An artist roaming through the area once set up an easel at the base of Buggeroff Mountain to paint the village of Tweedhern.  It was the first time that Edgard had been introduced to the concepts of "quaint" and "charming".  Edgard didn't quite grasp the meaning of those words, but he had the vague idea they meant "smelly" and "noisy" but were more polite.
    
Edgard pinched his nostrils shut and stepped off his mountain for the first time in a year.
    
"Come along then, Cat, and watch your step.  I'll return it to that meddling old busybody and give her the what-for about hermitry.  The idea of giving me an address book!"
    
With his mission clear, Edgard puffed out his chest and marched down Primary Street.  Within seconds, an envoy of grubby ankle-biters trailed him.
    
"That's Ol' Edgard..."
    
"I don' reckon he's ever seen the light of day."
    
"He turns into a bat and flies around the moon."
    
"He eats cry-babies and kids that tattle--"
    
"I didn't know he had a cat!"
    
Edgard turned and gave them his very best grimace, the one where his eyebrows rushed together and bristled, his eyes rolled in opposite directions and his teeth glinted.  Two or three squeaked in alarm, turned and ran.  A few puckered up and looked as though they might cry or pee their pants.
    
"Dadblast the varmints!  If I've told you once, I told you a thousand and two times to leave me in peace."
    
The majority of his audience turned tail and scampered off until only the Cat and one boy remained.  The Cat sat on its haunches and looked unimpressed.  The boy had a finger up his nose.
    
Edgard looked him over.  "Come here, boy."
    
The boy's finger inched further up his nose.  "Whaddya want?"
    
Edgard held up the black address book.  "Where's Adalee Abercrombie's house, boy?"
    
The boy considered the matter.  "Nearby."
    
"How nearby?" Edgard said, reflecting that if he got that finger any further up there, the kid would either poke his own brain or need a doctor to surgically remove it.
    
"Down Secondary Street and to the right.  The house with the pink door."
    
Edgard grunted and started off.  The kid didn't take the hint to run away sniveling, but instead followed him down the street alongside Edgard's furry shadow.
    
"My mum's makin' pot pie for supper tonight."  The urchin cocked his head to one side.  "That's pie, in a pot.  Iff'n you want some, stop by later."  Then he galloped off, bare feet slapping against the pounded dirt surface of the road.
    
Edgard added 'invitation to dinner' to the growing mental list of items a hermit should not receive, right under address books, just as he reached the pink door.  The Cat sat on the mat, and Edgard was somehow reassured he had the right place.  He lifted his hand and knocked before he could change his mind.
    
Footsteps on the other side of the door.  "Yes?"
    
"Missus Abercrombie, it's Edgard Grimbold."
    
The door remained closed.    Her voice floated through the keyhole.  "What is it you want, Mister Grimbold?"
    
"I'm here to return the address book, Missus Abercrombie."  Edgard scowled at her through the spy hole.  "I've no need of it."
    
"Nonsense.  Everyone can use an address book."
    
"Not a hermit!" he roared, and rapped on the door with his cane.
    
"Piffle.  Even a hermit can find a use for it," Mrs. Abercrombie said as she yanked the door open, head covered with rag curlers and skin dotted with green mud mask.  Edgard recoiled even as she yanked the address book out of his hands and opened it to the first page.
    
"Turn around," she ordered.  In a daze, Edgard turned around.  Mrs. Abercrombie braced the book against his back and scratched away with her pencil.  "There!  All done."
    
Edgard turned back around, and she thrust the address book and her pencil back into his hands.  He couldn't help but read the first entry:

Adalee Abercrombie,

12 Secondary Street,

Pink Door, Tweedhern.

"Now, if you'll excuse me, my dinner is getting cold."  She went to close the door and then reconsidered.  "You'll find that those who love Bejeebus have a world of family and friends just waiting to meet them.  Go meet them, Mister Grimbold."
    
And with that, she shut the door.
    
Edgard looked down at the Cat.  "I should climb Buggeroff Mountain and cast this devilish tome into the sea," he told the Cat.  "I should set it ablaze in the middle of the town square to the accompaniment of crazed laughter and hooting.  I should tear it to bits and stuff the pieces into Adalee Abercrombie's ears."
    
And the Cat kept pace as Edgard stumbled three steps down to the next cottage, knocked on the door and waited to see who would answer.  It was Ivan Birkstop, the butcher.
    
Edgard reached out with pleading hands.  "Would you please sign my address book?"