CHAPTER XI
THE NINE GIFTS
TWO evenings later, Ken confronted his sister at the foot of the stairs as she came down from seeing Kirk to bed.
"Where," said Ken, "is your Braille slate?"
"What," said Felicia, "do you want with a Braille slate, if I may ask?"
"You may n't," said Ken, conclusively.
"But it makes a difference," Phil argued. "If you want to write Braille with it,—which seems unlikely,—I'll consider. But if you want it to prop open the door with, or crack nuts on, or something, you can't have it."
"I can think of lots better things to crack nuts on than a Braille slate," said Ken. "I want to use it for its rightful purpose. Come now, my girl, out with it!"
"Wish you luck," said Felicia, going to the educational shelf; "here it is."
Ken eyed it mistrustfully—a slab of wood, crossed by a movable metal strip which was pierced with many small, square openings.
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