“You should really forbid him from being around that boy,” his sister said. “I hear his father is the town drunk. They used to have all this money before squandered it away. Everybody in town looks down on them. At least that is what Mr. Berry said to me. That boy has a vivid imagination he must get it from his grandfather. I hear his grandfather was also the same, telling wild stories.”
“Well, you should not go by hearsay,” her mother chided her. “Maybe he needs time to adjust and hopefully make other friends… We should go before we are late ourselves.” They soon left and the kitchen was still and quiet again.
Jacobi hated being called a rat. He was no rat, he was a brownie. “Don’t people know what I am,” he muttered angrily to himself. Then he sighed and realized the harsh truth. There was a time when every family had a brownie, living near a kitchen or another unused part of the house. There was a silent agreement between them in exchange for food. That’s how it was for thousands of years and still is today. However, for Jacobi it had ended rather abruptly. Most people don’t believe in brownies and in return leave no buttermilk or sweets.
Jacobi was not in the habit of feeling sympathy for humans but he has never encountered humans who did not believe in brownies. Brownies never had to worry about extinction they simply abandon their humble abodes and moved to the next place. Even though most brownies did not have to live in homes it was the only place they found their favorite pastries and buttermilk. The last home Jacobi lived in was in an old farmhouse long time ago, ages now it seemed. It was inhabited by a farmer, his homely wife and their son. The year before they left there had been a drought that lasted four years. Not good for a farmer who lived off the land.