THE LATHES' FLORAL CABINET. 
399 
Deaf! Good gracious, this was worse than all! 
Then I remembered that Aunt Hannah was very rich. 
What was to prevent her leaving us all her money—or 
better yet, setting Caspar up in business with a portion 
of it at once? I had never seen any of Caspar’s rela¬ 
tions, who had only recently come to the United States, 
and I determined to show her what a treasure of a wife 
he had. I would be ears for her, and she would learn 
to depend on me, and what more natural than that she 
would make him her heir, and leave me a legacy. I 
would invest it in diamonds—no, I would buy stocks— 
or loan it out at a big percentage ! 
The clock striking ten roused me. Caspar was gone. 
The maid—I only kept one—was finishing the morn¬ 
ing’s work, and I hurried up stairs and made a careful 
toilet—a subdued morning negligee, neat and tasteful— 
and not too extravagant. Then I sat down and began 
to dispose over again of my prospective fortune. 
The sound of the stage coach stopping at the door re¬ 
called me from my castle in Spain, and I flew to the 
steps and spread my hands out in welcome, as a small, 
dark, spiteful-looking old lady, with a wrinkled face 
and a false front, got cautiously out and stood on the 
pavement. 
“ Dearest Aunt,” I shrieked in a high falsetto voice, 
“ I am d-e-l-i-g-h-t-e-d to see you. Caspar could not be 
here, but he left his love and welcome for you.” 
The driver of the coach looked at me curiously, as if 
he thought I was talking to some one in the next town¬ 
ship. One or two of the neighbors raised their windows 
and looked out to see what the disturbance was, but 
my new relative did not appear to hear my voice even 
at that awful altitude. She was looking after her boxes 
and bundles, and merely frowned in answer to my 
.stentorian welcome. 
“ Allow mo, Aunt,” I shouted in her ear as I took her 
hand-bag and shawl. Then I paid the driver and dis¬ 
missed him, and followed by Aunt Hannah, entered the 
house. As deaf people usually talk rather loudly them¬ 
selves, I was surprised to hear the visitor say in a 
somewhat sharp voice: 
“So this is Caspar’s house? Very nice, I must say— 
quite elegant.” 
“I wish it were a thousand times nicer, for your 
sake,” I exclaimed, or rather shouted. “ Take off your 
things, Aunt, and make yourself at home.” 
“What are you screaming at?” asked Aunt 
Hannah petulantly; “anyone would suppose I was 
deaf.” 
I was not surprised at this remark, for it is a distin¬ 
guishing trait with deaf people to dislike any notice 
taken of their infirmity; so I bawled in an even higher 
key that she must not be offended, that loud speech was 
a peculiarity of mine, and I begged her not to notice it. 
But by the afternoon I was so exhausted that every 
word I uttered was torture of the keenest description; 
fortunately a friend called, and as my Aunt was not in¬ 
clined to talk I lowered my voice, moistened my fevered 
lips, and gasped in my natural tones: 
“Oh, Julia, it’s positively awful. She’s as deaf as a 
door-post, and has come to stay a month. I shall die, 
I know I shall.” 
“I wouldn’t try to talk to her,” said my friend; “let 
lier amuse herself. You’ll only make yourself ill. You 
look as if you had a fever on now.” 
“ But I must be civil to her,” I said, looking straight 
at my respected Aunt-in-law, and using my natural 
tones, “ She’s immensely rich.” 
“ What’s that ? ” asked Aunt Hannah with sudden 
interest. “Who is it that has the itch?” 
“ There,” I said, “that is as much as she hears — deaf 
as a stone—or an adder, but full of curiosity. Don’t go, 
Julia; keep me company till Caspar comes. I shall 
have diptheria—my throat is raw now —if you leave me 
alone with her.” 
I had tried to be very English in order to make a 
good impression, and had remarked more than once, 
apropos of the weather, that it was beastly cold, and 
had alluded to my dress as a “frock,” and called all the 
pitchers in the house “ ewei's,” while I denounced 
everything that didn’t suit me as “nasty.” I could not 
tell how my doubtful English was received, for Aunt 
Hannah made no sign, and I told my friend Julia, in 
utter despair, that I did not care. 
“I even feel,” I continued desperately, “that her 
money could never pay for the strain of keeping up a 
conversation with her. It is positively wicked in her 
not do carry an ear trumpet.” 
When Caspar came home he dutifully embraced his 
Aunt, who had been perfectly silent for an hour or two, 
and said to me: 
“ Well, my dear, how have you and Aunt Hannah 
enjoyed yourselves ? ” 
“ Not at all,” I answered shortly, in a voice I did not 
try to moderate, for I was tired and cross. “ I might 
as well have talked to some one in the next county. 
My voice is ruined, and I don’t believe she heard half 
what I said, as it was.” 
“ Oh, yes, I heard you perfectly,” said the old lady 
vindictively; “I thought you said that was your 
natural voice,” and she smiled grimly. 
“ Good heavens ! can you hear ? ” I gasped. 
“I could have heard you if I had been dead,” she 
snapped out. 
“ What does this mean?” asked Casper, staring from 
one to another. 
“Your wife imagined I was deaf,” retorted Aunt 
Hannah. 
“Imagined ! you told me she had lost her hearing,” I 
said faintly. 
Caspar laughed; nay more, he roared. 
“ It must have been my Cockney pronounciation that 
got the better of me for a moment. I meant her hearing, 
my dear.” 
“Yes, yes,” I said, hysterically, “that is what you 
said.” 
“Lottie, don’t be stupid,” said my husband; “can’t 
you spell ^hearing ? Ear-ring, there ! It was a valuable 
diamond solitaire, not easily matched, and she naturally 
felt sorry about it.” 
Was there ever such a blunder ! I could have given 
Caspar a good shaking for placing me in such a false 
position, but then it occurred to me that I was the one 
to be shaken for an actual want of principle in specula¬ 
ting upon the wealth of Aunt Hannah before her very 
face. Much good it did me ! She went away the next 
day, telling Caspar she was sorry he had such a fool for 
a wife, and we have not seen or heard of her since. I 
still contend that he was to blame, as it was the cockney 
proclivity to put an “ h ” where it had no business to be 
that caused the trouble in the first place.— Mrs. M. L. 
Rayne in Free Press. 
