A dreadful
American man once told me that my aunt was a Bluebell and that I
was a Harebell--with two l's and an e--because my hair is so thick.
I warn you, so that you may avoid making such a bad pun."
"Do I look like a man who makes puns?" I asked, being very
conscious of my melancholy face and sad looks.
Miss Lammas eyed me critically.
"No; you have a mournful temperament. I think I can trust you,"
she answered. "Do you think you could communicate to my aunt the
fact that you are a Cairngorm and a neighbor? I am sure she would
like to know."
I leaned toward the old lady, inflating my lungs for a yell. But
Miss Lammas stopped me.
"That is not of the slightest use," she remarked. "You can write
it on a bit of paper. She is utterly deaf."
"I have a pencil," I answered; "but I have no paper. Would my cuff
do, do you think?"
"Oh, yes!" replied Miss Lammas, with alacrity; "men often do that."
I wrote on my cuff: "Miss Lammas wishes me to explain that I am
your neighbor, Cairngorm." Then I held out my arm before the old
lady's nose. She seemed perfectly accustomed to the proceeding,
put up her glasses, read the words, smiled, nodded, and addressed
me in the unearthly voice peculiar to people who hear nothing.
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