
“We might as well,” returned Adele.
“I brought up some milk for the kitten,” said Jessie, “so he can sit on
one side the table and Eb on the other. I have a stale crust up here
that I will soak in the milk and give to Eb. He will like that.” So the
funny company sat down together, the kitten perched on a high box
with a small saucer of milk before him, Eb with his soaked crust on a
piece of pasteboard, and the two girls, each with half a pie. Eb was
the first to finish his meal and then he flew down to see what other
entertainment the place afforded. He went prying around for a few
minutes before he spied Adele’s paint brush which she had neglected
to put away. The piece of bright metal at one end attracted him and
in a moment he was upon the window sill with the brush in his beak.
Jessie spied him just as he was about to take flight.
“Oh, see what Eb has!” she cried. “Shut the window quick!”
Adele, who was nearest, jumped up, but Eb was too quick for her
and was beyond reach before she could get to him. “He’s gone,” she
cried. “He has gone off with my brush. How shall we get it?”
“You stay here and watch him,” said Jessie, “and I will go down and
see if I can grab him before he gets away with it.”
She ran downstairs while Adele watched from the window. Still
carrying the brush, Eb walked across the roof to the limb of the tree
which overhung one side of the house. He took a short flight to the
limb, walked along it, flew to the smokehouse and stood there. The
door, however, was shut by now, and he was not sure that he could
venture to fly down from the roof. Now was Jessie’s time. She ran to
the kitchen.
“Give me some dough or corn bread, or something, quick, Minerva,”
she said.
Minerva picked up a piece of corn bread from a plate and gave it to
her. “What in the world is the matter with the child?” she said as
Jessie scurried out. She followed the little girl to where she stood
crumbling the corn bread into one palm. “Well, I declare,” she said.
“What has he got now?”
“Adele’s paint brush,” Jessie told her. “Come, Eb. Come get some
nice supper.”
Eb cocked his head to one side, and regarded the outstretched hand
for a moment, then he dropped the paint brush and flew down to
Jessie’s shoulder. The paint brush rolled down from the roof to the
ground. Scattering the crumbs before him, Jessie set Eb down, and
ran back, stopping under the window from which Adele was looking
and calling up to her, “Here it is. I made him drop it.”
“I’ll come down and get it,” replied Adele.
“Bring Cloudy with you,” Jessie called back.
In a few minutes Adele appeared with Cloudy in her arms. “I shut
the window,” she said. “It is getting dark up there, and I suppose I
shall have Angelina coming for me in a few minutes. I am glad you
were able to make Eb give up the brush. What do you suppose he
was going to do with it? Isn’t he getting to be a thief?”
“He certainly is,” said Jessie. “I suppose he was going to hide it
somewhere.”
“I wonder where?”
“I’m sure I don’t know. Where do you suppose he would hide things,
Minerva?”
“Bless me, I’m sure I can’t tell. Well, there, I shouldn’t be the least
surprised if he was the one that stole those spoons. It is a wonder
none of us thought of that. It’s only lately he’s taken to carrying off
things, though. He tried to get my thimble off my finger yesterday.”
“I’m going right in to tell mother about him,” said Jessie, “and
maybe we can find the spoons if he has hidden them.”
Minerva followed the two children into the sitting-room, where Mrs.
Loomis was told of the suspicion which rested upon Eb. “Well, I
declare,” she said. “I verily believe he is the thief. We must watch
him, and see where he goes. Keep your eyes open, children, and
perhaps we can trace him.”
However, Eb was much too sly to be discovered at once, and despite
all their efforts they could not find out where he made a hiding-place
for his treasures. He was even given the chance to carry away
certain articles, but as soon as he saw that he was followed he
would drop what he carried and would fly off with a caw of derision.
“He is the cleverest creature I ever saw,” declared Minerva. “There is
no catching him napping. I let him carry off a piece of my red
worsted this morning, and would you believe it, he dropped it on the
step as soon as I opened the door.”
“We’ll catch him unawares some time,” said Sam.
But as if he knew himself suspected, Eb continued to behave with
such secrecy that no one could say that he was really the thief, and
finally Jessie declared that she didn’t believe he was guilty at all, and
she told Adele so.
“No, I don’t believe it is he,” Adele answered with a gleam of
mischief in her eye. “I have always believed it is Polly. I saw Eb
sitting on her head whispering things in her ear one day, when I was
coming to your house, so maybe he puts her up to it.”
“You are so silly, Adele,” returned Jessie impatiently, and turning
away.
Adele ran after. “Don’t get mad, Jessie. Please don’t. I was only
fooling, but it is such fun to pretend things about Polly. If you won’t
get mad, I will tell you a secret; a very great secret. Say you aren’t
mad.”
“I’m not so very mad,” Jessie answered, the prospect of a secret
being more than she could withstand.