"
The little corrugation in Sharlee's brow showed how carefully she was
thinking over the young man's suggestion from all possible points of
view. You could easily follow her thought by her speaking sequence of
expressions. Clearly it ran like this: "Mitts--splendid! Just the gift
for a girl who's sick in bed. The one point to consider is, could any
other gift possibly be better? No, surely none.... Wait a minute,
though! Let's take this thing slowly and be absolutely sure we're right
before we go ahead.... Run over carefully all the things that are ever
used as gifts. Anything there that is better than mitts? Perhaps, after
all ... Mitts ... Why, look here, isn't there one small objection, one
trifling want of the fulness of perfection to be raised against the gift
of mitts?"
"There's this point against mitts," said Sharlee slowly. "Fifi's in bed
now, and I'm afraid she's likely to be there for some time. Of course
she could not wear the mitts in bed. She would have to tuck them away in
a drawer somewhere. Don't you think it might be a good idea to give her
something that she could enjoy at once--something that would give her
pleasure _now_ and so help to lighten these tedious hours while she must
be in her room?"
The mitts were the child of Queed's own brain.
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