b The Hermit's Address Book
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The doorbell rang and Edgard Grimbold sloshed tea over his arm and dropped his "Visit Sunny Sotherland!" mug on the floor.  As Town Hermit, he received precious few visitors at Buggeroff.
    
Emmalinza's Damn Cat wound about his legs as he tiptoed to the door.  Why the woman had left it behind was beyond Edgard, even more beyond than why she'd brought the furry, yowling thing home in the first place.
    
Edgard peeked through the spyhole.  The trespasser waiting on the other side of the door peered back at him with "smarmy pious do-gooder" stamped into her forehead.  The Tweedhern City Council required they identify themselves in such an obvious manner so as to separate the dedicated pie-thumbers from the weekend meddlers.
    
"Yoo hoo!  Mister Grimbold!"  The woman rapped the door smartly with one gloved hand.
    
Edgard reached over the cat and plucked The Book of Hermitry from the bookshelf without removing his eye from the spy hole.  He consulted the Table of Contents and flipped to Chapter Four: Dealing with Unwanted Visitors.

Ninety per cent of all interfering non-hermits can be dissuaded from further attempts at interaction by a lack of response.

Edgard fidgeted.  Emmalinza's Damn Cat twitched its tail.
    
"Mister Grimbold!  I'm here to bring you the word of Bejeebus, Mister Grimbold!"
    
A holy roller.  Edgard groaned; her hat should have been a dead giveaway.  He consulted The Book of Hermitry again.  There it was: the Bonnet Caveat.

Should your unwanted visitor be wearing a hat (see illustrations, page 180) proceed immediately to Step Four and consider this an Emergency Situation.

Edgard cleared his throat.
    
"Shove off, you filthy, interfering old baggage!" he roared through the keyhole.  He shifted his eye back to the spy hole to gauge her reaction.
    
The woman subjected the door to another barrage of knocking.  "My name is Adalee Abercrombie.  I'm new to the village Mister Grimbold, but I was warned about you and your temperament.  I'm not in the least shocked by your inhospitable welcome."
    
Keyhole.  "That wasn't a welcome of any sort!  Now get off my porch!"  Spy hole.
    
Mrs. Abercrombie didn't budge.  "Mister Grimbold, have you acknowledged Bejeebus as your Redeemer?"
    
Edgard thumbed forward a few pages.

Should your unwelcome visitor prove unaffected by the previous actions, drastic measures will be required: tell them what they want to hear.  When in dire need, a hermit battles for the solitude of today.

"Bless me, Missus Abercrombie, bless me," Edgard crooned through the keyhole.  "Aren't I a good and devout Jeebian?  Don't I send regular tithes to the chapel?
    
Mrs. Abercrombie blinked.  "Why, Mister Grimbold, I was led to believe that--"
    
"I don't want to contemplate which of my beloved neighbors has been telling tales on me."  And he didn't, either.  Especially since he didn't know one in three of their names.  "But I assure you, Missus Abercrombie, I am dedicated to Bejeebus today as I ever was."  And that certainly wasn't a lie.
    
Mrs. Abercombie had something else in her hand now, but he couldn't quite make it out--
    
"I must say that I'm delighted to hear it, Mister Grimbold.  And I have this small gift for you.  We at the Chapel of Bejeebus hope it will remind you to join us on Sunday mornings for the call to worship.
    
Edgard unbolted all fourteen locks and opened the door a crack.  "Many thanks, good lady."
    
She handed him a slim tome and backed slowly off the porch.  "I do hope we'll see you in chapel this Sunday."
    
Edgard coughed a non-committal reply and watched Mrs. Abercrombie betake herself from his cliff top.  When her ample backside disappeared down the path, he indulged himself in a chortle of triumph and winked at the Cat.
    
"That worked awfully well.  No doubt she'll be back when she learns the truth.  But that's a problem for another day."
    
Edgard flipped over the slim black booklet in his hand and sucked in his breath.

The blasted woman had left him an address book.

 
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