"And more," the Archdeacon went on, "she can thread her own needle."

We approved again.

"That's all very well," said the other, "but sight is not everything. Can
your mother hear?"

"She can hear all that I say to her," replied the Archdeacon.

"Ah! but you probably raise your voice, and she is accustomed to it. Could
she hear a stranger? Could she hear me?"

Remembering the tone of some of his after-lunch conversations I suggested
that perhaps it would be well if on occasions she could not. He glowered
down such frivolousness and proceeded with his cross-examination. "Are you
trying to assure us that your mother is not in the least bit deaf?"

"Well," the Archdeacon conceded, "I could not go so far as to say that her
hearing is still perfect."

The layman smiled his satisfaction. "In other words," he said, "she uses a
trumpet?"

The Archdeacon was silent.

"She uses a trumpet, Sir? Admit it."

"Now and then," said the Archdeacon, "my dear mother has recourse to that
aid."