Harriet the Spy: Chapters 1–4

She referred to her notebook every now and then, but for the most part she stared intently at the mossy lowlands which made her town.

They drive in real fast and Mr. Hanley gets scared. They jump out of the car and run over and rob Mr. Hanley, who is petrified.

“But, listen, we’ll have to play Town standing up,” she said plaintively.

“Well,” Sport said dubiously.

“Aw, Sport”—Harriet was exasperated—“because I’ve seen them and I want to remember them.”

The houses, set back from the sidewalk with a patch of green in front, were built of yellow brick interspersed with red.

She strode relentlessly up the steps, never looking back, never saying a word.

Ole Golly said this steadily and sedately, then leaned back in her chair with a satisfied look at Sport.

“I don’t know,” said Ole Golly in a musing way, still looking at her book.

Love all God’s creation, the whole and every grain of sand in it. Love every leaf, every ray of God’s light. Love the animals, love the plants, love everything. If you love everything, you will perceive the divine mystery in things.

“Good morning, Miss Whitehead,” they intoned, an undercurrent of grumbling rising immediately afterward like a second theme.

“Good morning, Miss Whitehead,” they intoned, an undercurrent of grumbling rising immediately afterward like a second theme.

Marion Hawthorne looked terribly smug.

“What do you mean?” Harriet felt apprehensive.

“Ah, there’s a thought from Aesop for you: 'We would often be sorry if our wishes were gratified.’” Ole Golly gave a little moo of satisfaction after she had delivered herself of this.

“I do not go out to PLAY, I go out to WORK!” and in as dignified a way as possible she walked from the room and up the steps from the kitchen.

Her tools were a flashlight, in case she were ever out at night, which she never was, a leather pouch for her notebook, another leather case for extra pens, a water canteen, and a boy scout knife which had, among other features, a screwdriver and a knife and fork which collapsed.

She finished by donning a pair of black-rimmed spectacles with no glass in them.

I know you can’t run away
 from life, I agree with you. I loathe people that do that.

It had occurred to her that she’d better exit while Mrs. Plumber was blathering away or she would certainly be heard.

I have never run so fast, she thought as she careened around the corner.

“A C.P.A. is an accountant, for your information,” Sport said pompously, pulling back Harriet’s hand sharply because she had started to reach for one of the ledgers.

The bell on the door of the shop rang, breaking into their anguish.

They tiptoed up to the door and knocked discreetly.

“Finks, finks, double-barreled rat, rat, rat, finks, finks, finks.” He sounded very angry. Harriet could tell from his voice that he had stormed up the steps to the library. “You won’t believe the iniquity...you will not believe when I tell you the unmitigated finkiness of those guys.”

“Finks, finks, double-barreled rat, rat, rat, finks, finks, finks.” He sounded very angry. Harriet could tell from his voice that he had stormed up the steps to the library. “You won’t believe the iniquity...you will not believe when I tell you the unmitigated finkiness of those guys.”

Harrison Withers lived on Eighty-second at the top of a dilapidated rooming house.

She sidled around the front, took a ball from her pocket that she always carried for such moments, and began to engage in an innocent-looking game of ball right in front of them.

The Health Department was forever trying to get in to catch him because he had too many cats, but Harrison Withers was very crafty.

Harriet walked toward her tentatively, as one would toward a mad dog, trying to see Janie's eyes more clearly, but Janie whipped inside the door.

At that time there had been a large fight through which Janie grinned broadly, and her mother let her know that it didn’t make a whit of difference if they didn’t ordinarily have rugs in labs (“They catch fire,” Janie had said, which had set her mother off again), that Janie had a rug in her room that was going to stay there, and that the very best she could hope for was to have it rolled back.

Only Janie understood anything whatever about them, and she wouldn’t explain but instead called everyone a cretin who asked her.

ON THE DOOR IT CAN SAY “HARRIET THE SPY” IN GOLD
 LETTERS. AND THEN IT CAN HAVE OFFICE HOURS LIKE THE DENTIST’S DOOR HAS AND UNDERNEATH IT CAN SAY ANY SPY WORK UNDERTAKEN.

“See, if she can get across to her friends the idea that I’m an impossible eccentric, then it won’t be her fault I’m not in dancing school,” Janie went on.

She gave her big horse laugh as she came into the room. ‘‘Well, well, how's Dr. Caligari?” she boomed out and laughed again raucously.

“That’s my kid, a bundle of fun,” and so saying Mrs. Gibbs slapped Janie on the back with such a wallop that Janie almost fell to the floor.

“‘Yes, sir, that’s my baby. No, sir, don’t mean maybe,”’ Mrs. Gibbs began to sing in her rollicking way while Harriet and Janie looked at the floor in a state of acute embarrassment.

And she suddenly focused on Harriet, waking her out of a reverie.

They listened to a whispered colloquy in the downstairs hall after Harry had run out, saying, “WHAT! WHAT? What’s happened?”

After the whispers there was an ominous silence during which they must have realized that the house was still standing.