“Yes—yes. Flora—ah—ah—somethin'. Somethin'—soundee likee somethin' you ring.”
“Somethin' I RING. Why, all a body rings is a bell. Hey? My heavens above, you don't mean Florabel? That ain't the name, is it—Florabel?”
“Yes—yes—yes—yes.” Little Cherry Blossom was eagerly certain that that was the name.
“Mercy on us! Florabel? You don't mean you've got a message from my niece Florabel Tidditt, do you?”
“Yes—yes—yes—oh, yes!” The control was just as certain that niece Florabel was on the wire.
“I don't believe a word of it.”
This unusual manner of receiving a message shocked the devout. A murmur of protest arose.
“Now, now, now, Tamson,” remonstrated Miss Beebe. “You mustn't talk so. Course you believe it if the control says so.”
“I don't neither. Florabel Tidditt ain't dead. She's as well as I be. I had a letter from her yesterday.”
There was considerable agitation for a few minutes. Then it developed that the Florabel seeking to communicate was not Miss Tidditt, but another, a relative so long gone that Tamson had forgotten she ever existed. At length she was brought to the point of admitting that it seemed as if she had heard of a cousin of her grandmother's named Florabel or Annabel or something. The message was not very coherent nor particularly interesting, so the incident ended.