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Real-Time IoT Imaging with Deep Neural Networks: Using Java on the Raspberry Pi 4 1st Edition Nicolas Modrzyk All Chapters Instant Download

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Real-Time IoT Imaging with Deep Neural Networks: Using Java on the Raspberry Pi 4 1st Edition Nicolas Modrzyk All Chapters Instant Download

Neural

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Real-Time IoT
Imaging with
Deep Neural
Networks
Using Java on the Raspberry Pi 4

Nicolas Modrzyk

www.allitebooks.com
Real-Time IoT Imaging
with Deep Neural
Networks
Using Java on the
Raspberry Pi 4

Nicolas Modrzyk

www.allitebooks.com
Real-Time IoT Imaging with Deep Neural Networks
Nicolas Modrzyk
Tokyo, Tokyo, Japan

ISBN-13 (pbk): 978-1-4842-5721-0 ISBN-13 (electronic): 978-1-4842-5722-7


https://doi.org/10.1007/978-1-4842-5722-7

Copyright © 2020 by Nicolas Modrzyk


This work is subject to copyright. All rights are reserved by the Publisher, whether the whole or
part of the material is concerned, specifically the rights of translation, reprinting, reuse of
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or by similar or dissimilar methodology now known or hereafter developed.
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and images only in an editorial fashion and to the benefit of the trademark owner, with no
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The use in this publication of trade names, trademarks, service marks, and similar terms, even if
they are not identified as such, is not to be taken as an expression of opinion as to whether or not
they are subject to proprietary rights.
While the advice and information in this book are believed to be true and accurate at the date of
publication, neither the authors nor the editors nor the publisher can accept any legal
responsibility for any errors or omissions that may be made. The publisher makes no warranty,
express or implied, with respect to the material contained herein.
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This book is dedicated to three very special cats:
Marcel, Otto, and Mofu.
They probably will never read this book…but
maybe they will sleep on it.

www.allitebooks.com
Table of Contents
About the Author���������������������������������������������������������������������������������ix
About the Technical Reviewer�������������������������������������������������������������xi
Acknowledgments�����������������������������������������������������������������������������xiii
Introduction����������������������������������������������������������������������������������������xv

Chapter 1: Getting Started��������������������������������������������������������������������1


Visual Studio Code Primer������������������������������������������������������������������������������������1
Running Your First Java Application����������������������������������������������������������������������9
Importing Core Java Packages���������������������������������������������������������������������������12
Debugging Lesson����������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������14
Add a Breakpoint�������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������16
Execute the Code Step-by-Step��������������������������������������������������������������������16
Resume Execution�����������������������������������������������������������������������������������������19
Watch an Expression�������������������������������������������������������������������������������������20
Change a Variable Value��������������������������������������������������������������������������������25
Wrapping Things Up��������������������������������������������������������������������������������������26

Chapter 2: Object Detection in Video Streams������������������������������������29


Going Sepia: OpenCV Java Primer�����������������������������������������������������������������������29
A Few Files to Make Things Easier…������������������������������������������������������������30
OpenCV Primer 2: Loading, Resizing, and Adding Pictures���������������������������������37
Simple Addition���������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������38
Weighted Addition�����������������������������������������������������������������������������������������41

www.allitebooks.com
Table of Contents

Back to Sepia������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������42
Finding Marcel: Detecting Objects Primer����������������������������������������������������������48
Finding Cat Faces in Pictures Using a Classifier�������������������������������������������48
Finding Cat Faces in Pictures Using the Yolo Neural Network�����������������������56

Chapter 3: Vision on Raspberry Pi 4���������������������������������������������������67


Bringing the Raspberry to Life����������������������������������������������������������������������������68
Shopping�������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������68
Downloading the OS��������������������������������������������������������������������������������������71
Creating the Bootable SD Card����������������������������������������������������������������������73
Connecting the Cables�����������������������������������������������������������������������������������77
First Boot�������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������78
Finding Your Raspberry Using nmap�������������������������������������������������������������80
Setting Up SSH Easily������������������������������������������������������������������������������������82
Setting Up Visual Code Studio for Remote Use���������������������������������������������������86
Setting Up the Java OpenJDK������������������������������������������������������������������������89
Alternative to Setting Up the Java SDK���������������������������������������������������������90
Checking Out the OpenCV/Java Template������������������������������������������������������91
Installing the Visual Code Java Extension Pack Remotely�����������������������������96
Running the First OpenCV Example���������������������������������������������������������������99
Running on Linux or a VM with AWS Instead����������������������������������������������������100
Capturing a Video Live Stream��������������������������������������������������������������������������101
Playing a Video��������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������106

Chapter 4: Analyzing Video Streams on the Raspberry Pi����������������109


Overview of Applying Filters�����������������������������������������������������������������������������109
Applying Basic Filters���������������������������������������������������������������������������������������113
Gray Filter����������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������113
Edge Preserving Filter���������������������������������������������������������������������������������115

vi
Table of Contents

Canny�����������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������117
Debugging (Again)���������������������������������������������������������������������������������������119
Combining Filters����������������������������������������������������������������������������������������120
Applying Instagram-like Filters�������������������������������������������������������������������������123
Color Map ���������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������123
Thresh���������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������125
Sepia�����������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������126
Cartoon��������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������128
Pencil Effect������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������129
Performing Object Detection�����������������������������������������������������������������������������131
Removing the Background��������������������������������������������������������������������������132
Detecting by Contours���������������������������������������������������������������������������������135
Detecting by Color���������������������������������������������������������������������������������������137
Detecting by Haar����������������������������������������������������������������������������������������141
Transparent Overlay on Detection���������������������������������������������������������������144
Detecting by Template Matching�����������������������������������������������������������������147
Detecting by Yolo�����������������������������������������������������������������������������������������150

Chapter 5: Vision and Home Automation������������������������������������������161


Rhasspy Message Flow������������������������������������������������������������������������������������163
MQTT Message Queues������������������������������������������������������������������������������������167
Installing Mosquitto�������������������������������������������������������������������������������������167
Comparison of Other MQTT Brokers������������������������������������������������������������168
MQTT Messages on the Command Line������������������������������������������������������169
MQTT Messaging in Java����������������������������������������������������������������������������������171
Dependencies Setup������������������������������������������������������������������������������������171
Sending a Basic MQTT Message�����������������������������������������������������������������173
Simulating a Rhasspy Message�������������������������������������������������������������������174

vii
Table of Contents

JSON Fun�����������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������176
Listening to MQTT Basic Messages�������������������������������������������������������������178
Listening to MQTT JSON Messages�������������������������������������������������������������181
Voice and Rhasspy Setup����������������������������������������������������������������������������������182
Preparing the Speaker���������������������������������������������������������������������������������182
Installing Docker������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������184
Installing Rhasspy with Docker�������������������������������������������������������������������185
Starting the Rhasspy Console����������������������������������������������������������������������187
The Rhasspy Console����������������������������������������������������������������������������������190
First Voice Command�����������������������������������������������������������������������������������191
Settings: Get That Intent in the Queue���������������������������������������������������������201
Settings: Wake-Up Word������������������������������������������������������������������������������204
Creating the Highlight Intent�����������������������������������������������������������������������205
Voice and Real-Time Object Detection��������������������������������������������������������������206
Simple Setup: Origami + Voice��������������������������������������������������������������������207
Origami Real-Time Video Analysis Setup�����������������������������������������������������209
Integrating with Voice���������������������������������������������������������������������������������������215

Index�������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������219

viii
About the Author
Nicolas Modrzyk has more than 15 years
of IT experience in Asia, Europe, and the
United States. He is currently the CTO of an
international consulting company in Tokyo,
Japan. An author of four other published
books, he mostly focuses on the Clojure
language and expressive code. When not
bringing new ideas to customers, he spends
time with his two fantastic daughters, Mei and
Manon, and plays live music internationally.

ix
About the Technical Reviewer
David Thevenin is a software engineer in
a securities brokerage firm. After having
defended his PhD in computer science, he
decided to do research and development
in private work. He is interested in new
technologies that improve access to services
in mobile environments and that reduce
the gap between the user and the computer.
He specializes in mobile devices, web
technologies, graphic toolkit design, and
natural language processing.

xi
Acknowledgments
Thank you to Mei and Manon, for your love, energy, and smiles.
Thank you to my grandparents, because you are the source of life and
the profound inspiration for this book.
Thank you to all my family—parents, brothers, sisters, faraway cousins,
aunts, and uncles; even though I’m so far away, you always give invaluable
love, care, and support.
Thank you, Parrain; I have one special line for you, because I’m trying
to live by your high moral standards, and it is f∗∗∗ hard.
Thank you, Diyya; I could feel you looking over my shoulder to see
whether I was working on this or not. Wait, are you still looking?
Thank you, Nikhil, for kick-starting this.
Thank you, David, for your patience through all those “Nico, ca marche
pas ton truc.”
Thank you, Rita, for your support, understanding, and letting me keep
all those carefully chosen quotes.
Thank you, Lemons, because you musically squeeze so well.
Thank you, soccer friends, because I would be fat and lazy if you were
not there.
Thank you, Karabiner team, because you make me realize everyone is
so different, but everyone has an important part to play to win the game.
Thank you to friends around the world—the ones still here but also the
ones who parted. Each encounter is an inspiration.
Finally, thank you, Yoko, for spitting wine on my brand new costume
and still managing to make it so beautifully romantic.

xiii
Introduction
My grandfather, of Polish origins, used to cook, make, build, plant, grow,
and create everything with his own two hands. He also loved to share with
adults and children alike how he was doing all these creative tasks. As a
child, I was always impressed by his “If I don’t have it, I will try to make
it myself” attitude. He put in the time and the effort to make something
original all the time.
One of the cutest memories I have is of us walking in the garden in the
cold winter. We saw some birds looking for tiny pieces of food. We tried to
give them French bread and grains, but they would not, or maybe could not,
get to them because of the freezing winter cold. So, he proposed we build
a wooden house for the birds so they could come and eat the grains while
being protected from the winds. And so we did. We spent the day grabbing
dry wood around the nearby river and cleaning, drying, sawing, polishing,
and assembling it so it would eventually look like the house in Figure I-1.

Figure I-1. Bird house

xv
Introduction

This book is not actually about building bird houses, but it is about
making things by yourself or, indeed, coming up with ideas and shaping
them into something useful for other people (instead of birds).
With the Internet of Things (IoT), you can use an existing development
kit to empower you to create something in no time. In fact, big tech
companies have provided so many of these development kits that it’s hard
to choose one and get started.
Those kits, while easy to use, create a dependency on the whole kit
environment, such that working without one is hard. Moving away from
them is almost impossible unless you redesign and rebuild everything you
created from scratch.
Speaking of “scratch,” a few years ago, Arduino came out. It’s a small
Italian-made embedded board that you can easily connect to sensors,
rotors, motors, and wireless networks. You can use Arduino to easily
write the custom logic needed to interact with all the development kits
previously mentioned (Figure I-2).

Figure I-2. Arduino

xvi
Introduction

Arduino can be programmed in C, Scratch4Arduino, or S4A


(http://s4a.cat), which is a modified version of the Scratch graphical
environment that compiles code for Arduino and is shown in Figure I-3.

Figure I-3. Scratch for Arduino

In the world of dedicated hobbyists, Arduino was a breath of fresh


air. It created an open source, free, unified ecosystem of libraries and
connectors to plug things together. Users of the platform exchanged and
competed for ideas in newly created labs within universities or renovated
factory buildings.
I remember many years ago going to my friend’s open source, open
hardware lab in Shanghai where they were moving robots around and
re-­creating arcade game rooms with old-school games.

xvii
Introduction

While that was fun for real geeks, others may have felt they were left
out a bit. The learning curve was just a bit high, and the power of Arduino
made it so that running anything but C code was not practical.
Then, from England came the Raspberry Pi, a full-blown computer
that could be held in your hands. At around $40 USD, it was an expensive
purchase for students, but it provided some massively capable hardware.
Hobbyists bought tons of those little devices. The Raspberry Pi 2 was
quite a big jump in specifications compared to the Arduino. The biggest
difference for the end user, aside from the connectors, was that you could
finally run a full-blown operating system and get some standardization
between the different components. Raspberry 3, especially model B, had
1Gb of memory, meaning you could run Java applications nicely with good
performance. The underlying ARM-based processor was still quite limited
in real-time computation, though.
Fast-forward to 2019: the Raspberry 4, a small computer with the same
size and tag price, is a beast. In fact, Japan, not an EU member yet, bought
a license in September 2019 to officially make the device usable within its
borders. The Japan government went through the effort mostly because the
Wi-Fi and Bluetooth modules embedded in the device allow for military-­
level spying and should be monitored carefully. Just kidding. But some
extra checks are still officially required on those small devices.
So, what’s new with version 4? The main difference is power, both CPU
and memory-wise; it also has various video-rendering upgrades. But isn’t
that what every salesperson will tell you to get you to buy their latest and
greatest version?
Well, yes and no. While in previous versions you could run Java
processes and enjoy quite a bit of speed, the Raspberry Pi 4 is fast enough
and powerful enough that you can run real-time object detection on real-­
time video streams. That is a game-changer and the very reason for this
book: it is now possible to have some video fun by simply using the Java
wrappers for OpenCV.

xviii
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CHAPTER XII
A PARTING OF WAYS

For a while Ben and Posey rode along almost in silence over the
roads beaten smooth and clean by the heavy shower, while the
wayside ditches were still noisy little rills, and the trees shook down
showers of raindrops with every passing breeze.
Posey, in spite of herself, could not help a sorrowful feeling of
discouragement at the failure of her first effort at home-finding. Not
so much for the refusal itself, though she felt that to live with such a
cheery old lady would be quite delightful, as the fear that other
attempts might be equally useless.
Ben, flicking his big bay horse softly with the tassel of his whip,
was evidently in a brown study. At last he turned to Posey, saying,
“I’ve been thinking what you had better do. I can’t take you home
with me—as I wish I could, for really I haven’t any home except as
Uncle John gives me one, and that’s forty miles from here and I don’t
expect to get there for a month or more; besides the house is so full
that Aunt Eunice hardly knows where to put us all as it is.”
“Oh, I didn’t expect you to make a home for me!” cried Posey.
“I’d like to. But last spring the man whose route it was on was sick,
so I went over into Farmdale for one trip, and there I saw such a nice
old lady, nicer if anything than the one we just stopped with. I guess
she took a fancy to me, for she wanted to know if I had a sister. Said
she wished she could find a real nice little girl to live with her, and
asked me if I knew of any one I thought would suit her. Now,
Byfield’s the next town, and Farmdale is only seven miles from there,
and I believe I’ll drive over there with you to-night and see her.
Maybe I can pick up some rags on the way, and I know Mr. Bruce
won’t care when I tell him about it.”
Posey at once agreed, and the faint anxiety that had begun to rise
in her mind as to what she would do when it came night was at once
swept away, for in Ben Pancost and his ability she had unlimited
faith.
When they reached the straggling little railroad station of Byfield,
Ben said he must go to the store and take on what paper rags had
been gathered in since his last trip, and he left Posey to wait for him
at Byfield’s one small hotel while he did this.
It seemed to Posey that Ben was gone a long, long time, and
when at last he appeared it was with a very sober face. “I’m awful
sorry, Posey,” were his first words, “but when I got over to the store I
found a telegram there from Mr. Bruce to come to Cleveland as quick
as I could. He’s sent for me that way before and I know what it
means. He’s got an order for rags and hasn’t enough on hand to fill
it. I just looked at to-day’s market report in the paper and it gave
paper rags as ‘heavy with a downward tendency,’ so I suppose Mr.
Bruce is afraid of a big drop and wants to get his off at once. I’ve
agreed with a man here to change horses till I come back. It’s four
o’clock now and with a fresh horse I can get to Cleveland by ten or
eleven, then the rags can be shipped in the morning, and a day’s
delay may make a big difference to Mr. Bruce.”
“I see,” murmured Posey.
“So you see why I can’t go with you to Farmdale, as I was going
to. But I’ll tell you how I’ve planned it. I’ve agreed with the landlady
for you to stay here all night, and there’s a stage runs to Farmdale
to-morrow that you can go over in. The worst of it is I don’t know the
nice old lady’s name or where she lives, for she wasn’t in her own
home when I saw her. But they called her ‘aunt’ at the place she
was, so they will be sure to know all about her, and I can tell you just
where that is. The village is built around the prettiest green you ever
saw. You go up on the west side till you come to a story-and-half
white house with green blinds, and big lilac bushes at the gate;
there’s a sign over the front door, ‘Millinery, and Dressmaking,’ so
you can’t miss the place.
“There were two ladies there, not young or really old, but sort o’
between like, you know. They were nice, too. Why, what do you think
one of them did? I had torn my coat on the wagon and she mended it
for me. Wasn’t that good? And I know they’ll be good to you. Just tell
them I sent you, and as soon as I come back I’ll come and see how
you are getting along. I’m awful sorry things have happened this
way, but I don’t see what else I can do.”
Ben had talked very fast, and as Posey listened she was
conscious that a lump was rising higher and higher in her throat. “It’s
all right, Ben,” Posey tried to speak with forced cheerfulness. “Only it
seems as though I’d known you always, and I don’t quite know what
to do without you,” and with all her effort her voice trailed off in a
quiver.
“Why, that’s so,” Ben’s tone was emphatic. “It does seem as
though we had always known each other, don’t it?”
“And you’ve been so good to me,” Posey continued. “I shall never
forget it, Ben, never! This has been the happiest day I ever knew.”
“Shucks!” exclaimed Ben, his own voice a trifle husky. “I haven’t
done anything but let you ride on the tin-cart; that wasn’t much, I’m
sure. Besides I’ve enjoyed it as much as you have.”
“Oh, but you have been good to me,” she repeated. “You came to
me when I hadn’t anybody in the whole world, and I was feeling so
badly that I almost wanted to die. Except my mamma nobody in all
my life was ever so good to me, not even dear Mr. Hagood, and I
shall remember it always.”
“I wish I could have done more for you; and here—” slipping a
couple of silver dollars into her hand—“is a little money for your
stage fare, and anything else you may need. I’ve settled with the
landlady for your staying here to-night.”
“I sha’n’t take it, Ben,” Posey protested, as she tried to force the
money back. “You’ve paid for my dinner, and now for to-night, and
you have to work hard for your money. I sha’n’t take it, indeed I
sha’n’t. I can walk to Farmdale to-morrow as well as not.”
“Shucks!” retorted Ben more emphatically than before. “You won’t
do anything of the kind. Besides I’m going to adopt you for my sister,
and brothers ought to take care of their sisters. When I get a raise in
my salary I’ll send you to a fashionable boarding school. But I must
be off, only I feel dreadfully to leave you so.”
“Never mind,” said Posey bravely. “You said God took care of me
to-day, perhaps He will to-morrow.”
“That’s so,” answered Ben. “You and I’ll both ask Him, and I know
He will. And I’ll be around to Farmdale to see you by next week,
sure; so good-by till then.” And squeezing Posey’s hand till it would
have brought tears to her eyes had they not been there already, he
hurried away, while Posey stood at the window and watched the red
cart, a grotesque object, with its dangling fringe of old rubber boots,
the sacks of rags piled high on top and hiding from her view the
driver, as it went down the street and slowly lessened in the
distance. Then she turned away with a sigh, for Ben Pancost had
passed beyond her sight.
With his going the brightness seemed to fade from the day. The
fallen leaves of a maple before the hotel drifted with a dreary little
rustle in the rising wind. The floor of the room was covered with
oilcloth on which her chair, whenever she moved it, made a mournful
sound that increased her sense of loneliness. The long dining-room
looked empty and forlorn when she answered the summons to
supper and found herself and a traveller out of temper, because he
had missed his train, its only occupants.
As the dusk deepened, Posey heard the merry voices of children
in the street, but she herself felt strangely old and unchildlike with a
burden of anxiety resting on her, and the memory of trouble and care
and perplexity rising like a cloud behind her. A kitten came capering
into the room; she coaxed it to her and tried to cuddle the ball of fur
in her arms, feeling even that companionship would be something;
but the kitten was of a roving nature and had rather have its own
frolicsome way than her tending. When the kerosene lamp was
brought in it smoked, and through the dingy chimney the big figured
paper and the cheap chromos on the wall looked more staring than
before. Posey during her years with Madam Sharpe had known a
varied experience with the parlors of cheap hotels and boarding-
houses with their threadbare carpets and shabby, broken-springed
furniture, but she was sure that she never saw so cheerless a room
as that of the Byfield hotel.
No doubt after all Posey had been through in the last twenty-four
hours a reaction was sooner or later bound to come. So it was not
strange that she should suddenly have become conscious of being
very, very tired, as well as exceedingly sleepy, and before eight
o’clock she asked to be shown to her room, where she soon fell
asleep with Ben Pancost’s silver dollars clasped close in her hand
against her cheek. For those dollars stood to her not only as actual
value, but as kindliness and helpfulness, the sole friendship she had
to rest on a friend near and human, while that of God, whose care for
the morrow she had duly remembered to ask, seemed to her heavy
little heart as far off and mysterious.
When Posey woke the next morning after a long, dreamless sleep,
she started up as if expecting to hear Mrs. Hagood’s voice calling
her, and a dog she heard barking outside she thought for a moment
was Rover. But her unfamiliar surroundings quickly brought to her all
that had happened, and she lay back on her pillow with a feeling of
surprise that it should all be true. “I wonder what will happen to me
to-day, and where I shall be to-night?” she said to herself. “But Ben
said he knew God would take care of me,” and Ben’s faith became
her confidence.
With morning, too, the world looked decidedly brighter than it had
the evening before; she had a good appetite for her breakfast, and
when the landlady who served the table in person explained that the
table waiter went away to a dance and hadn’t come back, and the
cook was sick that morning, and she had everything to do and didn’t
know which way to turn, Posey at once offered to help. “The stage
doesn’t go for a long time yet, and I’d just as soon wash the dishes
as not,” and following out into the kitchen she was soon plunged in a
pan of foamy suds.
“You are good help,” was the landlady’s comment. “My husband’s
dead and I have the whole business to see to, and the profit isn’t
much, but I’ll give you a dollar a week to wash dishes if you’ll stay
with me.”
Posey hesitated; work was what she wanted, but the landlady’s
voice had a sharp accent and there were fretty wrinkles between her
eyes. “I promised to go to an old lady in Farmdale,” she answered
after a moment, “but if I don’t get a place there I’ll come back to you.”
Posey had taken pains to shake and brush out the dust and all she
could of the disorder from her clothes. Before stage time she
repacked the contents of her bundle, and begging a newspaper and
string made it into a neat looking package, and when the stage
started out it was a tidy little figure that occupied a corner of the back
seat. The ride to Farmdale through the pleasant country roads was
all too short for Posey, who once more found herself among
strangers, a solitary waif.
CHAPTER XIII
A DOOR OPENS

The stage stopped at the business end of Farmdale. Around three


sides of a sandy square were grouped the village hotel, the post-
office, and its few stores and shops; on the fourth side this square
opened on a long stretch of velvety green turf, around which, set in
deep yards, surrounded by trees, and embowered in shrubbery,
were the comfortable, well-ordered village homes. In the centre of
this green, and midway its length a fountain was falling into a circular
stone basin and from that flowing into a stone watering-trough,
where a white horse with a barefooted boy on its back was drinking.
Beyond the fountain the ground rose slightly and crowning this
gentle swell three white churches set side by side lifted their spires
against the blue sky.
Posey walked slowly along the maple-shaded path, with bright
colored leaves above her and bright colored leaves rustling under
her feet, charmed with the peaceful air, the quiet beauty, and looking
carefully for a house to answer Ben Pancost’s description. It was not
long till she saw it—a modest white house with green blinds, the
walls almost covered with climbing roses and honeysuckles, while
over the front door hung the sign, its gilt lettering somewhat faded by
time and storms,

MILLINERY AND DRESSMAKING.

A great lilac bush stood on each side of the small white gate by
which she entered, while syringas, flowering quince, and thickets of
roses gave promise of springtime bloom. The narrow, stone-flagged
walk that led to the side door was fringed with flowers, and ran along
the edge of a grassy bank or low terrace, below which were more
flower beds bordered with China pinks, besides homelier beds of
garden vegetables, while under sheltering rows of currant bushes a
flock of white chickens rolled in the dirt at their ease. Beyond the
house lay an orchard, and the side porch at which the walk ended
was shaded by a great grapevine heavy with purple clusters. A
Maltese cat, sunning itself in sleepy content on the steps, roused as
she came up and rubbed against her with a friendly purr. Over all the
sunny little homestead rested an air of thrift, order, peace, that filled
Posey with a sense of restfulness; why she could hardly have told.
Her knock on the green-paneled door was answered by Miss
Silence Blossom, one of the two whom Ben Pancost had described
as “not young, or really old,” but with the brightness of youth still
lingering in her eyes and her smile. The room into which she led
Posey was large and sunny with windows facing the south. In one
corner was an open sewing machine from which she had evidently
just risen. In another corner stood a square table covered with boxes
of flowers and ribbons beside which trimming a bonnet sat Mrs.
Patience Bird, a younger sister of Miss Silence, her sweet, gentle
face touched by a shade of sadness, reflected in the mourning dress
she still wore for the young husband whose picture was in the little
pin at her throat. Behind the low chair in which she sat was a tall
case with long glass doors, filled with ribbons, flowers, and hats, all
in orderly array, for though this was the work-room of busy workers
there was no trace of litter or confusion.
Mrs. Blossom, the mother, with a strong but kindly face, was
watering a stand of house plants. She, too, was a widow, but of more
than half a lifetime. The years when she had gathered her fatherless
children around her and, still a young woman, taken up a life alone
and bravely for herself and them had left their lines of energy,
decision, and firmness. And, last of the family group, in a large
armchair by one of the sunny windows with some white knitting in
her hands, sat an old lady, whose peaceful face not less than her
drab dress, close white cap, and snowy, folded kerchief, told that she
was of the Quaker faith.
Posey took the chair offered her, suddenly embarrassed and shy
under the gaze of so many questioning eyes, and at last stammered
abruptly, “Ben said you would know where the old lady lived.”
“Ben who; and what old lady?” demanded Miss Silence, who in
spite of her name was the talker of the family.
“Why, the nice old lady who wants a girl to live with her. And you
know Ben; he’s the boy who drives the red tin peddler’s cart.”
“I know who she means,” spoke Mrs. Patience. “It is the boy who
came here last summer that Aunt Maria Ames took such a fancy to,
and asked him if he hadn’t a sister to live with her. I think,” to her
mother, “you and Grandmother were away that day. Don’t you
remember, Silence, you mended his coat for him?”
By this time Posey had found her tongue. “Yes,” she hastened to
add, “Ben said you did. He said he knew you were the best kind of
Christians.”
Mrs. Blossom smiled. “I hope Ben was right, though that seems to
have been a case of judging faith by works.”
“Well, Ben Pancost knows,” asserted Posey stoutly.
“He certainly impressed me as a very good boy,” said Miss
Silence, “truthful, frank, and manly. And so you wanted to come and
live with Mrs. Ames?”
“Yes, ma’am, Ben was almost sure she would let me.”
“That is too bad, for she has gone to Chicago to spend the winter
with her daughter.”
Posey’s face clouded with dismay. She had trusted implicitly to
Ben. What should she do if his plan for her failed?
Mrs. Blossom saw the look. “What is your name?” she asked.
“Posey.”
“And whose Posey?” Mrs. Patience questioned looking up from
her work with a gentle smile.
“Nobody’s,” was the mournful answer.
“And where is your home?” continued Mrs. Blossom.
“Nowhere,” answered Posey, a great sense of her forlornness
rushing over her and filling her eyes with tears.
“Now, see here,” Miss Silence’s tone was brisk and incisive; “you
want to tell the truth. Everybody has a surname and lives
somewhere.”
“I have told the truth,” protested Posey hotly. “I haven’t anybody or
any home anywhere.”
“But where have you been living?”
Now Posey had gathered from Ben Pancost’s manner that while
he personally approved of her running away from Mrs. Hagood, he
was doubtful of the impression it might make on others, and she had
resolved to be very discreet and tell as little of that part of her story
as possible. But her indignation at the implication of untruthfulness
overmastered her prudence and she answered, “If you want to know
where I’ve lived I can tell you. I’ve lived with a clairvoyant medium,
and I’ve lived at the Refuge in Cleveland, and the last place I’ve lived
was with a Mrs. Hagood in Horsham.”
“Why, Horsham is twenty miles from here.”
“I wish it was twenty million miles.”
“But why?”
“Because,” her voice rising shrill with passion, “Mrs. Hagood was
horrid to me, and I ran away from her, I did; and I don’t care who
knows it, I don’t; and I’ll never go back to her for anybody, never,” her
cheeks flushing and her eyes flashing through her tears.
“In what way was Mrs. Hagood horrid to you?” questioned Mrs.
Blossom.
For answer Posey tore open her collar and rolled up her sleeves
showing the marks still visible on her neck and arms. It needed now
hardly an inquiry to bring out the whole story, in which she omitted
neither what she had said to Mrs. Hagood nor the bite she had given
her hand. “And I’ll starve and die before I’ll go back to her,” she
added in conclusion.
“It’s a burning shame to treat a child like that, I don’t care what she
had done!” exclaimed Miss Silence. And Mrs. Patience added in her
gentle tone, “Poor child! wouldn’t you like something to eat?” for Mrs.
Patience had the idea that children were in a perpetual state of
hunger.
“Was this Mrs. Hagood always cruel to you?” questioned Mrs.
Blossom.
Posey hesitated a moment. “No, ma’am, I guess not. She gave me
plenty to eat, but she scolded me from morning till night, and wanted
me to work every minute. If she wasn’t always cruel she was never
kind—” She paused and looked from face to face—“and now I’m
away from her I’m going to stay away. The landlady at the hotel at
Byfield will give me a dollar a week to wash dishes, but I wish you
knew of some other place where I could live. I’d do everything I could
to help, and I’d be real good. I’m not bad always, indeed I’m not.”
She did not say, “If I might only stay here,” but her wistful eyes
expressed the unspoken wish.
“Silence,” Mrs. Blossom spoke quickly, “will you go out in the
orchard and get some sweet apples to bake; and Posey can go with
you.”
“Now, mother,” Miss Silence laid down in her lap the work she
held, “I don’t think it’s quite fair to send the child away while you and
Grandmother talk her over, for she knows as well as I that’s what you
would do. There’s only one thing I shall consent to—that she stay
here till a suitable place is found for her.”
“Thee will always be the same impulsive, impetuous Silence as
long as thee lives.” Grandmother Sweet’s face crinkled in a smile.
Though an attentive listener she had not spoken before. She turned
to her daughter, “I have nothing to say for my part, Elizabeth, that the
young girl might not hear, indeed that I would not prefer she should
hear.
“And in the first place, my dear,” to Posey, “thee is not free from
blame thyself; from thy own words thee has failed in duty to one
older than thyself, and yielded to the angry passion of thine own
heart, and thus, it well may be, has failed of the lesson God meant
for thee. For always remember, child, God puts us in no place he will
not give us strength to fill, or sends us no trial that will not be for our
good if rightly endured. At the same time if thy story is true, and thee
has a truthful look, I do not think thee has been justly or rightly
treated, or that thy return would be wise or best.”
Then turning again to her daughter, “The leading of the Lord
seems to have brought her to our door. What is thy mind, Elizabeth?”
“Thee has spoken it exactly,” answered Mrs. Blossom, who often
used the Friends’ language in talking with her mother. “As thee says,
she seems to have been led to us, and I hope the time will never
come when any of God’s children find ours a closed door.”
“Oh, if you will let me stay I’ll do my very best!” cried Posey. “Do
you know I said yesterday that I didn’t believe God cared anything
for me, but Ben Pancost said He did, that probably God sent him to
help me then, and that He would take care of me again to-day, and I
just think He has.”
“Dear child,” and Grandmother Sweet put one of her soft,
tremulous hands on Posey’s head, “God’s love and care is over thee
always; never doubt it, even if thee has not the outward evidence.”
“I am going out to Cleveland next week for goods,” remarked Mrs.
Patience, “and I can go out to the Refuge and arrange about Posey.”
Miss Silence nodded. “Yes, and you know Cousin Allen Gloin’s
wife has a sister in Horsham; she will doubtless know of this Mrs.
Hagood.”
Posey lifted her head proudly, “I hope you will see everybody who
knows me, and ask them all about me, for then you will find that I
have told the truth.”
“We are not doubting your word,” Miss Silence assured her; “it is
on your account as well as ours that we want to learn as much as
possible.”
“All the same I want you to know that it is true,” she answered.
“And—” hesitating a little, “if you know some one in Horsham
couldn’t I send a word to Mr. Hagood? He will worry about me, I
know he will, and he was always so kind that I wish he could know
where I am and how good you are to let me stay. He won’t tell Mrs.
Hagood anything about it. I am sure he won’t.”
CHAPTER XIV
POSEY BECOMES ROSE

Thus it was that Posey, who for so long had been drifted at the
mercy of adverse currents found herself, for a time at least, in a safe
and quiet harbor. Very quickly she fell into the simple household
ways; she washed the dainty old china for Mrs. Blossom; she dusted
the carefully kept rooms; she pulled bastings and whipped edges for
Miss Silence; she ripped braid and wound ribbons for Mrs. Patience,
watching her the while as with hat-block in lap her deft fingers
“sewed over” a hat or bonnet into a different shape—for at that time
this was part of the work of a village milliner; and last but by no
means least she listened to Grandmother Sweet’s gentle counsels
and gentler admonitions. While in this atmosphere of cheer and
kindliness her young heart that had known such scant measure of
either, expanded like a flower in the sunshine.
From the first time she heard it the name Posey had been
anything but pleasing to Grandmother Sweet’s Quaker ears, and the
next day after her coming, when she had given as full an account as
she could of her varied life, the old lady began to question her.
“And now what is thy real name, my child? For surely thy mother
never gave thee ‘Posey’ for a life name.”
“I don’t know as I have any other,” answered Posey in surprise, for
it was something she had never thought of before. “My mother, I can
remember, often called me ‘Rose,’ and her ‘little Rose,’ but she
called me ‘Posey,’ too; so did my father and the neighbors, and
Madam Sharpe, and I always supposed that was all the name I had.”
“Thee can depend upon it,” was the old lady’s decided answer,
“‘Posey’ was only that foolish custom—a nickname—of which I
cannot approve.
“And as to thy surname, does thee not know that either? It seems
anything but right that thee should continue to bear—especially as it
is not thy own, the name of that wicked adventuress.”
Posey shook her head. “You know I was so little when my mother
and father died, and Madam Sharpe called me by her name from the
first. I think she wanted me to forget all I could for fear I might find
some one who would take me away from her. I know whenever I
asked her what my name was she would say she had forgotten, but I
didn’t believe her then. Lately, I have tried to remember it, but I can’t.
I know my mother’s first name was Kate, because I have her Bible,
and that is the name written in it.”
“Will thee let me see it?”
Posey at once brought the little velvet covered Bible, and the book
of child verse, now decidedly the worse for wear and age. On the fly
leaf of the Bible was primly written, “Kate, from Aunt Sarah.”
In the other book was apparently no writing, but after examining it
a moment grandmother asked, “Silence, will thee bring me a damp
sponge? If I am not mistaken a leaf has been pasted down here.”
The sponge was brought, and the page when moistened readily
lifted, proving Grandmother Sweet’s suspicion correct, and revealing
to the onlookers, written in a delicate hand,
“To Rose Shannon, on her fourth birthday, December 12th.”
“There!” Grandmother Sweet’s tone was triumphant, “now we have
thy rightful name, and thee shall be Rose to us, as thee was to thy
mother,” and she patted the curly brown head.
“But why do you suppose she pasted the leaf down instead of
tearing it out?” questioned Miss Silence.
“I think,” replied Posey, or rather Rose, “it was because the
colored picture on the other side of the leaf was a favorite of mine,
and if it was gone I would be sure to miss it.”
So it was without any purpose of her own, or a thought on the part
of any one of concealing her identity, that with the very beginning of
life under new conditions Posey Sharpe became Rose Shannon,
and, or so it seemed to her, with the old name the old life also
dropped away. Rose was delighted to possess a name that was hers
by right, that was her very own, but at first it sounded strangely
unfamiliar, and sometimes she failed to recognize it as belonging to
herself; but very soon she grew as accustomed to it as to the placid
round of the Blossom household.
In a short time Mrs. Patience made her trip to Cleveland, and
made the promised call at the Refuge. Here she found that a letter
had been received from Mrs. Hagood, full of complaints that Posey
was an idle, troublesome, ungrateful girl, who had left her for no
cause whatever; but at the same time demanding that she be sent
back at once. For Mrs. Hagood had supposed, as Rose thought, that
she would return to the Refuge. Mrs. Patience’s account, however,
put the matter in a very different light. The superintendent was
deeply indignant, and as the Blossoms had friends who were known
to him, he gladly consented that she should remain with them till a
more permanent provision could be made.
It was on this one point of Rose’s history, the cause and manner of
her leaving Mrs. Hagood, that the Blossoms decided reticence to be
best. As Mrs. Blossom said, “Mrs. Hagood is a stranger to us, and
admitting that she was at fault, it seems to me neither kind nor right
to repeat what might give others an unfavorable impression.”
Gentle Grandmother Sweet’s advice to Rose was, “The best way
to keep from speaking of it is to put it out of thy thoughts, through
that spirit of forgiveness, which we who err so often should always
be ready to show.”
Not long after Mrs. Patience’s return from the city Rose received
an offer of a home for the winter, with fifty cents a week wages, and
the privilege of attending school afternoons. As she had seldom
possessed a cent she could call her own this seemed like a small
fortune; besides, as she had told Ben Pancost, she understood more
than most of her age what it cost to live, and so was the quicker to
see that with all the Blossoms’ generous hospitality, economy was
carefully considered. For they were far from rich, this houseful of
women with no outside breadwinner to depend on, and with her
sturdy, independent nature Rose shrank from being a burden on
them, the more so because of their affectionate kindness. Miss
Silence and Mrs. Patience having taken Rose under their wing were
unwilling she should go, unless into a permanent home, but Mrs.
Blossom held that Rose should decide the question for herself,
especially as she would still be in the village where they could watch
over her. While Grandmother Sweet placidly observed, “Providence
seems to have opened the place for Rose, and the openings of
Providence are usually for some wise purpose.”
The offer had been most unexpected. Miss Fifield had come to
Silence Blossom to have a dress fitted, and in the familiar
conversation which accompanied the process she had remarked that
she and her sister were doing their work themselves as the hired girl
had gone home sick. “Of course,” she explained, “we have Ellen Gill
in to do the washing and ironing and scrubbing; not but that we could
do it all, for it was my father’s boast that his daughters were
thoroughly capable. And they all are but Eudora; she will not, and
while I’m willing to do my share I’m not willing to do mine and other
people’s too. I don’t believe Eudora would soil her hands if her life
depended on it. If you’ll believe me, Silence Blossom, she has gone
and made a mop to wash dishes with. It makes me sick, it positively
does, to see her mopping the dishes off, and lifting them out with a
fork, for fear the dishwater will make her hands rough.” And Miss
Fifield, tall, spare, and angular, who counted all attempt at personal
adornment the sign of a weak mind, gave a little sniff of contempt.
At this moment Rose came into the sitting-room to bring
Grandmother Sweet a piece of fresh sponge cake, her first triumph
in real cake-making under Mrs. Blossom. Miss Fifield through the
partly open door of the bedroom which also served as fitting-room,
regarded her neat gingham work-apron and animated, rosy face with
evident approval.
“Who is that young girl?” she asked. “I don’t remember to have
ever seen her before.”
“She is Rose Shannon,” Miss Silence answered as well as she
could with her mouth full of pins. “She came to Farmdale with the
idea that she could live with Aunt Maria Ames, and is staying with us
for the present.”
Miss Fifield prided herself on her prompt decisions, and the idea at
once occurred to her that such a tidy little handmaid would be
pleasant and useful to have.
“If she wants to she can come to us; we will give her a home, and
something besides.”
Silence Blossom was measuring Miss Fifield’s bony arm for the
sleeve. “I don’t know,” her voice dubious; “Rose was planning to go
to school when it opened next term.”
“I think we could manage for her to go afternoons; there isn’t much
to do after dinner. I suppose,” she added, “that Eudora and Brother
Nathan will object. They never agree on anything only in opposing
me, but what I undertake I intend to carry through.”
But for once Miss Fifield was mistaken, Miss Eudora heartily
agreed with the plan. She could put on gloves to sweep, and cake
and pastry making were something any lady might do with dignity;
but dish-washing even with the aid of a mop, she viewed with horror.
Furthermore, her sister refused to wash the dishes a day over half
the time.
Squire Nathan Fifield, the middle-aged brother who with the two
middle-aged sisters made up the Fifield family, caustically remarked
that he should think two able-bodied women could do the work for
themselves and one man, but if they couldn’t they would have to
settle the matter their own way. “Only,” he warned them, “it is very
likely this is the child of low-bred foreigners, and if she turns out to
be a little liar, and a thief, I want you to remember that it was you that
brought her here, not me.”
But the sisters, noways daunted by this foreboding, offered Rose
the place and, as we have seen, she accepted the offer.
CHAPTER XV
AT THE FIFIELDS’

The Fifields were the oldest family in Farmdale, and lived in the
most pretentious house. Rose had greatly admired the old home with
its high-pillared porch set behind tall hedges of prim cedar, and a
view of the interior only increased the feeling. To her eyes the claw-
footed tables and tall bedsteads with canopy tops were most
imposing; and the dimly lighted, seldom used parlor with its real lace
curtains, its carpet laid in great wreaths of roses, its gilt-framed
mirror, and its damask upholstered, mahogany furniture, was a really
magnificent apartment, including as it did the family portraits, and
Miss Eudora’s girlish efforts at painting on velvet.
Rose’s position in the family had been the subject of some
discussion, for Eudora Fifield had all her life sighed for a maid
arrayed in a white cap and apron, and it had been one of her
numerous grievances that of the array of independent spirited help
who had filed in and out of the Fifield kitchen one and all had flatly
refused to conform to such usage.
“But Rose,” she argued, “has been brought up in a city, where the
manners of the lower classes are so different. Why, when I visited
Aunt Morgan in Albany, her servants treated me with a deference
you never see here. Her parlor-maid always brought in the callers’
cards and the letters on a salver; perhaps she would be willing to do
that.”
Jane Fifield gave a snort, “As long as Nathan brings your letters in
his coat pocket and hands them to you, and we haven’t a caller once
a month, I think you won’t have much use for a salver. Besides the
Blossoms make her one of the family, and Mrs. Blossom particularly
said that she should never consent to her going to any place where
she would not be taken an interest in, but simply thought of as a little
drudge.”
Miss Eudora drew a little sigh at the vanishing of the cap and
salver, but quickly caught herself as she remembered the dish-
washing. “Well,” she admitted, “I suppose it’s better to concede some
points than not have her come at all.”

“I wonder,” suddenly spoke Silence Blossom as she sat basting


the facing on a skirt the day after Rose left, “how Rose is getting on
at the Fifields’, and if she has heard anything yet about Eudora’s visit
to Albany? I don’t believe I’ve seen her any time since that she
hasn’t made some reference to it. I have often wondered what she
would have done if she hadn’t made that visit.”
“But you know,” urged Mrs. Patience, “she and Jane both live such
monotonous lives, with hardly an interest outside themselves, how
can they help but go over the same thing again and again?”
“I can tell one thing that would have happened if Eudora had not
made that Albany visit,” remarked Mrs. Blossom, who from an
adjoining room had overheard the conversation, “she would have
been a happier woman to-day. She came back from that taste of city
life completely out of tune with everything and everybody in
Farmdale, and she has never got in tune since.”
“I am afraid,” observed Grandmother Sweet placidly, “that thee is
sitting in judgment on thy neighbors.”
“La, Grandmother,” and Miss Silence’s brisk, heartsome laugh
rippled out, “a body can’t help having opinions, though I don’t always
express mine outside the family. And you know what we said of Jane
and Eudora was true.”
“I know,” admitted Grandmother Sweet with a sigh, “though we
ought to look even at truth with the eyes of charity. But I have a hope
that the coming of a fresh young life, like Rose’s, into the Fifield
home, if only for a season, will bring a fresh interest and brightness
with it.”

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