have heard me talking with 'C'!" she wrote, as fast as the scissors would let her.
"No, to the first of your surmise," came from the pencil, "and yes to the last."
"What office were you in?" the scissors asked.
"X n," responded the pencil.
"What! with 'C'?" asked the scissors, and if ever there was a pair of excited scissors, these were the ones.
"Well—yes," replied the pencil with provoking slowness. "Don't you ’C’ the point? Can't you 'C' that you did not 'C' the 'C' you thought you did 'C' that day?"
Nattie's breath came fast, and her hand trembled so she could not hold the scissors. With a crash they dropped on the table, making one loud, long dash. But the imperturbable pencil went on calmly,
"It was all a mistake. I am—'C'!"
Disdaining scissors and pencil, Nattie started up, exclaiming vehemently,
"What do you mean? it can't be possible!"
The consternation of Cyn, who was just informing Quimby that his wound would do very well now, the horror of the patient, and the surprise of Jo Norton at this emphatic and unaccountable outburst from the hitherto so silent Nattie was indescribable.
